I went on a retreat to a monastery perched high on a mountain above the Pacific, the steep slant of the hillocky land ending in the great pastel muddle of sky and sea. Some days it was impossible to find the horizon, the air and water had conspired so successfully to confuse themselves. The days began before dawn with lauds in the chapel. Every day was silent except for our mouthing the psalmist's ancient passions, his cries for mercy, his rebukes and terrors, his lyric tendernesses. Such moodiness at the heart of Western religion! ~ Patricia Hampl http://www.contemplation.com/