Wondering #54

At certain times I become very --let`s say pensive about humanity, about us as human beings. I  think it is a trait of man-all the little that I have read about the great as well as the not so great people--though we are all the same--they all  in life have always had to wrestle with the exact same questions.  Why?--and What is it for?

Often I can justify it, and most often I cannot--especially when I am in this mode of wondering. Most times it makes sense, at times, like now not at all. Maybe it depends on the weather, or the barometric pressure or which side one gets out of bed. But--whatever the reason it is never the same from day to day.  Not just for me--for all of humanity.

Mostly--as I said yesterday, I love my life, but even then it is rather questionable. I think I would make a wonderful  hermit--well I have doubts if there are women hermits--but being totally alone and secluded sounds very enticing. Maybe "cloistered" is the word--however, not having a "mother superior" above me, for she would aggravate the hell out of me--but just being totally alone. Would it drive me insane?--No, I don`t think so as I do love my own company--always did. I am not really a people person, though I do radiate that I am. An utter misconception.

I was on a retreat in my school days but once, we were there for 5 days--I adored the experience--so often I think and long for those few days. They were Franciscans--that is where I learnt the prayer of Francis--since then I have been saying it every night. How old was I-- 15. I remember every moment with such intense love and pleasure. The peace, solitude the tranquillity, the quietness--the dawn Mass,  the sound of silence, I still hear the humming of the bees in the garden, the flowers and the closeness to God. Strange--so many decades have passed and it still lives so strongly within my heart.

These days--maybe as I said in an other entry, it is a sign of getting old--but I seem to revisit the places, times and events that had an impact on me, that touched my heart--I wish I were a poet, or a writer--I could express all in a more beautiful way.

Nostalgia is not that great--I wish I could be like one of those people who just live from day to day--and leave the past immediately behind. How nice that sounds. No re-visiting  that stirs the heart, no remembering that  inflames the spirit and no thoughts that pain the soul. To have a stone where one `s heart is at times would be  a gift,  at times. Remembering is a blessing and more often a curse--as well as solitude, for it is not always filled with thoughts of God. I am sure for not even the saints--but memories.

But St Francis is always close as he was as when I was a child--the church next to my convent --was the Church of St.Francis if Assisi--where stopped to pray every morning before school, and after school. I would love to stop  in and say hello to God.