OF YOU MY HEART HAS SPOKEN

"May it be the space and the time for a wonderful human and spiritual adventure and a deep encounter with the One who called you there. And enjoy the ice creams!"  This is the wish sent to me by a friend to mark my arrival in Rome. It is already a human adventure that comes upon me like an avalanche, after months of relative inaction and tranquility at home. Now it is somewhat frenetic, as you might expect in this particular vibrant city. And the beautiful weather is hot at 25 degrees compared to home. Draining when havent been used to it.  Early Sunday morning I climbed the 120 or so steps to the main kitchen and sat quietly a while with my coffee in the lovely salone (sitting room), relishing the silence of a city not yet in gear. More silent this day because all the roads are closed for the marathon.  The 120 steps of the stairs to the kitchen show how vast the house is and there is a shorter route but I didn't have the required keys. I have them now! I joined Rory for...

  The days are overtaking us and departure beckons again. Moving on, not remaining in one place is the pilgrim journey. Spirit of the Camino. There are strong emotions stirring for all sorts of reasons and there is also a quiet peace in me. This morning I brought the car back to the community in Dundrum, stopping at the service area near Athlone to use the vacuum cleaner. The token I was given wouldn't fit into the slot so I went back into the shop where the young girl behind the counter looked perplexed, as if she didn't know what to do. But that was just momentary. Maybe she had been daydreaming. She came out to the machine with me and, to my vain relief, she couldn't fit the token either. Then she kicked into a knowing, efficient action, opening the padlock and unbolting the machine as if it was a gun. Got the machine going. A clean car again. It was good to sit around the table with the community for lunch, to sit a while in the tranquil chapel of Pallotti House. A ...

The college campus is at its best this October morning. We walk slowly, creating a precious memory, stopping for coffee at Butler’s van. “Enjoy every coffee” she says, “and eat everything you can.” John O’Brien said something similar to me a few years back and I try to follow such advice, to find a balance between watching what I eat and simply enjoying my food. It’s my opinion that there is too much caution around food, an obsession with it in this “first world of ours” while throughout the earth there are people who cannot choose what they eat and, worse still those who have nothing to eat at all. Claire, who is very health-conscious, said recently that if you eat your food with love, then no matter what it is, it will be good for you. Within reason, of course. That is something I agree with. The hunger of the hungry challenges me to cherish the food that I eat, whatever it may be, faithful as I can be to the instruction of Jesus who said, "eat what is set before you." ...

There's an unstirred stillness about fog. Silence of a Sunday morning, the sun attempting to break through, promising something, delivering nothing. The beautifully haunting cello of Spiegel im Spiegel is the only sound to enter into the day, reminding me of my friend Fr Míceal. We used to listen to it together in the car. It's in the car now that it spontaneously pops up on my playlist.  A high tide blubbers in the chambers of my soul, like the swell of the sea in the crevices of rocks at Ballyloughán. An echo of emptiness in the falling night. A young man on a bench is doing something I've only ever seen in Argentina. He's pouring hot water from a thermos into a gourd cup with a steel straw. I nod at him and say, "Mate" - pronounced mathé, a kind of tea made with bitter herbs. His face breaks into a big smile, delighted at the recognition. A man alone and far from home. We are briefly connected in that moment. Briefly, and perhaps forever. Aloneness hovers a...

Imprisoned fire Of a kiln Burns within My bones Rages within My heart I just don't know What to do To hope Or not to hope To trust Or not to trust To speak Or not to speak To reach out Or not to reach out To be restrained Or To burst forth A bellowing flame And wail and wail Like an animal in travail Writhing in the horror That has befallen From the blueness Of a Summer's Fading day Do I bellow Or do I remain Silent?  

Waves break black And fretful Upon the Stony shore A jagged breeze Beats upon my brow This first September Night of shadowed walkers There is trouble in the air Challenges on every side And still the Curlew Sings above it all Reminding us of songs Yet to be sung Melodies to be heard And hope of healing Held