May 2009

The Relevance of the Rule of Carmel on Silence in a Noisy World
by
Susan Muto, Ph.D.

From the Primitive Rule of the Order of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel given by Saint Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem and corrected, amended, and confirmed by Pope Innocent IV in 1247, we read this passage “On Silence”:

 

The Apostle would have us keep silence, for in silence he tells us to work (cf. 2 Thessalonians, 3:12). As the Prophet also makes known to us: ‘Silence is the way to foster holiness’ (cf. Isaiah 32:17). Elsewhere he says, ‘Your strength will lie in silence and hope’ (cf. Isaiah 20:15).

For this reason I lay down that you are to keep silence from after Compline until after Prime the next day. At other times, although you need not keep silence so strictly, be careful not to indulge in a great deal of talk, for, as Scripture has it—and experience teaches us no less— ‘Sin will not be wanting where there is much talk’ (Proverbs 10:19), and ‘He who is careless in speech will come to harm’ (Proverbs 13:3); and elsewhere: ‘The use of many words brings harm to the speaker’s soul’ (cf. Sirach 20:8). And our Lord says in the Gospel: ‘Every rash word uttered will have to be accounted for on judgment day’ (Matthew 12:36).

Make a balance then, each of you, to weigh your words in; keep a tight rein on your mouths, lest you should stumble and fall in speech, and your fall be irreparable and prove mortal (cf. Sirach 28:29-30). Like the Prophet, watch your step lest your tongue give offense (cf. Psalm 38:2), and employ every care in keeping silent, which is the way to foster holiness (cf. Isaiah 32:17).

In the “Declarations” for updating of the “Primitive Constitutions” of the Order in accordance with the directives of Vatican Council II, we find in Number 70 this confirmation of Saint Albert’s original reflections:

We strive to keep silence and to respect the solitude in which our sisters work and pray. Consequently, whatever our activities or occupations may be, they must not take from this spirit of silence, so that our monasteries may be truly houses of prayer that speak to men of the living God present among us.

The silence enjoined by the Rule is to be faithfully observed from Compline to the end of Lauds the next morning.

In the midst of what we know by experience to be a noisy and, sad to say, a noise-polluted world, the question facing us today is: What does the Rule of Carmel have to say to us about the relevance of silence?

Work Quietly

Let us begin by reiterating what this rule of old declares to be foundational for any Christian sincerely seeking to deepen his or her faith. Saint Albert starts by citing 2 Thessalonians 3:12, which commands and exhorts us in the Lord Jesus to do our work quietly and to earn our own living. Quiet, steady work that avoids useless, idle chatter, such as gossip around the water cooler, is as important in a cloister as in a corporate office. From this opening passage of the rule “On Silence,” we derive insights that apply to life at any period of time. Working in silence produces positive, productive results.

What inspired the Teresian reform was the witness of the hermits on Mount Carmel, who grew in spiritual maturity through their love for solitude, silence, and contemplation. Their life in the thirteenth-century inspired Saint Teresa of Avila in the sixteenth century to emphasize the practice of solitude through a stricter observance of life in the enclosure where silence would be a facilitating condition for spiritual reading, meditation, prayer, and contemplation. It was the mystical backdrop for mundane but efficacious work dedicated to the glory of God. Silence is, in her view, as excellent an aid to contemplative prayer as it is to apostolic excellence.

Live a Life of Holiness


The second allusion to Holy Scripture made by Saint Albert is to Isaiah 32:17, which indicates that the effect of righteousness, understood as holiness of life, is peace along with quietness and trust in God. For Saint Albert this prophetic promise means that “silence is the way to foster holiness.” This ancient text again rings true today when we consider the Vatican Council II document, “Dogmatic Constitution on the Church” (Lumen Gentium, 1964). It states that “…all Christians in any state or walk of life are called to the fullness of Christian life and to the perfection of love, and by this holiness, a more human manner of life is fostered also in earthly society.” What better confirmation could there be of silence in the modern world than the connection made here between “Be still, and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:10) and the universal call to holiness?

When we explore somewhat further the link between silence and holiness, we begin to see that silence is not to be shunned as empty space; it is to be befriended as fertile ground for intimacy with God. Noise has the opposite effect. It tends to fragment us. Silence enables us to center ourselves in the Holy and from this holistic perspective to see all sides of a situation. Silence enables us to collect our thoughts and move toward clear-eyed decisions. It is not a luxury for monks on mountaintops but a survival measure in a noisy world.

In silence the scattered pieces of our life fall into place, and we see again where we are going. Silence puts us in touch not only with the human spirit in all its richness but also with the Holy Spirit. It opens us to the dimension of transcendence. We experience rest and peace. Stress and confusion, argument and anxiety, diminish in intensity. Silence becomes a sanctuary in which faith, hope, and love are restored. It readies us to listen to words that ring with eternal truth. Silence is almost like a psychic force that produces a heightened capacity for meditation, prayer, and contemplation.

The encounter between the soul and God ultimately transcends what language can contain. In many ways such intimacy is unspeakable. It is beyond words. In that silent center, where the Holy Spirit prays in our hearts, we transcend our bodily frailty as well as our functional limits. Neither seem to matter at such moments. Stilled, like a child on its mother’s lap, we are with God and God is with us. We are wordlessly present to one another, yet a world of communication transpires between us. Because language cramps this reality, we fall silent. Words signifying human mastery dissolve as we listen to God’s song. Tones we ordinarily miss due to life’s rush are heard in silence. During such gratuitous moments, we are in tune with a silent treasure, with God’s presence in the core of our being.

This deep silence may not feel like much on the emotional level. It is not meant to produce spiritual highs. It simply warms our heart. We know, without being able to prove why, that in the midst of the ups and downs of daily life we stand on the firm ground of God’s unchanging love. He assures us of this love not in flashes of lightning or furious thunder but in soft, gentle breezes (cf. 1 Kings 19:13). We wait upon God in these gifted moments as God waits upon us. We feel at one with the Mother of Christ, who silently listened to the angel and then gave her consent to bear God’s Word in the flesh.
Silence touches every sphere of our existence. It brings to our physical selves the grace of relaxation, to our minds the benefit of increased attention. It makes possible thoughtful speech and leads to more reflective action. Most of all it enables us to be centered in God. Its practical implications for formation are obvious, since it is a founding principle of the spiritual life.

Everyone needs silence: the teacher, the nurse, the social worker; the artist, the poet, the doctor; the lawyer, the housewife, the cabdriver. To neglect this need is to risk living a tense, fragmented, spiritless life. If we do not nourish our souls, they atrophy as does a body without food. To maintain any kind of Christlike presence in the world, we need to seek silence and its fruits in the practices of spiritual reading, meditation, prayer, and contemplation.

Words of power like those written by Saint Albert flow from a wellspring of silence. They ready us to listen to the wisdom found in scripture and in the writings of the spiritual masters, a wisdom that teaches us how to integrate daily life with divinely inspired revelations embedded in texts that contain lasting truths. A powerful example of such wisdom comes from the pen of Saint John of the Cross who wrote:

The very pure spirit does not bother about the regard of others or human respect, but communicates inwardly with God, alone and in solitude as to all forms, and with delightful tranquility, for the knowledge of God is received in divine silence (The Sayings of Light and Love, 28).

This saying may remind us of the end stages of the Lord’s life on earth. When he was questioned by his accusers, he chose not to answer them; his option to remain silent meant that he would not offer a defense for any of the charges brought against him. This tactic amazed everyone, especially Pontius Pilate (cf. Matthew 27:11-14).

Saint Teresa confirms the strength of soul shown by Jesus when she writes in Chapter 15:1 of The Way of Perfection: “Indeed, it calls for great humility to be silent at seeing oneself [as she saw herself before her inquisitors] condemned without fault. This is a wonderful way to imitate the Lord who took away all our faults.” She asks her sisters to take great care to observe this practice because “it brings with it great benefits.”

Monitor the Tongue



Returning to the “Primitive Rule,” we see prescribed by Saint Albert the duration of nightly silence, confirmed by the “Declarations” to last from Compline to the end of Lauds the next morning. For the rest of the time, Carmelites, he says, “need not keep silence so strictly,” but, by the same token, they must “be careful not to indulge in a great deal of talk,” especially that which resorts to vulgarity, loquacious gossip, and the danger of sinning with one’s tongue. As the Apostle James warns us: “How great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire! And the tongue is a fire…with it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing” (James 3:5-10).

The proverb (10:19) cited by Saint Albert, that “sin will not be wanting where there is much talk” inspired Saint Benedict of Nursia, who, in Chapter 6 of his Rule, counsels restraint of speech. He refers to Psalm 39:2-3 where the psalmist begs the Most High God for the grace never to sin with his tongue. Saint Benedict points as well to Proverbs 18:21, a text which confirms the Apostle James’ warning that “death and life are in the power of the tongue.”

We live in a world where all of us have been victims of “ double-speak”—someone saying something, for instance, in the religious and political realm, and meaning something else. In the media we also see multiple violations of the Rule of “restraint of speech.” Talking heads out-shout one another. Anyone with an opinion is held up as a purveyor of truth. People are plugged in to their cell phones and seem to need, for whatever reason, to talk all the time, to text one another, and to blast their private lives in public. Have we not drifted miles away from Thomas Merton’s conclusion in his book, Thoughts in Solitude, that silence is the mother of truth?

The other proverb cited by Saint Albert is 13:3, which issues a caution contemporary ears ought to hear: that carelessness in speech leads to great harm—not only for individuals but for one’s family and faith community and, by extension, for society as a whole. To say what we mean and mean what we say ought not to be a lost art, though, alas, all too often it is.

To prove this point Saint Albert stresses in the next citation from the Rule the words of Sirach 20:8 that “whoever talks too much is detested, and whoever pretends to authority is hated.” These are strong words, but it is not difficult to validate them. All we have to do is to read the headlines to see that people hate to be duped, to recall but one example, by corporate leaders who preach generosity but practice pure greed. The burden of proof always falls on the side of justice since, as the Rule states, citing Matthew 12:36: “Every rash word uttered will have to be accounted for on judgment day.”

Finally, Saint Albert offers a series of imperatives that ring true for any soul on the way to living a holier life. The truth of the Rule in this regard is like a sweet fragrance that seeps through the walls of Carmel and purifies the outside air. He says first that we must keep the right balance between silence and speech and, above all, “weigh [our] words.”

Support for this counsel can be found in another one of The Sayings of Light and Love by Saint John of the Cross. He observes in Number 109: “Wisdom enters [the soul] through love, silence, and mortification. It is great wisdom to know how to be silent and to look at neither the remarks, nor the deeds, nor the lives of others.”

Saint Albert’s second summary directive is to “keep a tight rein on [our] mouths, lest [we] should stumble and fall in speech.” He adds the dire warning that such a fall could be both irreparable and morally reprehensible. Words that mock, and worse still, abuse the weak; scathing, vengeful remarks that strip a person of dignity; proud words that make the poor feel forgotten by God; painful infliction on others of words that point out their faults—such examples may not be that obvious in a convent but subtle “digs” are always possible.

This observation leads to Saint Albert’s third imperative: “Watch your step lest your tongue give offense.” It is as if in one sentence the Saint summarizes the key to desert wisdom: keep vigilant and guard your heart. In the Sayings of the Desert Fathers there is this story told of Saint Anthony the Great:

Three Fathers used to go and visit blessed Anthony every year and two of them used to discuss their thoughts and the salvation of their souls with him, but the third always remained silent and did not ask him anything. After a long time, Abba Anthony said to him, ‘You often come here to see me, but you never ask me anything,’ and the other replied, ‘It is enough for me to see you, Father.’

Here we observe the transcendent power that resides in non-verbal communication between holy souls.

Saint Albert’s fourth and final directive applies to the people of God, who “employ every care in keeping silent, which is the way to foster holiness.” With this closing thought, the patriarch of Jerusalem comes full circle, ending this section of the Rule with the quote from Isaiah 32:17 with which he began and restating the universal call to holiness.

This plea for silence in a noisy world is an invitation all of us ought to accept. The reason why can be found in what is perhaps the most profound saying (Number 100) of Saint John of the Cross: “The Father spoke one Word, which was his Son, and this Word he speaks always in eternal silence, and in silence must it be heard by the soul.”

Meet Saint Athanasius of Alexandria (c. 296-373), a major figure in fourth century Christendom, a bishop, spiritual master, and theologian, who led the Church in its battle against the Arian heresy. His book on the life of St. Antony of Egypt describes the establishment of monastic life in the West. It is one of the foremost classics of Christian asceticism.

READING THE GOSPEL

[Antony] was left alone, after his parents’ death, with one quite young sister. He was about eighteen or even twenty years old, and he was responsible both for the home and his sister.

Six months had not passed since the death of his parents when, going to the Lord’s house as usual and gathering his thoughts, he considered while he walked how the apostles forsaking everything, followed the Savior, and how in Acts some sold what they possessed and took the proceeds and placed them at the feet of the apostles for distribution among those in need, and what great hope is stored up for such people in heaven. He went into the church pondering these things, and just then it happened that the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man, If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven (Mt. 19:21).It was as if by God’s design he held the saints in his recollection, and as if the passage were read on his account. Immediately Antony went out from the Lord’s house and gave to the townspeople the possessions he had from his forebears (three hundred fertile and very beautiful arourae [measures of land], so that they would not disturb him or his sister in the least. And selling all the rest that was portable, when he collected sufficient money, he donated it to the poor, keeping a few things for his sister.

Is there a passage from the Bible that complements this reading for you?


A word of prayer from Father Adrian van Kaam, C.S.Sp., Ph.D., (1920-2007) co-founder of the Epiphany Association.

You gently close
The window of this life,
You end its strife,
Bringing our ship
Into your port,
Displacing our worry
With your glory,
Dispelling what is base
By the glory of your face.
—The Tender Farewell of Jesus

Source Text: Athanasius, The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus in The Classics of Western Spirituality. Translated by Robert C. Gregg (New York: Paulist Press,1980), 31-32.

From Global Terrorism to Global Transformation
Reflections Inspired by Formative Spirituality

Adrian van Kaam, C.S.Sp., Ph.D. — (1920-2007)
with
Susan Muto, Ph.D.


The world population at large left the trials and tribulations of World Wars I and II with the post-war hope and conviction that we might be spared another conflagration. In spite of intermittent conflicts, like those in Korea and Vietnam, the “Cold War” gave us reason to believe that worldwide peace might be possible. During the post-war periods, Fascism, Nazism, and Communism formed in great measure the mindset of the twentieth century. After the Second World War, these “isms” were defeated as political entities but, sad to say, they revived as ideological models. Now, reborn in terrorism, their aim is to repress life-giving hope and freedom, to discourage personal unfolding in uniqueness, and to destroy respect between believers of different communities of faith.

These life-denying ideologies threaten every one of our Judeo-Christian truths and breed a new terrorism of spirit, heart, mind, and will. This hidden terrorism promotes nothing but mutual misunderstanding, often escalated by a partisan education of the young. The subtle undermining of respect, trust, and love becomes the rule rather than the exception. It saps the power of resistance of men and women to the threats of a hidden, to say nothing of an overt, terrorism. Complacency replaces conviction. Fear overrides the quest for responsible freedom.

This worldwide terrorism of the spirit spawns the violence we witnessed in such horrific proportions on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, in New York City, Washington, D.C., and rural Pennsylvania, not far from Pittsburgh. It will interest and inspire all of you to know that at approximately the same hour when this day of infamy occurred, the bricklayers inserted the 2001 cornerstone on the front pillar of the Epiphany Academy of Formative Spirituality at 820 Crane Avenue in Pittsburgh, thereby dedicating the entire building and the beautiful field on which it sets to the Prince of Peace.

Epiphany means, among other things, “to let the light of divine and human wisdom permeate every iota of life.” This was the name first chosen by a small circle of dedicated Christians in the Netherlands many years ago. They came together because they had to hide from the Nazi occupying forces who hunted freedom-loving people like prey. All of their tactics escalated to vicious proficiency during the last years of the War, culminating in the Hunger Winter of 1944-1945.

This little circle of light was surrounded by cruel hunger and the constant threat of deportation. People were terrified at times to venture into the streets during daylight hours. These first Epiphany participants tried to ascertain the meaning of their sufferings. They belonged to a number of different faith groupings. They had to admit that their hearts were contaminated from childhood by caricatures of one another’s beliefs. For the first time they became aware of how others really lived and of how they applied their religion to everyday events in the midst of a battered and betrayed world.

Slowly, by means of respectful listening, the focus of our conversations and thoughts changed from subtle, uninformed discrimination into transformative appreciation. This change did not entail adopting the doctrinal faith tenets of others. Rather it inspired a genuine feeling of gratitude for the way in which we, as human persons, were to apply our faith convictions and the teachings of our holy books to our personal and communal presence to one another and to the distressed society into which we had been cast together by no choice of our own.

This experience of mutual concern for one another took the place of previously held, thoughtless approaches to proselytizing. It bred in our hearts a new sensitivity for the sincere intentions of other believers. All fanatical tinges were purged out of this first Epiphany circle by the shared experiences of a war torn people.

At the end of the war, when we could leave our hiding places, we entered once again the wider society of Western Europe with its religious prejudices and faith-based ideologies. How shocked we were when we were confronted again with the same tiresome misunderstandings that we had tried so hard to overcome with God’s grace when we were hiding from persecution. We learned unfortunately that history does repeat itself. As a result, we reaffirmed our pledge to plant the seeds of this original Epiphany foundation in the Netherlands in whatever fertile fields God would allow.

In cooperation with the newly established post-war Life Schools for Young Adults in Holland, this war experience gave rise to an anthropology of transformation whose aim was first and foremost to alter, under the guidance of God, the prejudices that dominated the everyday application of one’s doctrinal faith tenets to daily life.

Similar concerns defined the thought of Karol Woytila, later Pope John Paul II, in Poland; of the Ten Boom family in the Netherlands, known so well from Corrie’s book, The Hiding Place; of Etty Hillesum, who wrote the contemporary classic, An Interrupted Life; of psychiatrist, Viktor Frankl, survivor of the death camps; of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who died like the true believer he was.

All of us, in our own way, were opponents of the increasing pollution of the minds and hearts of whole populations by the principles of life espoused by Nazism and Communism. We rejected any conception of the human person as merely an instrument of state, company, or party control. Collectivism in all its forms was profoundly opposed to the notion of pursuing in wise and reasonable freedom one’s unique-communal life call from God.

Monsignor Giovanni Baptista Montini of the Vatican Secretariat of State, later Pope Paul VI, sent his Dutch representative to the provincial superior of the Spiritans with the request that Father Adrian be freed to pursue his work of teaching and writing in the fields of spiritual formation, reformation, and transformation. Montini told the initiator of the Life Schools, Ms. Maria Schouwenaars, that he wanted Father to exemplify at the university level a way to reach, not only the materially but also the spiritually abandoned of this world. The place chosen for the first phase of this work was the school operated by the Spiritans of the Eastern Province of the United States, Duquesne University in Pittsburgh.

Despite all of the forewarnings of history, many people still scoffed at the idea that a subtle terrorism of the human spirit was obscuring the values that had inspired former generations. A blind satisfaction with “things as they are” weakened the watchfulness for signs of overt terrorism around the globe. These flare-ups with all their dreadful consequences ought to have awakened us to the dangers of such complacency, but for some reason we in the United States missed them. No one is to blame.

When the spirit of freedom is terrorized without our even knowing it, when we lose our vigilant sense of the Sacred, when awe is replaced by arrogance, anything can happen.

We thank God that our present-day Epiphany Association, co-founded in 1979, and celebrating in 2009 its 30th year of existence, continues to oversee the research, publication, and dissemination of a coherent system of insights and findings that can help us to face the waning, if not the collapse, of distinctively human, transcendent cultures in many populations of the world. Whereas classical faith traditions like Judaism, Islam, and Christianity ought to have permeated their formation traditions, instead terroristic, blindly prejudiced formation traditions usurped the place of these faith traditions and reduced their valuation of human life to the rubble found in places like Palestine, Afghanistan, and until recently, Northern Ireland.

The complacency that led to the paralysis of our hope for world peace was broken wide open by the overt acts of terrorism that led to the destruction of the World Trade Center in New York City, the damage to the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and the loss of life on the plane downed near Pittsburgh. Everyone on the planet witnessed in person or through the media, the gruesome slaughter of thousands of innocent people and who knows how many unnamed heroes.

Precisely at this moment of seeming defeat, Holy Providence enabled Epiphany to welcome hundreds of believers and sincere seekers to its Academy of Formative Spirituality. We now have an international headquarters worthy of this work of the Lord of which all of us are humble servants. This Academy, with its affiliate and satellite centers, in Indianapolis and Ireland is ready to assist people of good will everywhere to reach their ideal to give a new spiritual form to the life we are pledged to rebuild. The collapse of the Twin Towers need not mean the collapse of civilization as we know it, but much work awaits us. Ours must be a concerted effort, a hand-to-hand pledge, to walk together toward a transformed world dedicated to the pursuit of human dignity.

We firmly believe that the Epiphany Association will continue to be used by the Divine Mystery as a counter force to all forms of terrorism––subtle or overt––that threaten the radiant power of goodness, truth, and beauty and its cultural and religious expressions. Providentially, our Academy came into existence at the very moment that terrorism was unmasked as the destructive, covert, and cowardly force it is. This outrageous attempt to deconstruct everything in which we believe has been an invitation to reconstruct the basis of that belief: our surrender to a Power greater than we are, to a Love that embodied itself on the Cross and gave us a new lease on life.

For this and many other reasons we see the Academy as a point of light in the darkness of sin and pure evil. It is and will be a place of refuge, reflection and peace, standing in stark contrast to the paltry and passing rages of terrorism.

To all the victims and volunteers in New York, Washington, D.C., and Pennsylvania, to every wounded family and company, to every firefighter, police officer, soldier, and citizen, we say: You may not know Epiphany but Epiphany knows you. We share your pain, and we promise to help you to find its meaning. There is no suffering, however horrendous, that does not breed new hope, no sorrow without some joy, no defeat without a corresponding victory. Such is the essence of our faith in the Paschal Mystery, in the dying and rising of Jesus Christ, Our Lord. We pledge, therefore, that the Academy and its worldwide affiliations will make every effort, as grace allows, to move the world from global terrorism to global transformation.



The Epiphany Method to Quit Smoking
by
Doctor Susan Muto


Everything nicotine addiction touches it destroys, starting with the addicted person’s health. Nuts to nicotine.
Persevere in the commitment to quit. Be willing and ready to do so now. Put smoking money in a piggy bank for charity of choice
Instill in your heart the intention to feel better physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Insight sustains your good intentions.
Put positive energy to work versus the negative energy of addiction. Place appreciation of the new “you” before the lure of the old “you.”
Have a reasonable goal for quitting in mind: weaning away or stamping out the smoke now. Happiness equals freedom from this addiction.
Awaken to what led to the addiction in the first place and move in a better direction. Appreciate the power given to you by the Mystery to change.
Never go backward once you taste the freedom of going forward. Take as your motto: nuts to nicotine and when you want a cigarette eat a nut instead.
You are worth a long and healthy life with restored lung and heart function. You do not need to be addicted to nicotine. You can control it; it has no power to control you.

Finally, pray for healing: “Lord, this addiction has me trapped like a bird in a cage. Set me free. Help me to let go of the demon of nicotine. Teach me to love myself as much as you love me. Amen.

Evensong Meditation

Love that is a quiet evening sky,
warmth and light touching
each moment with eternity;

a distant birdsong,
its source unseen, but known
by the beauty of its pattern.

Your call, O Lord, is ever before me:
This day fills with the sound of your invitation,
At times powerfully, at times softly,
As your will is expressed anew
In every moment, every person, every task
That touches my life, weaving together each melody –
point and counterpoint –
Single parts of the greater work your love is creating.
Open my heart, dear Master,
To welcome this blessing as it unfolds,
Seeing the pattern of formation reflected
In each hour eternally enlightened.

Love that is a breeze at dusk,
silent,
yet caressing to a gentle life;

a deepening afterglow
transforming all
into shadow and darkness.

Your grace gently flows in and through me:
May I turn my face to you,
Quieting my all-too-busy life, tongue, thoughts,
Darkening distraction and dissonance,
The wandering of my heart,
The clamor of my intrusive self;
That I might become a reservoir overflowing
With the living water of your love,
Blessing those burdened as I have been.
A peaceful presence
of compassion in suffering,
of encouragement in adversity,
of understanding in confusion.
My eyes, your vision.
My feet, your way.
My hands, your touch.
Love that is a nocturnal flower,
fragrance reaching out
to every passing thing;
a sheltering nest
encircling its fragile occupants
through the night.

You, O Lord, know my way when I do not.
Your gentle strength, in open or in secret,
Surrounds me at every moment,
Rejoicing in my every faltering step,
Never abandoning.

I am yours.

In this world –
violent, careless, selfish, fragmented,
hopeless, shallow, aimless, illusory;
You draw me to your
grace, wisdom, joy, wholeness,
gentleness, consonance, hope;
Draw me to yourself,
Desire of my heart,
Embracing me in infinite love.

Love that is without beginning, without end;
the beginning and end of this
and all days,
Keep us in peace.

Reverend Steve Geitgey
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The Outer Banks
by
Victor Anthony Muto*

Everyone has a favorite place to get away to, a place where the everyday hum of petrol-chugging busses and the occasional wail of a hurried police cruiser are unrecognized by the natives, a place where the heat is clean, and it almost leaves the stinging flavor of salt on the tip of your tongue. For myself, that place is the paradise called the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

Unlike the never-ceasing, automated sounds of the smog-breathing city, the Outer Banks is a place that I can go and forget—forget about work, forget about the deadlines and unceasing bills, and over all else, forget about my repetitive lifestyle. In my opinion, not to have a neutral point such as this is yourself in the unstoppable assembly line of life. Every few months I have to get away. Delaying my urge makes me feel like a tea kettle, boiling and searing. Although unheard by anyone, it is ready to overflow and scorch anything within distance.

Arrival at the Outer Banks is, for myself, like crossing the finely drawn line of responsibility to complete Utopia. Once across the bridge, you can almost feel your worries fly away, not unlike the seagulls that are in ample supply here. A new sense of peace engulfs you. It is almost as if it is the last week of your life, and although it is inevitable that it will all be over soon, you feel the obligation to feel truly at peace with yourself and the world around you.

I have often come to wonder what this unnatural force is. To instill the feelings that it does, it must be something truly great. Is it the taste of the air? Thick and musty with a salty flavor, or is it the incessant song of the waves, composed by the musician that is the shifting sea. Whatever it may be, it is an integral part in the survival of my sanity. There is always that empty space in me that needs filled by this force, and without it, I am like a hamster on a wheel, caged, yet still running for an unseen reward.

Everything seems so unnecessary while there. The overlapping jobs and school, washing the car, feeding the pets, everything. It’s life at its simplest and best form, pure relaxation. I can sit on the beach and whisk away to anywhere I want to go. It’s like going to one place and yet a thousand places. And unlike the other beaches on the East Coast, the Outer Banks is secluded. At any other beach, it is like leaving your city and going to a city with a beach. The Outer Banks isn’t like that. You can be on the beach and not see another person for miles. I have often mistaken an old pier post on the horizon for some unwanted company.

And just as the tide returns to the ocean, I return to my life. Although distraught at my arrival back at home, it is like a new beginning. I’ve been given another chance to work toward my goal of returning at last to the salty waters and aquamarine skies of the Outer Banks.

*Doctor Susan Muto’s nephew, who died in his twenty-sixth year on April 2, 2005.

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