To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a gift!) Stopping by the Holy Well Gentian blue sky, dandelion seed clouds play hide and seek with the sun. The long walk on the pilgrim road, across blooming limestone to this flowing fissure. Brightly colored ribbons hang like old party streamers from branches, banners of longing: a prayer for healing the great divide of the heart, or a beloved consumed by cancer. Or simply an echo of the psalmist’s ancient cry, “How long, O God?” into the vast and thunderous silence. No pronouncements in reply, no choruses of

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, John and I just completed another pilgrimage here in Ireland with a beautiful group of pilgrims. We are continually amazed and humbled at the deeply soulful and wise folks that join us for our programs. Dancing monks are the most wonderful folks there are. Dwelling in these holy places where countless have prayed for thousands of years is an experience of connection to the community of monks across time. We step into thin time and place together, where the veil between the sacred and ordinary becomes sheer, the division is no longer clear. Again, my heart came alive in

To receive this love note straight to your in-box, subscribe here (and also receive a gift!) St. Hildegard Strolls through the Garden Luminous morning, Hildegard gazes at the array of blooms, holding in her heart the young boy with a mysterious rash, the woman reaching menopause, the newly minted widower, and the black Abbey cat with digestive issues who wandered in one night and stayed.  New complaints arrive each day. She gathers bunches of dandelions, their yellow profusion a welcome sight in the monastery garden, red clover, nettle, fennel, sprigs of parsley to boil later in wine. She glances to make sure

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, I am delighted to introduce the latest in the dancing monk icon series above of St. Francis of Assisi. (I will let you know when prints become available.) The same day that artist Marcy Hall sent me this newest addition, I also stumbled across the poem above in a book I had been asked to review. I was also in the midst of teaching yoga each morning at the Spiritual Directors International conference in Santa Fe, NM. It was one of those happy confluences of events where different passions of mine came together. Following Santa Fe, I

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, I am still traveling and teaching, so this week I offer you a reprise of another article I wrote for Patheos last year on Practicing Resurrection this Easter season: Lent is a powerful season of transformation. Forty days in the desert, stripped of our comforts, and buoyed by our commitment to daily practice so that we might arrive at the celebration of Easter deepened and renewed. But often, we arrive at the glorious season of resurrection and celebrate for that one day, forgetting it is a span of 50 days, even longer than the Lenten

Dearest monks, artists, and pilgrims, Joyous blessings on this celebration of Easter and the season of resurrection stretching out before us! I am in the midst of some travels in the U.S. for about a month which began with a lovely visit to my sister-in-law in South Carolina, and now I am heading to Santa Fe to meet up with a dear friend for a couple of days before the Spiritual Directors International conference begins. Then it will be on to Tulsa, OK for the Awakening the Creative Spirit intensive and Lafayette, LA for a private women’s group. Since I

“Even under its burden / the soul awakes and sings” —Trish Bruxvoort Colligan, from her song “Soul Awakes and Sings” off her just about to be released album Wild Acre) We must risk delight. . . We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world. To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil. . . We must admit there will be music despite everything. —Jack Gilbert, “A Brief for the Defense” (excerpt) “I want / to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” —Pablo Neruda, Love Poem