nd all is quiet.

Its the kind of quiet that has always been, the First Quiet…

Or so they tell us.

For all is noise now, and within such rattling and jabbering, within such frantic rushing towards the next moment, within such drunken flight from each unstable precipice,

We have missed the Story.

And all the words come down upon us,
and pieces of the foundation crumble,
and we walk along that rope bridge from here to there,
and every board is not the last board…

Shhhhh….

We have missed the pause between heartbeats.

We have forgotten the First Quiet.

We have lost the in-between.