Reflections

Dearest dancing monks, John and I had the great pleasure of attending the Brigid’s Eve festival procession last Saturday night in Kildare. Over a hundred and fifty people processed with candlelight and lanterns under the waxing moon and a scattering of stars, while singing in chants in both English and Irish. It was quite awe-inspiring. Then we spent three days in Glendalough (photo above), preparing for a pilgrimage we are leading in March. Such a thin place, full of the beauty of forests, lakes, waterfalls, rivers, holy wells, and ancient stones holding the prayers of thousands.We walked miles and miles tending to

“Whose silence are you?” After Thomas Merton The single eye of the sun long shut, world deep asleep like a sunken ship loaded with treasures, full moon’s fierce shadows illumine the way for miles, stars glint like coins dropped to the well’s black bottom, last apple fallen from the tree in a slush of honey and crimson.   I walk barefoot across wet grass, night’s questions relentlessly wrestling in my mind’s knotted weave. I look for answers written by salmon in the stream, or a snail’s slither of streaming silver. I prostrate myself at the gnarled foot of the ash