Winter white on the moving water, reflected not only from the snow, but the trees, the day, the surrounding weeks - the world is bleached. My grandmother made everything clean. She ate wall paper paste when a refugee with two small children in tow, and everywhere was trampled snow. Later her hands always smelled of … Continue reading Sketch of a poem, written at Procter Center while looking out the chapel window at the lake

Maybe it was the sunlight on the turning trees that made me think of animism as I drove north to the Hermitage on Saturday.  I was remembering an old argument I'd had with some conservative catholic students over whether or not animals had souls.  Of course they have souls, I'd said, and I still believe … Continue reading My Week with God – Mysterious Divine Life Form