An interesting thought: I am drawn to the type of music George Winston creates on the piano. To be specific, it is not the high notes, the complexity, nor the loudness/ softness that I find myself drawn to. Rather, it is the space between the notes; his style - or approach - creates beautiful spaces.

When I toss a pebble on still water, the water resonates - a ripple effect eminates from the source of this "disturbance" - an otherwise placid medium is interrupted by a stone's collusion with it, like a hammer upon a piano wire.

But the ripples rapidly retreat from its source. We look at the point where it all started - the center of these growing concentric circles - and the source is gone. The pebble - the cause of it all - is now drowned in a sea in motion. What is left is a void - space - but only for a moment.

Perhaps the space has always been there. Only now we give it special recognition because of all this embelishment. Our eyes followed the pebble until it met the new medium - and now, for a quick moment, there is space where there was a pebble.

Water, pebble, space, water.

We are encouraged to consider the space because we were led there by a source of some disturbance. We would not consider this space until then.

This is music. This is also life. We have not learned to treasure a moment of peace or contentment, of faith, hope and love, until some upsetting experience suddenly brings us face to face with it. Only then we can appreciate the music of life - both the notes and the spaces between them.

I cherish the space I've discovered between the notes. I say that I've discovered the space between the notes; I also acknowledge in saying this that this space has always been there, yet now I give it recognition, as in response to the disturbance that brought me to this space. It is as if the purpose of the disturbance was to bring me to this space.

Consider a cardboard box. A plain, ordinary empty box. Now, close the box and decorate it as if it were a birthday gift for someone special. Nothing is in the box, but you wouldn't know it now by looking at this box, adorned with such care and fair! The adornment insists that there is something special inside the box. You, the one who has decorated this box, know that there is nothing in the box - just space - but now, it is a special space - you have just given it significance by surrounding it with such expressive adornment.

Limited by our five physical senses, we cannot really see a void - space. To us, space is defined by what surrounds it. Otherwise, we'd pass it by, giving no recognition to it.

Consider the wind in the trees. Quaking aspens, shimmering in fall colors! What a sight. The trees draw our attention to the movement of the air that surrounds them. We also feel it on our skin. Yet, if we walk indoors and draw the shade, we would not be aware of the breeze out there.

And, so it is in our lives. We "shimmer" and "quake," and this brings our attention to what's causing this. We become aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit within us - in that space within which we now aknowledge to be a special space. We might think that there is really nothing there - just a void. Yet, this disturbance in the medium of our hearts tell us quite plainly that something is there - that the space within our hearts is a special space, because the Holy Spirit has found His way into our hearts and has decided to abide there.

Without emotion and expression, our hearts would not be made aware of the Holy Spirit. We would not acknowledge Him. We would not even attempt to grasp the significance of His presence in our lives. He would mean nothing to us.

Thus, it is clear that our God desires to abide within our hearts - hearts that are willing to shimmer and quake.

Poor Richard -1997

The note is mind,  The space is mind.

The way is to be attached to neither.