On arising each morning, here and at home, I read a bit of Teresa of Avila fiercely urging surrender of all. Just a bit later, after dressing or brushing my teeth, I pause with O’Donohue’s “A Blessing of Beauty” and its delightful possibilities for living in this world. Most days, I can squeeze in twenty minutes of silence, a time for my thoughts to get out of the way. And there is the gratitude silently said most every time on first raising my fork. Yet, I forget all in the course of the day until, on readying for bed, it comes flooding back, the book on Teresa again in my hand.
What is the use? Why can I not remember during the day these desires and resolutions to live close to my soul?
Today my French was horrible at best. In the excitement of something to say, it
would come out all crazy and wrong.
Thankfully I had decided to pack my tattered French book; it is totally worth
the weight in my bag. I pulled it out and looked at the verbs, incredulous at what I had forgot.
What is the use? Why can I not remember during the day, the conjugations and vocabulary in French?
Again and again. Will it never stick? I searched for a
metaphor to capture the state of change made permanent. An appendectomy was the only one to be found. Well, also an amputation, but that’s not something to invite in one’s life. The rest seemed to require repetitious reminding: swimming laps, playing piano, saying “I love you” to the ones nearest your heart. At the Abbaye Sylvanes, the monks seemed to know about this. Each entrance is marked with three steps, a reminder oft used of the holy trinity.
What is the use? Why can we not remember during the day? Perhaps it is in the reminding that we are blessed.
