Dearest monks and artists, It takes time to see.  Around us the world is exploding in a celebration of new life and we may miss much of it in our seriousness to get the important things of life done. Lynn Ungar has a wonderful poem  titled “Camas Lilies” in which she writes: “And you—what of your rushed and / useful life? Imagine setting it all down— / papers, plans, appointments, everything, / leaving only a note: “Gone to the fields / to be lovely. Be back when I’m through / with blooming.” You might begin this journey of reflection on blossoming

Dearest monks and artists, St. Colman lived in the 6th-7th centuries in County Galway in the west of Ireland. His parents were king and queen of that region, and while his mother was pregnant, his father heard a prophecy that his newborn son would one day surpass him in notoriety. In a jealous rage he had his servants throw his wife into the lake with a stone tied to her. But in a miracle, the stone floated like a cork, and so she was brought safely to shore. Once she gave birth, two priest pilgrims wandered by and she asked

Dearest monks and artists, The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. —Isaiah 35:1-2 I believe deeply that the seasons have a great deal of spiritual wisdom to offer us if we make space to listen. They teach us of the cycles and seasons of the earth and of our own lives. We are invited into the movements of blossoming, fullness, letting go, and rest, over and over again. Just like the lunar cycles of the moon’s waxing and waning,

Holy Mountain* I want to climb the holy mountain ascend over weight of stone and force of gravity, follow the rise of a wide and cracked earth toward eternal sky, measured steps across the sharp path, rest often to catch my heavy breath. I want to hear the silence of stone and stars, lie back on granite’s steep rise face to silver sky’s glittering points where I can taste the galaxies on my tongue, communion of fire, then stand on the summit and look out at the laboring world. I want to witness earth’s slow turning with early light brushing