Afraid of Mystery

Yesterday was a long day.  I arrived home after eight o'clock exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Katherine held me in her arms as I unwound and began to rest and recuperate.  We love each other.  We are bound together in terms of love, that we don't even understand.  We attempt to build a security of our own devices that is so fragile, weak, and vulnerable to the world's calamities.  Yet, we don't see that as a surrender to our own insecurities and dependencies, instead we see it as a strength, prudence, and realism.  Because we are afraid of mystery, Merton suggests that we rest our understanding on those things which are of our own making rather than confront the mystery of God's love.  Still, as many of Merton's entries make clear, this mystery is partly revealed to us in the smallest signs, the speckled yellow of a birds colors, the flash of their wings in sunlight, the intricate detail of the veins of a leaf.  Like the solitary monks of medieval days, St. Columcille comes to mind, perched on some rocky ledge above a thunderous grey surf and sky entertained by some wild visitor, nature provided a voice for the love of God in their lonely vigil.  Isn't all of our life a fragile perch on the ledge of Time?  In Katherine's blue eyes I find myself understood only by love.