Loss. Strength. Hope.

This is a brief retreat, first time ever at Holy Cross Monastery on the Hudson. A beautiful spot. And real peace. I’ve been reading words I wrote or quoted from others while I was on retreat, back in the spring of 1998. Some of those words belong to the inimitable Henri Nouwen, of blessed memory.

Morning Light

In the early morning Under cover of darkness With only a hint of light in the eastern sky Looking more like memory than promise I took the dogs out. The air crisp, leaves whispering on the trees in a light dawn of creation breeze: “I hear we’re falling soon; our time has come,” and a

Reset

I found, Without desiring to find That without Covid-infection One can be, will be, pandemic-changed Shifted by the very axis In ways defiant of definition. So I know, all this time (how much time?) later, that I move at 3/4 speed by comparison I speak at 1/2 speed of before I think on occasion, if

Tears

I’ve been crying every day for many days now. When I watch the evening news, I cry. When Steve Hartman’s ‘On the Road’ segment shows the amazing love that is in people, stretching over generations, living through war, even joining strangers, in endless variety and power, I cry. When I see sorrow or fear or