The Listener

For who listens to us in all the world, whether
He be friend or teacher, brother or father, or
Mother, sister, or neighbor, son or ruler, or servant?
Do the stars listen, when we turn despairingly
Away from man, or the great winds, or the seas or
The mountains? To whom can the man say – Here I
Am! Behold me in my nakedness, my wounds, my
terror, my abandonment.
Listen to me for a day – an hour – a moment!
Lest I expire in my terrible wilderness, my
Lonely silence! O God, is there no one to listen?
Is there no one to listen? You ask. Ah Yes,
there is one who listens, who will always listen.
Hasten to him, my friend! He waits on the hill for you.
For you, alone.
-attributed to Seneca the younger