The oak tree in full foliage praises the Creator, but in order to become the oak tree, the acorn has to open in the dark. Its roots have to reach deep into the earth as its branches stretch toward the light. There in the dark the shell has to crack. Only when I let go of my protective shell, when I find the crack makes me vulnerable, that opens me to the Other, only then will the night be radiant, only then will the dark be light... The spark is in everyone's soul: the spark of our Creator shining in the dark. This spark is ours to tend, to take care of until it flares into a brilliant flame, lit by God.
Each age has its own tasks. For most of us now, our monasteries have no walls except the silence our meditation gathers to the center of our lives, and this is enough—it is more than enough. Our hermitage is the act of living with attention in the midst of things; amid the rhythms of work and love, the bath with the child, the endlessly growing paperwork, the ever-present likelihood of war, the necessity for taking action to help the world. For us, a good spiritual life is permeable and robust. It faces things squarely knowing the smallest moments are all we have, and that even the smallest moment is full of happiness.