an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

. .


"If my trust is shaky, my love is shaky. My love is not deep enough." --on impossible situations, Father Joseph Mary


"Silence is spoken here." --signs on the walls at the priory


Saturday, January 27, 6:15 a.m. Silent Prayer Hour: cold, bitter cold, so cold my breath freezes into tiny ice crystals taken into the wind where the chill factor is negative 2 degrees in today's high. I walk in the dark with a flashlight to the chapel and find all shrouded in darkness but for the single red glass candle, the brothers' hoods in silhouette as they kneel in prayer, the shadow of the crucifix squared, formidable, against the soft red light. I kneel too and try to think of beauty and of every person close to me.

(--Suddenly, as I write, a black and yellow butterfly the size of my palm appears in the window flapping its wings against the glass in vain, now, at the close of January, in the coldest winter I've known--)


When I said I'm too cold to brush snow from the car and when you said I'll do it for you.






"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"

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