In reference to music, it has been said that the space between the notes is even more important than the the notes themselves, and similarly in poetry, although the words are essential, it is often the surrounding silence that gives them power. At the age of thirty the Kashmiri Sufi Nuruddin Rishi withdrew from the world to live in a shallow cave for ten years, and judging by his poetry, (most recently posted here) he seems to have found a living stillness in his retreat. His words are few, but they convey a presence that expands and envelopes the reader.

‘Remove the rust from your heart,’ he tells us, ‘as if from a mirror.’ No doubt letting go of the world, of comforts, attachments and preconceptions, and even of one’s own identity, whether that happens in a cold and snow-bound cave or elsewhere, is a means of accomplishing that, and as the rust is cleared away, the gaze becomes absorbed in silent contemplation of the beauty it reveals.

That is when we recognise truth as the bright gleam of gold from which all impurity has been removed. When our internal chatter fades, we become aware of the living, formless Presence, and, as the Biblical verse tells us, ‘He is like a refiner’s fire.’ Or, in the words of Jelaluddin Rumi, ‘Silence is the language of God; all else is poor translation.’

There are many seekers in the world who long for some tangible evidence of God. Even with firm, well-rooted belief, there can be a sense of frustration: I have sought You so long–why won’t You come to me? Perhaps we can learn from Nuruddin Rishi’s verse that to become aware of the Presence, we must go ever more deeply into the silence. As Hazrat Inayat Khan says, in Vadan, Ragas:
When I began to look for Thee,
in the twinkling of an eye Thou didst disappear.
When I started in Thy pursuit,
Thou didst move away from me still farther.
When I called Thee aloud in my distress,
Thou didst not hear my soul’s bitter cry.
Cross-legged I sat in silence;
then alone I heard Thy call.