something in the air, y'all

today the episcopal church in the diocese of california practices what we're calling a "retreat in daily life." many of us have folded-up 8.5"x 11" pieces of paper with scripture readings, prayers, and reflection questions that we're carrying with us as we go about our day. the day is organized around the ancient monastic prctice of praying the hours; every few hours we stop at an appointed time to pray. my friends in the order of the holy cross say that praying the hours amounts to committing to a life of leisure--that is, one in which there is time for everything and everything has its time. the practice in monasteries is to pick up your pen--even in the middle of a word--when the bell rings for prayer, and leave the work unfinished. the practice is a powerful antedote to my own and our collective "one last thing syndrome." my sense is that those living this life, over time, encounter less unfinished work than the rest of us. or maybe they just don't let it get to them.

i already feel different today. i paused, after 10:00am but then i don't have monastery bells, to pray the office of Terce from my little sheeet. i made some notes with my ideas to send back to the diocese, then i sat down at my computer. my friend bob blogged this morning about world aids day today. then i read the newsletter of the buddhist peace fellowship, which was in my email inbox, and followed links to a beautiful interview with Alice Walker:

I like to say that as long as the earth can make a spring, spring time, I can do that also, because we are one. My solace and my comfort comes from being in nature. Every day I look out at peach trees and hills and water and sky. I just picked a lot of plums today. I can’t give up because nature has not, even in places that have been battered beyond recognition of what was there before.

but what was amazing was not that there are wise minds and great souls whose words i have access to from my kitchen table. what was--is--amazing is how much more they touched my heart today. i (we) have consecrated the day through my (our) prayer, and i can see and feel through all sorts of fences, walls, and barriers.