Voluntary Hermitage

I cannot receive full monk status because: 1.  I am a woman  2.  The vow of chastity, well, yeah I have two great kids, and 3.  The vow of poverty, hmmm. . .not so much considering how wealthy I am in love (plus I am too attached to hockey, my comfy bed etc.). The fourth vow, obedience, however, I can relate to.  It’s coming down to the wire. I have been, mountainside, camped out in my craggy cave and the time I spend in there for the next month or so is going increase.  I have been collecting provisions and am happy to have internet access and a percolator.  The view is incredible although I have not had much time to enjoy it, yet.  After this period of solitude, however, I will have climbed a summit.  The excitement and anticipation is building and I am remaining focused on my vow.  Through silence, I listen patiently to my muse.  Inspiration strikes daily and I grab it (after a cup of coffee of course), tap it onto my computer screen, give it form, depth, meaning, structure.  While some people may not understand what it is like to work in a cavern, it’s okay.  I am most alive in that simple place, passion abounds, and, again, the view!  What an amazing, knee knocking vista!  Here’s to dreams, rocks in shoes, hikes, climbs, valleys, summits, sprained ankles, mountain tops, and all the in between!

You Found Me

I’m supposed to be resting.  Of course, being on a computer isn’t really resting.  And writing isn’t resting.  I never said I was a compliant patient.  However, I am in bed (that must count for something).  With my laptop.  Writing.  “Stunada” as my Nonnie would have said.  Not in the “out there” sense but in the stubborn, sorta stupid sense (sorry Nonnie). I was recently talking to a good friend late one night.  We’ve both been on this crazy rollercoaster called “Life.”  We’ve had similar experiences, felt the same at times, and, at other moments, diverged.  Our relationship, though, no matter what we are thinking, feeling, or hoping, remains granite solid.  I mentioned a song (by The Fray) on my daughter’s iPod (yes, I borrowed it for a few minutes while outside getting a little vitamin D).  This song asks a lot of questions (yeah, yeah, I know, I can relate), is kinda dark, and, although I’ve heard it at least thirty times, it was the first time I really listened to the words.   I asked my friend if she heard it before (nearly everyone has) and if she knew what the lyrics meant.  I couldn’t identify exactly what touched me about it but I felt it draw me in, put a warm blanket around my shoulders, and nestle a steaming cup of tea in my hands. I didn’t feel alone.  I felt . . . comforted.  Music, as an art form, has that capability (one of the reasons I appreciate it so much). My friend sent me an email with a link to the lyrics as explained by the lead singer and pianist.  I didn’t care that the song was so popular it made it onto various countries’ billboard charts or what TV show used clips of it (even though it’s all true). It spoke to me where I was (where I am). In a place I’ve never been before.  Where, depending on the day, I question God’s existence.  Many before me have been here, many are here now, and many more will visit in the future.  I’m not sure of what my future holds.  It’s okay.  Even in this space, I’m banking that He hasn’t abandoned me.  That He still loves me perfectly (like no other can). That His silence is because, when He does speak again, I will not question that it’s Him.  I will be certain.