Last night, I was reading in bed as my wife slept quietly beside me.  The book in my hand was speaking of the Holy Spirit and of the vital need for Him in the lives of God’s people.  It resonated and wrangled, leaving me silent and sighing.  The moments that followed felt like something of a revelatory experience–those brief periods of slippery clarity, during which you SEE something that you’ve not seen before, but if you try to “grab it” or “search it” too deeply, it will vanish like a frightened animal in a clearing.

With thoughts and emotions more tuned than usual to the Spirit, I simply took in the silence.  Drinking a mouthful of water, I wondered if I wasn’t in a most timeless moment–a man sitting in quiet with the most ancient of liquids quenching his thirst as his soul communes with the most ancient of Beings.

Another sigh.

Then of all things, I found myself tempted to flick on the TV or boot up my laptop.  Neither of those are unusual “last act of the day” items, but neither felt anywhere near right.  Both actually struck me as cheap, as deeply inappropriate given the fact that I was sitting in what I had just privately noted as something resembling a holy moment.

In one of my day’s wiser moments, I decided against all electronic intervention.

As I mused over why a part of me seemed bent on sabotaging the sacred silence, I felt grateful to have seen the idea for what it was: the seeking out of numbing and absolutely unnecessary noise.  And I wondered why those few seconds of discipline and discernment couldn’t translate into a new pattern of consciousness in this man’s life.

I mean, who knows how many sacred seconds exist in a day?  I can’t say I’ve ever sought to count them.

The time may have arrived.