Trappist, Kentucky
Someone had placed a chair next to Thomas Merton’s grave, but I would have felt way too presumptuous to sit on it. (No, no, I didn’t want to talk to him. I just wanted to quickly come by and say thanks.) Also, I felt guilty only acknowledging the celebrated writer in a graveyard full of Trappist monks. Merton himself felt conflicted and embarrassed by his fame. He longed to transcend any craving for it.
Not so long ago, when I had zero money to my name, I bought a used copy of A Year with Thomas Merton: Daily Meditations from his Journals. The book became a talisman for me, a lifeline. I have begun many days reading snippets of his words to help me focus on the things that matter.
So, yes, I am grateful to Merton and to his spiritual genius, but for the reasons mentioned, I rushed through the cemetery as if through a duty free store at an airport. I did, however, manage to snap the above photo.
