Entries from Day One of Last Summer's Greensprings Retreat

--There is a sugar pine behind the work shed, behind the trucks and rusting shuttle vans, behind the decaying mill house where the caretaker's son kept catalogs of women's lingerie. I carried a Mexican blanket, folded it beneath the cracked bark of the sugar pine and lay down. I lay down and read Nikos, his pilgrimage on Mt. Athos, his masculine yearning for God, for purpose, for a worthy adversary. I placed a soft, rotting log beneath my head and slept. I dreamt of a gash across my chest, three inches in length. In the dream I squeezed it and thick, paste-like, flesh came out. Dross. The dross around my heart.

--At the prayer I met Frank. We embraced in silence, old friend that he is.

--We were called to find a sacred moment and return to it. Many images came, but they fell away like tired relics. My soul did not want to travel further than last December--the family retreat in Carpenteria, the soft beach, the oil derricks, the sky bruised purple, soft as plums. I felt the pleasure of my family, happily warrened in our yellow tin condo. I sat in this memory, in this prayer, and felt the call to rest, to trust. It is the call from God, from reality, that never ceases: "Trust. Rest. Wait. Let life overtake you."

--I retreated to my car, the gluttonous Ford Explorer, forest green. I sat in it as I've seen homeless men sit in their cars--all their possessions spread across the back seat. I sat and ate my turkey sandwich: sourdough bread, cheddar cheese, the pickle surprise--it was as sacred as Christ's body. I sat waiting. Homeless.

--The chicken's are back. Beautiful. Grace would appreciate them. Her favorite book, Extraordinary Chickens. Grace appreciates the wonderfully absurd. There is one here, an Aztec King. Black and golden, it's headdress fanned in all directions.

--The teachers, my friends, are soft and precious. It takes some restraint to keep from barking profanities (though I know this too would be met with gentle appreciation). I wish for fewer words, less precision, less purple, more desert sand and rock. Stark. More stark.

--I napped in the Explorer and dreamed of Mt. Athos. The Grecian light. I want to see the light, the sunlight on the monasteries, the Greek sun on white walls. I want to drink coffee with black grounds stirring at the bottom. I want to see olive, laurel, and cypress trees backed by the Mediterranean blue.

--The mountain is cold today. Shrouded in clouds visiting from the ocean. All retreats should take place on the sea. The sea is as close as I can get to God incarnate. There is no sea here so God has sent the coastal fog, the grey clouds heavy with salt water. It is a blessing, given in response to our yearning.

--A few weeks ago I found myself crying in a dream. I had lost something, something dear to me. It was lost and could not be retrieved. I stood on a dirt road and wept. I awoke in the middle of the night and my chest, my chest was heavy with grief.