On the floor

Sitting silently in the center of the room, cross legged on the floor... I look around and see nothing but everything... I hear silence ... I feel stillness ... I'm surprised by the cascade of tears that fall silently into neat little pools on the rug ... Darkening the shade of blue and creating a pattern that reminds me to connect the dots. Could I actually have reached this point by simply sitting here and waiting? Or had all of the day's news simply crept in through the cracks and seeped under the doors ... Permeating even the dual paned windows? Could the wood have been so pourous as to absorb all the pain from the years of silence and now the silence was bleeding? It's funny how even in the midst of what feels absolutely crushing in weight, I feel postured toward freedom and wholeness. I choose to accept the increased awareness of the end and the beginning being introduced to one another. Perhaps the end and the beginning are actually choosing to introduce themselves to me. I stay seated and reach up to shake each of their hands and we all smile politely. And another door opens....