Dreams & Visions

Over the last six months I have accepted that the dream is over. I am certain that whatever is left of the Family where it is needed is not enough to reform the curriculum the way it should be reformed. Yet there is time still for prayer, and perhaps not the tissue-paper and fluff of dreams, but the cool glass and steel of vision.

So I go back to the chapel of the heart, that "hidden room in Man's house where God sits all the year / the secret window whence the world looks small and very dear." In the darkest night, I see light through that window. And I can smell the wind of change. The leaves are rustling, the figs are falling. We may not be "that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven", but we are agents of a greater strength.