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.
In the luminous darkness through which we travel on our human journey, we are often lonely but never alone. Road-weary, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the difficulties we face during our brief days, we are tempted to despair or to settle for cheap optimism. But in the deep place of the spirit, we are moved and called forth to undertake this ongoing adventure by the yearning, restless, and creative One who -- though called by the ten thousand names of God -- is still clothed in marvelous silence.