“I will bless the Lord who gives me counsel,
who even at night directs my heart.” Psalm 16:7

Why, O Lord, is it so hard for me to keep my heart directed toward you? Why do the many little things I want to do, and the many people I know, keep crowding my mind, even during the hours that I am totally free to be with you and you alone? Why does my mind wander off in so many different directions and why does my heart desire the things that lead me astray? Are you not enough for me? Do I keep doubting or demanding your love and care, your mercy and grace? Do I keep wandering, in the center of my being, whether you will give me all I need if I just keep my eyes on you?

Lord, I make more demands on you than what you do to me. I have even learnt to impose my own timelines on you. How naked is my ambition and how slow am I to realize that!

Please accept my distractions, my fatigue, my irritations and faithless wanderings. You know me more deeply and fully than I know myself. You accept and love me with a greater love than I can ever hope to love myself. You even offer me more than I can desire. Look at me, see me in all my misery, neediness and inner confusion and let me sense your presence in the midst of turmoil. All I can do is to show myself to you. Yet, I am afraid to do so. I am afraid that you will reject me. But I know – with the knowledge of faith – that you desire to give me your love. The only thing you ask of me is not to hide from you, not to run away in despair, not to act as if you were a relentless judge.

Take my tired body, my confused mind and my restless soul into your arms and give me rest, simple quiet rest. Do I ask too much too soon? I should not worry about that. You will let me know.

Amen.

Adapted: Henri Nouwen’s A Cry for Mercy

I was running on the uni tracks today when i heard my 'title' being called from afar. It was a former pioneer whom i did not teach but recognised me nonetheless. Pshaw! The first thing that came to mind was a mild sense of surprise followed by weary acceptance. Looks like I still do not have the privacy i longed for, in spite travelling more than 4ooo miles away from home. I met the same student again later at night in town, when i went about getting cable and soil (what a combi!) for dvd connections at home as well as for potting. Deja vu indeed. Another tiring sigh. Still, I managed to retrieve a succulent bud beside Safeway and look forward to rehabilitating it with my green fingers, hopefully. Adrian and i scouted apartment trash like vagrants and found the pot i wanted. I went back to the city and collected the cold soil with my very bare hands, digging each pot as if they were shallow troughs of hidden gold. Be it jogging, digging or mere shopping or 'suppering', each activity was conducted under 12 degree temperatures. Coming home to a view of city lights from a 9th floor window. Sometimes drinking port aloft.

The cold adds a dash of thrill to everything. Not reckless but fun nonetheless. Like the pictures from orientation. 2 students dressed up in sumo suits trying to out-stump one another. Rubber-foam girls without the bikinis. Awesome like overweight aliens from Tatooine. The absence of rationality makes these actions and decisions memorable in a special way. Allowing litter to sprout existence from nowhere. Rubber suits into sports, only right conditions are needed. Choice and discovery. Exploring the backyard plus cautious calculations.

That's me trying to study in the Loft above graduate house. Well-equipped with microwaves, wash basins and wireless net. Just had my pre-packed lunch- my hibernating phase before the mental demon springs out to leap past city blocks, running tracks, upturned soil and flower. Surviving night chills once more...

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false and true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overheard
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

w. b. yeats

dedicated to fr. kevin o farell ocso for your fidelity to monastic life through the years. In everything you do, you have shown us the face of Christ...