I keep thinking how if I were a hermit-monk I wouldn't know a thing had changed not unless an angel came and told me: pray for night has fallen at midday-- if I lived alone atop a mountain, with only wind and stone and sky, everything would be the same. I wouldn't feel the weight of this sudden brotherhood of novices wouldn't hear them pacing in their cells at night, groaning and not sleeping. All my life I wanted silence, space. Now cries crowd my ears, suddenly my cave feels like a cage, I want to rush down into someone's arms suddenly I see that I am bleeding. All my life I thought if no one touched me I'd be safe; suddenly I don't believe it.
