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Dom Thomas sat in an armchair and smiled his large eyes sparkled parlare con Dio come si fa per me he said I said I would try, smell of incense in the cloisters after mass as I walked to the library to help sort books, the tall thin monk shaved wood slivers off the block in a vice, I watched his hands grip the tool he said le travail de Dieu est tout bon travail, the work of God is all good work I mused later mowing the grass behind the church and the monks' cemetery sun above me shining, la luce del sole che splende su di me birds in the surrounding trees making song molehills among the graves, molehills entre las tumbas the Spanish monk said looking beside me in the cemetery he walked off shaking his tonsured head, pour moi la prière est une poussée du cœur St Therese wrote so I read in the book in the common room at the abbey, rain on the roof of the church as seen from the guest's room black and shiny as black leather, sans amour les actes même les plus brillants comptent comme rien Thérèse de Lisieux, acts done without love count as nothing I recalled Therese saying and my deeds seemed so then, bell tolled for Matins I walked down the creaky stairs to the door and Dom Matthew met and unlocked the church door and I gazed at the 5.30am church in utter silence and listened for God's breath in my ears to drive away bad thoughts and fears.
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
BAD THOUGHTS AND FEARS MCMLXVIII.
Dom Thomas sat in an armchair and smiled his large eyes sparkled parlare con Dio come si fa per me he said I said I would try, smell of incense in the cloisters after mass as I walked to the library to help sort books, the tall thin monk shaved wood slivers off the block in a vice, I watched his hands grip the tool he said le travail de Dieu est tout bon travail, the work of God is all good work I mused later mowing the grass behind the church and the monks' cemetery sun above me shining, la luce del sole che splende su di me birds in the surrounding trees making song molehills among the graves, molehills entre las tumbas the Spanish monk said looking beside me in the cemetery he walked off shaking his tonsured head, pour moi la prière est une poussée du cœur St Therese wrote so I read in the book in the common room at the abbey, rain on the roof of the church as seen from the guest's room black and shiny as black leather, sans amour les actes même les plus brillants comptent comme rien Thérèse de Lisieux, acts done without love count as nothing I recalled Therese saying and my deeds seemed so then, bell tolled for Matins I walked down the creaky stairs to the door and Dom Matthew met and unlocked the church door and I gazed at the 5.30am church in utter silence and listened for God's breath in my ears to drive away bad thoughts and fears.
A YOUNG MAN IN AN ABBEY IN 1968.
#youth#abbey#monks#1968
TerryCollett
Written by
TerryCollett
78/M
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
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