St. Peter’s Abbey

To navigate is to know. There is no knowing beyond the bounds of what has been navigated. But there are shadings, outlines, possibilities.

I’ve been navigating the monastery for six years–four years as an Oblate. And this weekend I’m here at St. Peter’s Abbey for another "Oblate day."

Summer at St Peter’s Abbey

Here’s my overly romantic notion of the monastery:

For me St. Peter’s Abbey is a little ship. It slips in and out of ports, staying clear of the clutches of commodification. It usually only docks at night. And so its silent inconspicuous presence is only noticed by lovers that might be strolling the harbour or the moonlit shores.

Lovers are there because as lovers they have taken time to slow down their souls and seed their passion. They see the ship…still and berthed.

The little ship leaves just before dawn, long before the malls open. It is missed by most. There’s no memory of its stay on the surface of the salt water. It only lingers in the minds of the lovers who later that night will tell their friends in the café.

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