Wednesday, February 25, 2009


The sheer singleness and repetition of a Monastic life is most highlighted in my Hermitage.

All things are over and over and over again.  The white molding, the beige plastered walls, sage colored drapes in my bedroom with pictures of Mary, ever-Virgin peering over... indeed, a nothing-ever-changes Life.  

My walks outside remain staid each day, 
seemingly unadorned and lifeless in purpose.

But, no ... 

It happens each second in a most miniscule way.  God is in the splinter of a glint, the flakiness of a light shown into my Hermitage,  my Cottage-in-the-Trees.  

God, I can smell` for he roams my kitchen in simmering Lentil soup with smoked turkey, apples and cinnamon wafting scents of good wholesome food!  

God, I can see` for each shine of the Western sunset breaking into my silent cell with His Royalty of purples, pinks, reds, crimsons, white, grays slashing about the darkening sky!

God, I can touch` upon each object I see for God is the God IN all things, THROUGH all things, and OF all things.

God, I can hear` through the motoring life outside, through movement of  green Peppercorn trees with winded ballets, their life I witness in my stillness. 

Oh, it may appear that no/thing changes in my Hermitage; however, those who see no/thing are Thomas.  Those Thomas'  necessitate proof of some/thing. 

However, those who need nothing, oh, so reach and further fly!  toward this Holiest of Holies! while unfettered wings blaze true bright 
in unquenchable fire.  

How Holy Is His Name!


Saturday, February 14, 2009


Sweet Mary came to me yet again.
Not in voice; yet in that same place of
stillness deep within my heart of
hearts.  In that place that Mary

Again, she came unto me while I was
in great distress and turmoil and she 
did comfort me, easing my mind.

This time it was while I dozed in 
unsettled sleep.

With suddenness, in the locus of her
voice was a small, lit, empty cross. It
appeared ... faded, then appeared a 
second time.   It was illumined on its
right side.

I knew it was Mary~bringing her Son
this time to me to show that my trials,
though small, are loved, are noticed,
and my spirit is not abandoned.

Inside that quiet time, in the 
profundity of pain, Mary's Son joined
me and entered into an inner sanctum
reserved for the Holiest of Holy.

May He ever be praised!

Thursday, February 5, 2009


No, you shall not know the word.

For, it is incendiary and troublesome; ofttimes a burden and anachronistic.

It is an awkward word, inside an orb of greed, 

narcissism, self-preservation, and con-artists. 

  • However,

You shall know of its meaning:

/Listening toward/ 


/Listening toward/

What does that stand for  

                  what are its fruits does one suppose?

Oh, I know its glint and have savored its many flavors and sweets.
I have stood in its sweaty leafed tropics 
sensing the moistening rain upon my bent shoulders.
Many do fall by it; whereas, many do rise, lifting toward the God in Christ!

No ... No ...

I still shan't expose the word to you.   

Instead, the golden Fruits of it.  Its presents of Glory.

 Oh, how myriad/ 
and stark/ 
and needed/ 
and noble/ 
are its spiritual gifts.

These favors I have witnessed given to those living this word:

Inner Silence.


We learn Love when we learn to be silent and 
/listen toward.

Oh, for it happens not in a vacuum;
 but, in a molten throbbing cauldron; 
transfiguring us through time and time's travail.

Seek this word. 
It lays in pitchy darkness 
upon your oh so muted lips.