But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time."
Credences of Summer by Wallace Stevens:
I’ve spent a good deal of time studying the Still Point in my life and I think I can now define it: it is simply, being -- being to the nth degree. It is the quietude that heals and exalts, a moment of contemplation, the solace we get from meditation or prayer, a walk in the woods, a respite from the constant monkey talk of our minds. It is the pause , . .
Little Gidding, T. S. Eliot, Part V.
(Originally published April, 2010)