Strange Abby

A strange Abby. Unusual, curious, bizarre, eccentric, unique. Quirky. That word the Abbess loves. The bright questing thought that imagined this strange space, and then bloomed it into reality. A place of learning, of contemplation, of retreat, a dwelling of silence and beauty, whose mellow old walls demand nothing from those who enter. Walls that do not require conformity, obedience or submission. Doors that open for all, giving rather than demanding. What an incredible concept the Imaginer imagined when she established this place, created for creation, imagined for imagination, dreamed for dreamers.

Through the old stone halls, like the rhythm of heart beats, prayers fill the still silent air. Prayers called many things: energy, thought, force, strength, image, vision. Prayers spoken in many names, in different languages, from all corners of the earth. Just as the Abby doors open, demanding nothing, the air accepts these prayers, whatever they are called, whether they are spoken, thought, or merely held in a heart.

I pray to the Goddess, through the flicker of fire. I dance in the darkness, beneath the blessing of trees. I ask gifts for one who constantly gives, strength for a soul who has had to be strong for too long. I ask for peace, I ask for time, I ask without shame for a miracle. I ask, knowing that I know nothing of the why or the when, or what will be. I ask with empty hands . . . hands the sky fills softly with rain.