Last morning here. What a rich experience this has been. Not the retreat envisioned, but . . . that’s life and part of God’s gift.
Barbara’s usually the quiet one. I’m more effusive. But in this time of life her spirits seem to follow the arc of the sun—lower in the winter, brighter (much brighter!) in the summer, and as it happened we came to the Hermitages the day after summer solstice. Silence has not been as much of the experience as expected.
Is that disappointing? A little. Maybe like a novice anchorite whose east wall has a big hole. Seems a little silly to complain about the sun.
Instruction for Centering Prayer or mindfulness meditation usually gets around to the concept of emptiness as a place we ultimately discover in prayer and contemplation. Over time I’m coming to want to name the experience fullness rather than emptiness, though I think it’s basically part of the unity (like winter and summer solstice?). Both emptiness and fullness describe openness to More. More room for anything—for our bright or dark selves, for other selves, for the big ol’ kingdom of God.
We leave in few hours and will go to Boone to visit, one last time, Barbara’s grandmother’s house, which will be torn down one day soon. Barbara used to come here every other summer from El Paso as a child—a magical journey from the brown hot desert to the cool green mountains.
The windows are boarded up now and we’ll stop to buy a flashlight in order find our way from room to room, from downstairs to up and back. And Barbara will say goodbye.
And then we drive to Albemarle to a wedding. Room. Enough Room. Gracious God in you we find room. Amen.
