We have spent the last few days commuting between the monastery and the John Radcliffe Hospital (where D. Teresa is "making progress", D.G.). This has brought us into contact with many people we don't know and who don't know us. It has been instructive. Inevitably in Oxford, some people seem to think we might be Muslims because of our long habits and veils: they tend to keep a cautious distance, avoid eye contact and seem to be wishing either we or they might disappear. Very telling. Others go into "panic mode", probably afraid of "holier than thou" sermonizing on our part. They also keep their distance. A few (often, but not always, Irish) ask for prayer or a blessing or call out a greeting that is an invitation to spend a few moments at their bedside. The great majority are straightforwardly pleasant, tolerant of our oddities and happy to exchange a few words and a smile. The stories they tell can sometimes be distressing, a powerful reminder that suffering isn't something that can be measured or rationalised: it can only be endured. And many people endure their suffering with a grace and good humour that is both humbling and inspiring. I think we have learned something during the past week, thanks to all with whom we have come into contact, something we would not have learned had we stayed quietly in our monastery. Exactly what that "something" is, I am not yet sure; but if you are feeling marginally out of sorts, preoccupied with various cares, may I suggest that a visit to your local hospital may give you a valuable new perspective? It is not those who are visited but those who do the visiting who benefit.