Am going to live with the monks, soon.

Just for a bit, you understand. I have not decided to become a buddhist monastic afterall. But I am taking the tail end of my wee vacation to spend time in three days of complete silence (other than saying mass, during which actually I don’t say much, come to think of it) with those lovey trappists fellows who live just south of me in the Genesee Valley.

I’ve got my Message translation of the bible, my tiny BCP, a new Thich Nhat Hanh, two new Pema Chodrons, a brand new journal, a zafu and my home communion set. Add some soap and underwear and I’ll be good to go.

Now, the real feat for me will not be keeping silence. It will not be getting up early (tho, the monks get up at 2am – I’m not all about that, I don’t think). It will not be all that prayer, meditation, or introspection.

It will be: not writing fic.

Eeek. I mean, I am in the middle of three seperate stories, two slightly similar, one really not. Plus, the original story I’m “working” on – if you can call never writing and really thinking of, working.

Eeek. I better just write like the dickens tomorrow, then, huh? Back to Spinner’s End for me. I can’t wait until Sev finds out that his house has been painted a lovely shade of Lavender. But I have a feeling that a lot is going to happen before he realises this…