I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of the running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth
T.S. Eliot – from ‘East Coker’
I first came across this quote from TS Eliot about four years ago. I find something so compelling in it.
It is dripping with promise and yet there is no guarantee of any particular outcome.
As I sit here reflecting over the last few weeks which have encompassed something of an interior seismic shift for me, I recognise the wisdom in these lines. I would not have even thought to hope for the resolution which has come. And yet now that it is here, I am awed by the beauty of the contours of this particular outcome.
Whatever hope I might have had in the past, would certainly have been for the wrong thing.
Instead, be still my soul. Pay attention to the world, here, now. The whisper of the running stream, the flight of the flamingos, the still watch of the blue crane. Be still.