The day we climbed into the woods to the Pir's
pod, the domed quonset where he did his work,
we put aside our egos and our fears,
to find the retreat of our vanished patriarch.
Arriving, we chatted briefly, but grew still.
The jingling wind chimes composed a haunting music.
The leaves were bright with sunlight on that hill.
We heard the endless water rushing in the creek.
Inside, we sat in meditation. Here
was the chair he sat in, and here was his bowl.
What did we hope to find together? A clear
moment, a radiance to make us whole.
We still carry with us that ambience
and know of a silence that is more than silence.