In our younger days we met in a monastery, far from home, yet home.
What were the chances that two young women barely twenty, in the 80's would meet in prayer, in a monastery vast with wonder, awe and deep psychology study in the form of scripture, Carl Jung and Jesus, semi-cloistered with men and women.
...
photo:
Saint Baume, Marie Magdalene's Grotto:
They say the angels carried her to the top of the mountain to prayer seven times a day.
I know if they didn't carry me I wouldn't be hiking up seven times a day. Getting up at six for morning prayer was hard enough. Nightowls didn't sing the same way as those morning birds did.
My friend came to visit. It had been six or seven years since I saw her last.
And yet it was yesterday, or maybe even an hour ago, what is time anyway?
Hearts don't tell time the same way. I must beleive that to keep sane with most my family and friends living far from my reach.
We know what love and friendship can do when it comes to bridges, walls, mountains, differences... distances.
We are closer than we can hold or touch.
Prayer is a beautiful hand.
A priest said in a sermon I heard:
"We are the stained glass and (God's) love is the light that shines through."
Stained
brilliant
different colors and form
spectacular pattern
and yet
love, prayer, belief in one another is a light we also create
and if we give it....
beauty spills wide.
Hiking up the tower in Chartres.
In the summer pouring rain
we climbed.
On the top I laid my hand upon that stone.
Imagination told a story.
Rain set a mood that only rain can, Mysterious grey, watering the soul, cleansing fault, forgiving tears...
History over a thousand years
faith remaining against the odds.
Stones that breath.
I took courage and gave thanks.
While on top in the tower of Chartres the bells rang.
Bells ring often in France. When they do I say,
"In the rght place at the right time."
Then I take note of where I am and what I am feeling.
I was with Cheryl.
We were moved to tears, my tears had so many names I just laughed at the thought of it.
I will tell this tale another day.
It was my first time and Cheryl's too.
Only on Friday are the chairs moved aside so you can walk it.
We stayed all day.
Discovering
Listening
Wet
Walking
I prayed every person's name I knew ... yours too.
Prayer matters.
Silence does too when words don't find a way to pray.
Oh those carved fragments.
Carved in stone by flesh.
Cell memory.
Deep within.
I miss my friend.
