Up betimes this morning (which seems appropriate, given the reading from RB Prol. 8–20 today) and therefore able to have an hour before the Blessed Sacrament before anyone else began to stir. Such quiet times are very precious. The oratory is dark and shadowy, illumined only by the glow of the sanctuary lamp which throws little spills of light on the great cross and tabernacle. The fragrance of the last of the sweet peas hangs incense-like in the air. Muted sounds drift in from outside: the occasional bark of deer or fox, an owl perhaps, and as dawn begins to lighten the sky, the heron flies overhead "on creaking wing". One of the concomitants, so to say, of the cloistered life is that it gives one an intense sense of place: one tends to notice every little change or development, from the gradual uncurling of a leaf to the slow spreading of lichen and moss. I imagine that is how many of our forefathers experienced life in their villages and hamlets. For some that was enough for a happy and fulfilling life; others it propelled into going further afield, always seeking, seeking. Both stay-at-homes and adventurers are necessary for the health of society. That is true whether the society under consideration is Church or State. The paradox is, of course, that the contemplative, bound to his/her little place on this earth with a stability others sometimes wonder at, must make the longest and most adventurous journey of all: the journey into the depths of God. Scroll down to comment and please be patient while the comment box loads as Digitalnun has not yet addressed the Echo problem. You can edit the "Guest" tag to use your own name or nickname.