Out here in the woods I can think of nothing except God
and it is not so much that I think of Him either. I am as aware
of Him as of the sun and the clouds and the blue sky and the
thin cedar trees. When I first came out here, I was asleep . . .
But I read a few lines from the Desert Fathers and then, after that,
my whole being was full of serenity and vigilance.
Who am I writing this for, anyway! It is a waste of time!
Enough to say that as long as I am out here I cannot think
of Camaldoli either; no question of being here and dreaming
of somewhere else. Engulfed in the simple and lucid actuality
which is the afternoon: I mean God’s afternoon, this sacramental
moment of time when the shadows will get longer and longer,
and one small bird sings quietly in the cedars, and one car
goes by in the remote distance and the oak leaves move in
~ Thomas Merton in When the Trees Say Nothing