This is not a poem but a rain-soaked day keeping me inside with you and you loving me like a storm. This is not a poem but a record of a hundred mornings when the sun lifted above the stone hills outside my window. This is time for boiling water poured into the chipped cup holding elderflower, hawthorn, mugwort. This is not a poem but me standing perfectly still on the edge of the lake in autumn, watching a hundred starlings like prayer flags fluttering. This is my face buried in May’s first pink peony, petals just now parting, eyes

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching. In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself astray in a dark wood where the straight road had been lost sight of. —Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, We are approaching the midpoint of our Lenten journey through the desert. This is a ripe moment to pause and reflect on the commitments we made in earnest almost a month ago as

To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a free gift!) For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching: It was said of Abba Agathon that for three years he lived with a stone in his mouth, until he had learnt to keep silence. (Agathon 15) The silence of the desert elders is called hesychia, which means stillness, silence, inner quiet. However, it is much deeper than just an external quiet.

For the next few weeks I will be offering you some gems from the Abbey archives as I create the space I need to finish several writing projects and prepare for spring’s teaching. Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, The road of cleansing goes through that desert. It shall be named the way of holiness. —Isaiah 35:8 If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and so we

To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a free gift!) This is my latest Sacred Seasons column on Patheos, click here to read it there and please share! Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, Today we enter the long desert of the Lenten season. If you participate in a liturgical service, most likely you will be marked with the sign of ashes and the words “from dust you came and to dust you shall return” will echo through the sanctuary space again and again. St. Benedict writes in his Rule to “keep death daily before

Several years ago, before moving to Ireland, I completed a training to teach yoga. I began the program because I had practiced yoga for many years and longed to dive more deeply into it. I expected to fall in love with my own body even more in the process; what I didn’t expect was how much I would fall in love with other people’s bodies as well. As I walked around the studio and students are in their various poses I see the incredible variety in body types, shapes, sizes, flexibility, and bone structure. My training involves hands-on adjustments, which are less about

Dearest dancing monks, A few days ago I received an email from a woman who is writing her dissertation and asked me to respond to the question: “If you had to choose one spiritual practice that is a non-negotiable for spiritual growth in the 21st century, what would it be and why?” My answer was supposed to be short and succinct. Here was my reply: “I would choose hospitality, both inner and outer, because I believe the welcoming in all of the exiled pieces of ourselves to be essential for the healing of the world.” Of course, it is one