Once I enter wilderness, I am more honest with myself. The lure is less what I can tally or photograph than what I can sense: the quiet, intangible qualities of desert, mountain and forest. Wilderness has been characterized as barren and unproductive; little can be grown in its sand and rock. But the crops of the wilderness have always been its spiritual values -- silence and solitude, a sense of awe and gratitude -- able to be harvested by any traveler who visits. Prayers in the wilderness were like streams in the desert for me -- something unanticipated and unchronicled welling up, and because of that surprise, appreciated all the more. Not until I actually left the wilderness was I conscious what had been the extent of my thirst.
"We must do the works of Martha, but in the spirit of Mary. Both of us would agree to that. "
"What is the spirit of Mary?" I asked.
"Silence. Interior silence – and exterior silence, too. Your culture cannot hear the voice of God because its ears are too full of noise. For lack of silence you are going mad. God made you with two ears and only one tongue, so that you could listen twice as much as you speak. Then, when words come out of the silence, they will have power. "