Open unto me ... light for my darkness.
Open unto me ... courage for my fear.
Open unto me ... hope for my despair.
Open unto me ... peace for my turmoil.
Open unto me ... joy for my sorrow.
Open unto me ... strength for my weakness.
Open unto me ... wisdom for my confusion.
Open unto me ... forgiveness for my sins.
Open unto me ... tenderness for my toughness.
Open unto me ... love for my hates.
Open unto me ... Thy Self for my self.
Each age has its own tasks. For most of us now, our monasteries have no walls except the silence our meditation gathers to the center of our lives, and this is enough—it is more than enough. Our hermitage is the act of living with attention in the midst of things; amid the rhythms of work and love, the bath with the child, the endlessly growing paperwork, the ever-present likelihood of war, the necessity for taking action to help the world. For us, a good spiritual life is permeable and robust. It faces things squarely knowing the smallest moments are all we have, and that even the smallest moment is full of happiness.