Morning Light

                                                           
    I'm writing this in a small guest bedroom in Weston, Vermont. Out the window daylight begins to light up the woods and hills, slowly and deliberately. The house I'm in belongs to a community of
Benedictine monks whose "foundation," as they call it, consists of some land, several buildings, some animals and twelve men gathered to...what? That's a good question. Their ancient rituals of prayer, song and work, their rhythms of talk and silence seem very far from the everyday bustle of of my life. If I didn't hope there was a connection I wouldn't have travelled up to Vermont from the East End of Long Island with nine friends to do a retreat.
    "Retreat" is an odd, but welcome word. Even odder to some people will be the word "spirituality." On my Kindle is the blessed Oxford American Dictionary which defines the root word "spiritual" this way: 1. Of, relating to or affecting the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things. 2. Of or relating to religion or religious belief. Those stuffy definitions don't do it for me. The OAD comes closer with a derivative phrase, "one's spiritual home," a place in which one feels "a profound sense of belonging." Now that seems more like it to me.
    Wherever and whenever and with whomever I feel at home, even if only for a moment, awakens a deep part of me -- call it my heart or spirit. Some things particularly do that for me: grandkids and kids in general; beautiful places like these woods or by water; kayaking on a bay with a fresh wind in my face; sitting reading next to my wife. Also listening to a great blues riff or rock anthem; walking with a friend; dancing; or just looking up at the night sky.
    This blog sets out to discover if there are kindred spirits out there whose own times of deepening, wonder and gratefulness may or (just as likely) may not have much to do with things religious. My hunch is that many of us humans find much in life that feels like home or helps us feel that we belong. Join me, if you care to, in a journey where we look, listen, feel, remember... and perhaps find that renewed sense of belonging on this earth and in this life.
    Up on the mountain a mile or so away, the morning light has brightened the landscape so I can see the dusting of snow last night's storm left. That's a reminder that winter begins early for this part of the world. The ancient lesson in that hard truth is that spring is getting ready to burst again despite the coming cold and much more snow as winter advances. Spring seems far away. But in earth time, that's an eye blink.