To Be a Hermit

 

Growing up in a small farming town in Wisconsin, I felt most alive when I was outdoors, and I would sit for hours in the woods or on the shore of a nearby lake and feel that I was home. 

When I began reading the words of Thomas Merton fifty years ago, I tried to imagine what it would be like to live as a hermit. Would it be complete isolation, talking only to the wrens and squirrels, and the occasional bear walking by? Or would I be like Thoreau, and come into town now and then to visit people? And where would this hermit place be? A cabin in a forest keeps coming to mind. But what about living in the desert like Georgia O’Keeffe? Or in the highland mountains of Scotland like Nan Shepherd? What landscape could nurture me for the rest of my life?

I also wondered what it would be like to live in Merton’s hermitage that was near Gethsemani Monastery. Reading John Howard Griffin’s book of living in the hermitage while he worked on Merton’s biography gave me a sense of what this would be like.

My essay about this was published in the new Merton Seasonal. It’s called “In the Hermitage with John Howard Griffin.” I am grateful for the insights of Steve Cary and the assistance of Dr. Paul Pearson of the Thomas Merton Center.

(The photo is of the altar in Merton’s hermitage where he celebrated communion.)

In Merton's Hermitage with Griffin

 My essay in the spring issue of The Merton Seasonal is called “In the Hermitage with John Howard Griffin.” In reading about how Griffin felt living in Thomas Merton’s hermitage for months as he worked on Merton’s biography, I debated whether I would ever want to stay there, if given the chance, as well as if I would want to be a hermit somewhere else.

The Merton Seasonal comes out quarterly from the International Thomas Merton Society. Each issue focuses on exploring Thomas Merton's writings for today's world, and on reviewing new books that have come out about him. If you don’t have a yearly subscription to the Seasonal, you can buy this issue, as well as other earlier issues in stock, for $5 per issue, or 3 issues for $12, 5 issues for $18, postage is included to U.S. addresses.

 Checks made payable to “ITMS” should be sent to: Dr Paul M Pearson. Thomas Merton Center, Bellarmine University, 2001 Newburg Road, Louisville KY 40205

At Merton's Gethsemani Monastery

At Merton's Gethsemani Monastery

    Trappist, Kentucky

Pray for us, Thomas Merton,

who’ve come for consolation.

Pray for those who rise with the bell 

at 3 a.m. to touch the incorporeal, 

who enter heaven’s silence

and wonder if they’ve heard things right.

Pray for the farmer driving holy rolls 

of Cistercian hay to pay the bills.  

Pray for monks pouring good bourbon 

into fruitcake and fudge to sell.  

Pray for the cheesemakers 

filling molds with fresh milk.

Pray for those who study mysteries 

they can never clearly explain.

Pray for the comely lass at Vespers

who distracts from Gregorian chant.

And pray for me, 

a Protestant in Catholic’s clothing, 

who meditates under the ginkgo tree

where the Dalai Lama once sat,

who bows at the right time, 

kneels with the wrong knee, 

almost remembers to cross himself

when passing by the sacred Host. 

Pray for us—the confused and fakes, 

the spectacular failures and saints.  

Ratchet up our screw-loose hearts.

Orphans at your gate.

first published in Liturgical Credo

*

My essay "Tinkering with Grief in the Woods," about spending a week at Gethsemani Monastery while dealing with grief, was published by Literal Latte: https://www.literal-latte.com/2012/09/tinkering-with-grief-in-the-woods/

Easter Dawn

 

Easter Dawn

The air is cool and hesitant.

Stars twinkle out slowly 

as the black sky gives way 

to the promise of the hidden sun.

Feelings of longing, belief,

and hope fill my body 

and surge with unspeakable joy!

Expectant grays give way

to the pink, orange, and yellow of dawn

as the light of the young sun 

rises slowly over dark shadowed trees.

People gather as the sky deepens to blue.

The excited chatter and songs of the birds 

lift our hearts that rise 

with the steady strokes of wings,

rising towards the unknowable 

Presence.

Mark Liebenow

Listen

 In the morning, before you begin your activities, find a quiet place where you can listen to the day opening up. - Mark

Find a Bench

 

Find a bench where you can pause your busyness. - Mark

Simplify Your Life

            Simplify your life. Listen. Take care of others. - Mark

Prayer

        I don’t know how to pray. I only know to sit in a quiet place and listen.  - Mark

Heart Mountain Internment Camp

I stood by the remaining guard tower that watches over the dry, windy landscape in Wyoming. This was the site of the Heart Mountain Internment Camp during World War II. Ten thousand Americans lived here in 650 barracks. Little remains of the camp now, one of ten such camps where fear triumphed over humanity. In the distance was Heart Mountain, named by the Crow people because it looked like the heart of a bison.

The camps were set up in isolated and harsh regions of the country. Barracks were hastily assembled out of green wood and tarpaper. Not insulated, as the wood dried, gaps formed between the boards and dust constantly drifted in. In winter, when temperatures dropped to 20 degrees below zero, the inmates had to stuff newspaper and remnants of cloth into the cracks to block the cold.

Of Mountains and Bone

Turtle Island Quarterly

My nature poem “Of Mountains and Bone.” Inspired by Ansel Adams’ black and white photograph - “Tetons and the Snake River.” It’s the fourth poem down.

(The photo with this announcement is not of the Tetons, but it gives you a nature scene to look at. Do check out Adams’ stunning photo.)

www.fourdirectionpoetry.wixsite.com/turtleisland/12-3-1