The Silence of Rockford Chapel

Here among Friends
when the door shuts,
the silence hits
like a change in air pressure.

We await the entrance of the Divine.

It is my first meeting.
I think of John Cage and the 4’33”.
I think of Jean-Luc Nancy’s protest against the
gluttony of representation. I think of
the Talking Heads and their Stop Making Sense LP.

And finally I listen.

I hear
cicadas,
the coo of a mourning dove,
the bark of a dog,
a plane in the distance,
a quiet cough, and the slow intake of human breath.

I see two deer walk by the chapel window.

I hear the fans above me.
I feel a cool breeze
across my neck and
each individual hair on the back of my head oscillate.

And then I hear the cicadas again.
How wonderful!
Their antennae, their membranous wings, and their
astonishingly loud call:

How remarkable,
this insect, its life, and its anatomy.
How wonderful its being.

And then a chair moves, a person rises, and
all that I can hear is a human voice.