Monk

Feeling and living more like a monk these days, which is what I am anyway -- a solitary living in society. My struggle has always been to live in accord with The One Who Breathes Me And Births Me while tending to daily busy-ness. 

Two things have pushed me more out of the societal wrang dangle into this hermitage existence: the plague; my physical condition. With the first, I am on the "endangered species" list (age and surgery) so am supposed to avoid encounter. With the second, I cannot walk far without considerable pain. These are just statements of fact. Neither is my focus here.

Got shocked out of my gourd a few moments ago. In reading a biography of Thomas Merton (a monk who wrote "Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander" among other works), I found that he thought he was old when he was in his early 50's, not long before his accidental death. And here I am, 82! Why, that young whippersnapper!

I am enjoying my monkhood, arising in the predawn, drinking a cup of coffee while reading whatever calls to me -- mostly Bible passages but often excerpts from other scriptures of the world. After daylight comes, I go outside, sit under the crabapple tree and enjoy the singing of the birds, the soft morning breeze, the first rays of the sun.