my place of resurrection

today is the first warm, humid day of summer this year in eureka springs, a kind of weather no one seems to have described so well as thomas merton in the sign of jonas, writing about fire watch on the fourth of july. it will be hotter, perhaps, on the fourth of july, but the muggy embrace of the pine-scented air will be the same.

i find today to be a special gift to me. for the second time, i have tried to leave this place, and found myself unable to do it. three years ago, when i first visited this land of limestone for what i thought would be a week's retreat, i could not force myself to the ticket office in fayetteville to buy a ticket back. now, after telling myself and my landlord and my friends that i was moving back to the pacific northwest, i find i cannot. i will visit. but for reasons which i do not understand but which i trust to be the compulsion of the spirit, this is where i will stay. and today i remember last summer in the cool fir-scented air of bellingham, missing the heat of the lime-stone hills while watching whatcom creek rush over georgeous sandstone.

early celtic christians sought out what they called the place of their resurrection: the place where they would be buried, and therefore where they would be resurrected. it seems i have found mine. now the task is to be faithful in the time before my burial.