Dearest monks and artists, In the northern hemisphere we approach the celebration of the summer solstice, the longest day. The seasons are connected to the different cardinal directions, as well as the four elements. Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th century Benedictine Abbess, allied the direction of the south and the season of summer with the element of fire. We find a similar connection in the Native American Cherokee tradition and in the Irish Celtic tradition. We might think of summer as the season of fire and stoking our passions. It is the season of coming to fullness connected to the Hour

Delightful to me to be on an island hill, on the crest of a rock, that I might often watch the quiet sea. That I might watch the heavy waves above the bright water, as they chant music to their Father everlastingly. That I might watch it’s smooth, bright-bordered shore, no gloomy pastime, that I might hear the cry of the strange birds, a pleasing sound. That I might hear the murmur of the long waves against the rocks, that I might hear the sound of the sea, like mourning beside a grave. That I might watch the splendid flocks

  Dearest monks and artists, “What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as ‘play’ is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance.”  ~ Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation We live in the midst of chaotic

St. Kevin and the Blackbird (after Seamus Heaney) Imagine being like Kevin, your grasping fist softens, fingers uncurl and palms open, rest upward, and the blackbird weaves twigs and straw and bits of string in the begging bowl of your hand, you feel the delicate weight of speckled blue orbs descend, and her feathered warmth settling in for a while. How many days can you stay, open, waiting for the shell to fissure and crack, awaiting the slow emergence of tiny gaping mouths and slick wings that need time to strengthen? Are you willing to wait and watch? To not

Dearest monks and artists, Two years ago I published my book The Soul of a Pilgrim which developed out of my own lifelong love of journeying. My father worked for the United Nations when I was a child and we had the privilege of traveling back to Austria where he was from, as well as other European countries and once through Asia. As an adult, as I grew into my own spiritual practices, I discovered that pilgrimage is something that breaks me open to new discoveries each time. But I also found that because the journey is an inward one, in

How to Be a Pilgrim Air travel is like ancient pilgrims walking on their knees, flight delays and narrow seats offer their own kind of penance. You jettison excess baggage, leaving behind the heavy makeup case, knowing the rain will wash you free of artifice. Books you wanted to carry left too, no more outside words needed, then go old beliefs which keep you taut and twisted inside. Blistered feet stumble over rocky fields covered with wildflowers and you realize this is your life, full of sharp stones and color. Red-breasted robins call forth the song already inside, a hundred