May
5.
We were the only ones there, and chose a spot behind a park bench that overlooked the valley to the south. It was beginning to dusk, and the trees in the park were shady with full and fresh green leaves, but the sky was still clear and warm.
It was one of the happiest picnics I’ve ever had, under those trees, looking out over the valley and hills beyond. The full moon began to rise right in front of us, from behind a distant electric tower. At first it was so faint we asked each other if it was truly the moon. But it rose, and began to glow as the sky turned a duskier blue, and we grew silent every few moments, gazing at it, watching it rise. [He] laughed at us for our childlike delight. But we all loved it. We laughed, and shared food, and talked. And then [she] unveiled the shortbread cookies, peeling the aluminum foil, on which I’d spontaneously scrawled “LOVE,” from the plate. We ate them all...
We finished the wine.
[She] and I talked before I turned out the light, and laughed because both of our stomachs were making noises.
5.
We were the only ones there, and chose a spot behind a park bench that overlooked the valley to the south. It was beginning to dusk, and the trees in the park were shady with full and fresh green leaves, but the sky was still clear and warm.
It was one of the happiest picnics I’ve ever had, under those trees, looking out over the valley and hills beyond. The full moon began to rise right in front of us, from behind a distant electric tower. At first it was so faint we asked each other if it was truly the moon. But it rose, and began to glow as the sky turned a duskier blue, and we grew silent every few moments, gazing at it, watching it rise. [He] laughed at us for our childlike delight. But we all loved it. We laughed, and shared food, and talked. And then [she] unveiled the shortbread cookies, peeling the aluminum foil, on which I’d spontaneously scrawled “LOVE,” from the plate. We ate them all...
We finished the wine.
[She] and I talked before I turned out the light, and laughed because both of our stomachs were making noises.
It is Sunday morning now, and raining softly. I’ll be going
to Mass within the hour.
Praise Jesus.
11.
Help us wake with singing.
13 - 15.
Her hair, braided, reaches to the crease behind her knees.
Standing there smiling love at me and not even able
to pretend to say bad things about me. They just melted.
I didn't know I could be loved that way. It gave me life.
Adam and Eve weren't cultural.
Forgive me watching my hands. Forgive my foolishness.
I'm not sure what my response should be. It's harmless, but it's not harmless.
It's really not harmless.
Jesus, I want to stay up with You. Help me sleep in You. I am Yours.
That is a lovely thing, and it contents me.
17/18.
She mentioned at lunch how, the first time she saw me, she thought, "the monastery!" And how yesterday she wondered while we were shut out of Vespers whether it was God or Satan, trying to keep me from becoming a nun.
Then she said not to take that seriously. It was just her imagination.
But of course I'm thinking about it.
But of course I'm thinking about it.
The gnome-wife, lucky penny, fairy godmother, owl, badger, St. Bernard.
18.
"Those who use the things of this world, as if not engrossed in them."
- 1 Corinthians 7:31
Things of the world used loosely, lightly, lovingly.
Make me not a caricature of myself.
Groan for me.
21/22.
I am safe in Your cocoon. You are teaching me to trust You. I am in a good place.
22.
I need You. I cannot forget, cannot ignore. Only need You, desire goodness.
24/25.
Is eavesdropping ever a blessed thing? I wonder sometimes.
"Do you love me?"
I love You. You are my life, and I'm learning that.
26/27.
"You two were too intent on the cat to see the celestial consequences of your worldy endeavors."
-Marilynne Robinson, "Gilead" p. 9
Thank You for the swallows and crows over the park today. The loaf of bread. The sharing.
Calling me "old soul" a few days ago.
Thank You for Your Word. Please bless us, guide us. I said that automatically. What I mean is make these dry bones live.
Pentecost tomorrow.
Peace, peace, to those far and near. Your Shalom.
27.
Pentecost.
Saw the dove descend.
[She] reminded me to look at the moon.
There were two swallows in the Duomo.
28.
I don’t know how to let go.
I’ve never let go in my life.
And I don’t even know how to write. How to describe the
clean
sky morning, the damp smudge of ink on paper,
the heart’s incline. Desire
and
The thudding of feet on pavement, on cobblestone. The
cobbler.
A pretentious glance, a sheepish foolish dance, three biscuits. A toss
and a catch and a weariness.
A strange disjunction of tears through a computer
screen. Being seen.
Being welcomed across a room. Being spoonfed. Being led.
Being piled with seven small tasks and a last enjoinder to be genuine.
Unicorns and music at pranzo. Sweetness of closeness and ache
of estrangement.
Balding. Better than he would expect
under the circumstances. A long, long hug.
A red wax chipmunk holding magic beans in the cubby.
We all liked the men with trumpets yesterday. And the
firecrackers
on the little boys’ bellies.
Art and faith. Humility.
“Free yourself from the chains on your neck, O captive
daughter of Zion.”
-Isaiah 52:2b NIV
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