Monday, December 3, 2012

A Cloister Walk



What is your grip over me, oh holy cloister?
Why do you pull at my heart?
With your long, stone corridors, 
weathered books 
and wooden chapel.
With your falling leaves,
ethereal silence,
and reigning peace.

You whisper to me,
"Come. Stay. Be."
And I, hyponotized, return once more.
A pilgrim.
A laborer.
A child of God.
Seeking solace,
seeking rest,
seeking the peace you help give.

For everything about your existence is geared towards the transcendent.
Your commitment: the search for the divine.
You profess a life where the groanings of the world come second 
to the singing of angelic choirs
and the whispers of God.
You were built for the encounter with the everlasting Thou.
And you were made to welcome the stranger,
becoming a channel,
a medium through which to find God.
To remove oneself from the world 
and to simultaneously know oneself apart from it.

And I come seeking.