For decades now and every day within them I have been singing the psalms—scores and scores of them, hours of each day. I sing them all—every one—and then start them all over again. I have become a long line of words, and arc of sound, a tone that tries to spin the dividing spaces that keep the world from what can save us.
I do not get across. I call from the far side. I stretch all my being into the narrow lines that say those right and only words, words that every day trace our fall and point the path of return. I crawl over every word. I grope my way over and around every syllable, each phrase.
JEREMY DRISCOLL, OSB A Monk’s Alphabet
