When Henry wove a rug, he wove from the depths of his spirit and from the fullness of his heart, and with the careful eye of a focused mind. Directly across from his upright loom, at eye level on the concave wall of the hut, Henry had lettered a small sign for his own inspiration: BY THEIR WORKS YE SHALL KNOW THEM. And more, it was a reminder that his remission from consumption, he believed, had come as a consequence of work with his hands. Work for him was the very stuff of salvation and healing. For that reason, whenever he should write or type or spell the word "work" for any reason, he would use an uppercase "W" as its beginning.
The entirety of the contemplative life is grounded in the love of God. Without that love there would be no prayer ... nothing at all. This love calls into being -- creates, quickens, gives life to -- all that is. This love binds together each one to the other, and in the end binds us to the Source of that love, draws us back into the One whom we never really left, draws us back into God. In that returning we discover that there never existed a division between us and that ... the whole of life is in truth one continuous mystical experience because it has always been suffused with God's love.
~ from THE SMELL OF INCENSE, THE SOUND OF SILENCE by John W. Groff
