Monday, November 22, 2010


I belong to the church of the many different volumes ... it is as you'd expect voluminous ... we have branches all over the face of the earth ... sometimes you cannot see the light for the leaves or the forest for the trees ... there are so many pages we can't see past them to hear what's being said ... our eyes all aglitter on the printed page we can't see through it to the meaning beyond ... it's a tutelage apprentice time till the master rings the bell and the class is done ... just before graduation the volume you open is your friend ... there are no more deadlines papers or tests initiations or confessions but a communion of ideas a community of scholars sages and saints ... in our cathedral on the slope our church of the many different minds there is peace ... in our convent of isolation our abbey of the recluse the motto is people have no time need or desire for conversation with me ... in our monastery eyrie our silent monks mop the floor on hands and knees ... witness to joy and grace ... hear the word rise up through the boards ... and rejoice 2/2

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