On silent retreat, dining halls are often set up with rows of seats and tables all facing out the window, and there was indeed a row like this on my recent retreat. Because we were on the western edge of the time zone the sun rose later than I was used to, and we often sat down to breakfast in the dark, even after more than an hour of lauds and morning mass.
The first morning when I sit down with my coffee it’s awkward because all I can see is my reflection. But as the light outside gradually changes, I’m less visible and the world outside comes into view: trees, brightening sky, a few cars passing. As the reflection fades, smaller details outside reveal themselves.
It takes forever and feels like it will never happen, but little by little I disappear. The bird feeders and emerging daffodils catch the light, and the world of wild, uncontrollable life is all I can see. I do my best to ignore the lingering traces of my silhouette, my glasses, my crooked ponytail.
For the next few weeks I’ll be sharing photos and reflections from a week of silent retreat at Gethsemani Abbey. Check back on Tuesdays for more or subscribe.
