I’m now sitting in the library at BU. Minutes ago, a squirrel posed, elegant and proud, for me–for the world.

Can you feel the silence? Can you feel the listening?

Attachment to my devices blocks me from feeling the silence. But outside, by the frozen river where the branches rested and the geese sat, I could feel the silence. I rejoiced in it. The silence became my song.

The silence became my song.

This profound shift from “music is my life” to “my life is music” continues to ring. Today I tasted the warmth and softness of freshly baked bread. And then that squirrel captivated me. I’m so glad I was there to witness that moment of so much life and courage.

Sometimes in the quiet, singing bubbles up inside of me, from the well of my being, or maybe my Source. It goes deep. And somehow, in the face of everything that has felt wrong in my life–in the face of everything I’ve struggled with–I know that if I can hear that song, I will be okay. Mighty okay.

I was born to listen to the essential giftedness at the heart of all things. The Billy Joel song “Just the Way You Are” has rippled through this whole season of life. It prays in me, with me. It reminds me of these depths of love. God has got me. God is not letting go of me.

It is an expansive love to which I am called.

Lord, how can I respect the boundaries of my life? How can I listen to myself? How can I be obedient to your prompting, your movement? I want to love You with all I am. All you have given me, God, I give to you.

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I emerged from the quiet last night for a performance of Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto, by Igor Levit and the BSO, at Symphony Hall. It re-opened in me a deep joy and longing of listening so deeply to music–something I have not felt on that level, or perhaps haven’t been open to, in a long time. The tender sections, of the first but most astoundingly the third movement, felt like pure listening. It was sincere love. Sincere beauty. Sincere presence. Can you feel the silence?