If only we would listen. God how we would hear the heart struggling to soar beyond the shackles of the mind. And otherwise-bound-for-infinity thoughts running bewildered in a cage of twenty-six symbols. And the bittersweet madness of silence chanting songs of penetration to the lonely wisdom of the word. If only we would listen. August 1973

    COMMENT:  [Part of a good-bye letter I wrote to a priest and friend when he transferred from the university I was attending at the time where he had been the Catholic chaplain. Written in utter frustration at my inability to find the words I wanted to say. In my frustration, I realized how often so much of what we try to communicate to one another is locked within our silence—existing, real, but not in words.

    I wanted my friend to reach through my silence and know the thoughts that were waiting there, imprisoned. But he, of course, could not.

    An exquisite priest he was. An elegant and good man. Long have I remembered his respect for human longing that would so energize those of us around him.  rt]

    Photo Credits Text: Talarico / Calligraphy: DuBosch / Photography: Bachhuber