The Cell In the hushed confines of this stone cell, I sit, a solitary figure, the world beyond fading into a distant echo. Silence wraps around me, a heavy cloak, both comforting and daunting. Here, the weight of solitude presses down, each breath a prayer, each heartbeat a plea for the presence of the Divine, hidden in the stillness. The walls, bare and unyielding, hold the stories of those who came before, fingers tracing the worn surfaces, as if to conjure their spirits, their whispers merging with the sigh of the wind. In this sacred quiet, thoughts swirl like dust motes in the light, flickering memories of laughter, of sorrow, of life lived in the chaos, now stripped away, revealing the raw essence of yearning. I close my eyes, the darkness behind my lids a canvas for the soul's longing, a space where God's voice can break through, soft as a breeze, powerful as a storm. Time dissolves, minutes stretch into eternity, and in this sacred pause, I confront the shadows, the fears that linger, the doubts that claw at my spirit. Yet, in the solitude, there is a flicker of hope, like a candle's flame, persistent against the night, reminding me that even in absence, God's love is a constant, a silent companion on this journey. I seek not answers, but the gentle touch of grace, the quiet assurance that in this space, I am held, I am known, and I am loved. As the hours pass, the stillness transforms, becoming a sanctuary, a womb of faith, where the soul can unfurl, stretching towards the heavens, inviting the Divine to dwell within, to fill the silence with a sacred song. In this monastic cell, I find the heart of my seeking, the courage to embrace the unknown, and in the solitude, the promise that God is here, whispering through the silence, waiting to be discovered. Fr Grant Ciccone (c) 2024