A stillness descended upon the room, and in the heart of that stillness was something beyond the power of mere language to describe. I felt we were being given a glimpse of the underlying unity of all things, and that this harmony -- though no metaphor was adequate to describe that singing silence -- was enfolding us so that we were wholly in tune not only with one another, but with a healing presence at the very centre of our being.

The moment passed, but I thought of the disciples on the road to Emmaus and how they had recognized the stranger in the breaking of the bread.

Memo to God: I've been demanding and demanding things from You, often quite rudely, in fact often very rudely, like an ill-bred spoilt child, but I think prayer must have made me better mannered or perhaps it's helped me grow up a little and now I should like to say politely: "thank you very much" -- not just for staying with me no matter how unpleasant I was, but for actually moving closer and surrounding me with people who care.

I found myself wondering how far she could ultimately journey in her art if she remained self-centered and not God-centered. To be centered entirely on the self is inevitably to be limited in one's range; to be centered on God, aligning one's own self with the power of the Creator is to be open to the spiritual range of all humanity, to be in touch with the eternal, not merely the ephemeral. She was a fine artist, but with her narrowed vision she risked failing to reach her full potential -- or was she, in her preoccupation with beauty and truth, not so far from being God-centered as I in my arrogance supposed?