Times when a gentle gentle silence appears and as if for the first time we double hear

Sounds, clear and distinct, bird or plane, upwards in the skies, each one 

its own instrument, in some same harmony.

Where are they going? Makes You want to fly. 

Seeing is for real, a coffee cup, made from brown earth, why that drawing on it 

and those painted colours? More than earth now, a brighty brown, 

it speaks to You, it befriends You. More.

Please tell more. You want to drink from its story.

Wind pushing the blinds to and fro. Gentle breeze on the half blinds. 

Little movements of eternity. And miraculously, You are here. Just now.

Perhaps too those souls who also heard the bird, tasted the coffee, felt the wind. Vibrating. Quietly. Just now.

Do not ask for whom the bird sings, it sings for You.

Do not ask why the wind blows, it blows together, to gather into One.

Blows away the clouds revealing the same sun, at night the same stars. 

And You.  What You?  Blowing away into Here. Just now. 

— A poem from an author in Belgium who has studied the Fourth Way for more than three decades.