Reflections

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Callie J. Smith’s reflection On Birch Branches and Everyday Reminders. A birch tree reaches out over the White River at a point very near my favorite bike trail. A clear view of it opens up from the hilltop north of an interstate bridge. From there I see many branches of many trees, but the birch’s vivid white bark often catches my attention. I first noticed the birch during the pandemic. Though an introvert who enjoys solitude, even

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kellie Brown’s reflection on walking with care in a body that is chronically ill, and her poem Circumambulate. The wise philosopher-teacher of Ecclesiastes wrote: “A generation goes, and a generation comes,/but the earth remains forever.” This passage goes on to describe the circular life of nature— the sun that rises and sets, the water that flows in then out, the wind that goes “round and round.” Ancient and modern monastics have been keenly attuned to the lessons

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Wisdom Council member Dena Jennings’ reflection on making and sharing music as a spiritual practice. I was 12 years old in 1976. It was an election year and the bicentennial celebration of the United States. My parents were community leaders in Akron, Ohio, the Rubber Capital of the World. There were more events and parades that year than I had known. My oldest sister was a beautiful majorette in an award-winning high school band. And my middle

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Kelly Sollinger’s reflection and poem on finding silence. The days leading up to this poem brought one heartbreak after another. I was dealing with personal griefs in the midst of serving as a pastoral presence to a community enduring an impossible loss. Early one morning I fled the house and the phone and the email, desperately seeking an inner silence that eluded me. The longer I walked, the more I became aware of the birds. At first,