Gifts from the Past

Did you think I'd gone away? No. When I'm quiet is when you know I'm truly here in the Abbey. The Abbess must have known exactly what I needed when she gave me this cell so near the garden and so far from the books. The stillness in the halls and under the trees renews my soul. I never mind the long walk to the library, because it's then I'm able to examine the art on the stone walls and hidden in little niches along the way.

The hidden ones are the ones that soon become precious to me and when I stand and study them in the dim light, in the shadows, time slows down. I sometimes wonder if I've become invisible to the people who are rushing past, they don't seem to see me, although some stop for a moment as if they sense my presence.

I found something hidden in the library, too. There's a special drawer; I can't tell you exactly where, I think novices have to find it for themselves. Maybe it doesn't even stay in the same place all the time, but moves about of its own free will.

Now you're laughing and saying I need to get out more!

But, no--look what I found! The drawer has scraps of paper left by previous residents of the Abbey as gifts to us. Here are things they wanted to pass on to us, lessons learned, perhaps, even wisdom.

Do you know of a poet named Kabir? I did not. Here's what he says.

My brother kneels (so saith Kabir)
To stone and brass in heathen-wise
But in my brother's voice I hear
My own unanswered agonies.
His God is as his fate assign--
His prayer is all the world’s and mine.
Kabir