It has to feel quite sad to know you are one of the last. Perhaps the value is not seen in it as it once was, and that carries a sting as well. There is also the feeling that this might be lost. I watched a tv show this summer on monks in Tibet, and their shrinking order. It is not in your hands.
This reminds me of a weekend I spent with a Trappist monk at his hermitage in south-central Missouri. He was keeping a lonely vigil: saying mass alone most days, working around the grounds of the retreat center he hosted. When he was with guests he was the perfect, cheerful host. When he was alone he was the perfect, cheerful hermit.
Oh I can see and hear him, tired monk, humming. Beautiful, Ollie.
ReplyDeleteIt is hard to be the last one sweeping, and even humming oftentimes cannot take away the exhaustion of it all!
ReplyDeleteIt has to feel quite sad to know you are one of the last.
ReplyDeletePerhaps the value is not seen in it as it once was,
and that carries a sting as well. There is also the feeling
that this might be lost. I watched a tv show this summer on
monks in Tibet, and their shrinking order. It is not
in your hands.
a lonely monk humming...nice...
ReplyDeleteThat's a beautifully painted picture..
ReplyDeleteThe tired monk all so lonely. Giving the final touches to his job! But still unperturbed being left to do it alone!
ReplyDeleteHank
I love the spinning dust and the soft songs. Poor lonesome monk!
ReplyDeletesomething so simple can bring such peace.
ReplyDeleteI think the detail I find most poignant is that this monk is one of the last. That says something of endurance, commitment but also sorrow.
ReplyDeleteSilence... in the absence there is their presence :-)
ReplyDeleteI always enjoy your writings.
ZQ
Such a profound piece :D
ReplyDeletePerhaps, there is silence and peace in being the last one singing in those inner chambers of the heart.
ReplyDeleteThere is a peaceful quality about a task like sweeping (for me it is weeding) as life is suspended and the air is still and we are just humming along.
ReplyDeleteDonna@LivingFromHappiness
The humming of the songs changes the feel of this somehow..the cells maybe empty and the halls lonesome but i wonder if he truly minds that?
ReplyDeleteLovely!
ReplyDeleteA quick scene with so much brought to mind in a few words.
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of a weekend I spent with a Trappist monk at his hermitage in south-central Missouri. He was keeping a lonely vigil: saying mass alone most days, working around the grounds of the retreat center he hosted. When he was with guests he was the perfect, cheerful host. When he was alone he was the perfect, cheerful hermit.
ReplyDeleteI love (and have missed) your comfortable soothing words. I have been away too long...
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]