Te Saxa Loquuntur.

Time does not only pass. It leaves witnesses.

What we leave behind begins with how we are present now.

This stone shall be a witness against us, for it has heard all the words...

(Joshua 24:27)

Some weeks seem to hold more than the days they contain.

An encounter resumed after nearly three decades. A quiet celebration of a promise still being lived. Friends arriving from distant places and returning from long journeys. Generations gathering around a table before another farewell.

We moved between reunion and departure, celebration and rest, work and friendship.

Time appeared to fold upon itself.

People we had known in one season reappeared in another, no longer quite who they had been, yet somehow profoundly recognisable. And something became apparent.

Time does not simply separate moments. It reveals what has endured between them.

Last week, walking through Salzburg, three Latin words carved above the Sigmundstor called to me.

Te saxa loquuntur.

I found myself drawn to them, and later searched for their meaning.

The stones speak of thee.

The inscription honours Prince-Archbishop Sigismund von Schrattenbach who commissioned a passage through the Mönchsberg in the eighteenth century.

Yet when I encountered it, the passage was closed to traffic. Work was underway. The stones remained, but the familiar way through had been interrupted. Those who wished to cross could still do so on foot.

Perhaps not every interruption is an obstacle. Some ask us to reconsider the manner in which we move.

Then, a few days later, a friend spoke of elders gathering in Sardinia to listen to the stones.

In Salzburg, the stones speak of us.

In Sardinia, we listen to them.

And another possibility quietly emerged.

What if the stones were not speaking of us at all?

What if they were speaking of Thee through us?

Of the Great Mystery expressing itself through Creation, through Time, through every encounter, and through the relationships we are entrusted to honour?

Stones carry time differently.

They have witnessed arrivals and departures, encounters and separations, beginnings and endings.

They hold histories we cannot entirely know, much less claim as our own.

Perhaps we, too, are called to become witnesses rather than proprietors of one another's stories.

To honour what has been entrusted to us without insisting upon owning it.

To remember without becoming imprisoned by memory.

To remain open to what is still becoming.

During our days in Salzburg, among conversations about governance, responsibility and the future, another ancient word accompanied me.

Sophrosyne.

The wisdom to remain grounded in who we are while genuinely making room for who others are.

Presence without possession.

Authenticity without imposition.

Relationship without the expectation of conformity.

We witnessed something of this in the encounters that unfolded around us. And then we returned to ordinary life.

Forms. Requirements. Procedures. Matters demanding resolution while refusing to move at the pace we might wish.

After so much reflection upon presence, balance and self-governance, I found myself impatient, sensitive, restless, wanting things to move.

The teaching had followed me home.

It is one thing to recognise wisdom when Life offers us beauty. It is another to practise it when Life refuses to accommodate our expectations.

Could I remain authentic without insisting upon having my way?

Could I respect the forms required of me without allowing them to define me?

Could I act with determination without allowing frustration to become the author of my response?

Perhaps this is where sophrosyne becomes something more than an ancient virtue. It becomes a living practice.

Presence does not require the absence of disturbance. It asks us to recognise the disturbance without becoming it.

Patience does not mean abandoning responsibility. It means allowing action to arise from discernment rather than agitation.

Reciprocity does not require everyone to move according to our rhythm. It invites us to recognise that others inhabit their own circumstances, responsibilities and time.

At this New Moon in Libra, we are invited to plant a vision of Oneness that honours the Many. But Oneness is not merely a vision to be imagined. It is a relationship to be lived.

Perhaps this is why the week led us from Suspension to sophrosyne, and then returned us to the ordinary demands of Life.

The teaching cannot remain in the beautiful places where we first encountered it. It must travel home with us. It must accompany us into the uncomfortable conversations, the unfinished matters, the moments when we would rather force a resolution than remain present to what is unfolding.

We do not always need to open another passage. Sometimes we must stand before what we cannot yet change. And listen.

Being, without doing anything.

Not to escape responsibility, but to become available to what responsibility is truly asking of us.

Hold. Sustain. Listen.

Hold what has been entrusted to our care.

Sustain the relationships through which we continue becoming.

Listen to what is being asked before answering with what we had already decided to say.

The stones do not rush to speak. They remain. They bear witness. And perhaps what they ultimately reveal about us is not what we wished to be remembered for, but what we chose to embody.

The promises we honoured. The relationships we nurtured. The passages we opened. The space we made for others to become.

May Time teach us to honour what endures without clinging to what has passed.

May we bear witness to one another with authenticity, compassion and respect.

May we find the patience to practise what we have come to understand.

May we recognise when Life asks us to act, and when it asks us simply to listen.

And may we remember that before the stones can speak of us, we must learn to listen.

Yo lo Creo / I believe, and so it is.