When you spend the weekend with the mountain as your temple, “plugged in” solely to the stars, the gods, and the handful or so of vibrant souls sharing your surroundings your re-entry into the day to day can be abrasive. Monday morning arrived as a clean slate for me, devoid of any familiar patterns. My eyes opened to the warm sun on the back of my neck through my bedroom window, already too high in the sky for it to be my normal waking hour. The house was empty and quiet. No children to dress or send to school. No clocks professing loudly the omnipresence of time. In fact, as I stumbled into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee I noticed that not a single appliance would turn on. The power was off. The Burrow had in fact unplugged itself.
Robbed of even that vestige of routine I ventured out to procure a more indulgent than usual cup of joe (read Starbucks), and take a long drive to no where in particular. After all, sometimes the best thing to do is to embrace the discord. I let the CD play through the deeper cuts on the album, the ones I had until that moment skipped past. I got lost. Lost high above the city on a very quiet one lane road. Lost back atop a mountain. The voice within repeating two words over and over. Be still. And finally I was.
Silence. The palpable energy that can not convey false hoods, excuses, analysis or interpretation. The space between words that holds only will and meaning.
A vow of silence was my next step along the Path, from that moment until I know it no longer serves me. To live connected without audible language, so that only kisses leave my lips. An adventure!
So, friends and loved ones, forgive me if I do not pick up the phone. Indulge me if our interactions require more face time than usual. I will return your texts as needed, and your emails if required. I’m still here, listening. 
The Burrow Murmurs 