The following was written by a young fellow named Brian, doing
an exploratory retreat at Holy Hill Carmelite monastery in the west of
In the womb of my hermitage, God can form and shape me.
Here there are no mirrors. T.S.Eliot's line from "The Wasteland" keeps
coming to mind:
"You are nothing but a heap of broken images."
A fitting metaphor for the false self. I think a lot of my trouble is that I
Culture, family, friends, work, even community, these can all mirror my
without necessarily healing it. That's why I need solitude to let the divine
do his work through the language of silence. In this presence the broken
mirror of Adam
is replaced by the loving gaze of the Father holding me in the glory of the
as well as the darkness of Good Friday.