‘She who reconciles the ill-matched threads of life, and weaves them gratefully into a single cloth –
it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall and clears it for a different celebration
where the one guest is you.
In the softness of the evening
it’s you she receives.
You are the partner of her loneliness,
the unspeaking center of her monologues.
With each disclosure you encompass more and she stretches beyond what limits her,
to hold you.’
1,17 The Book of a Monastic Life