When the Hallelujahs are Fading.
A (Mid)weekly Blessing on Rain, Roots, and Innering—with some help from Meister Eckhart
Welcome, dear new reader. This is Cloister Notes, an independent letter for dancing monks and weary pilgrims and all kindred souls longing for a deeper way. I’m Almut—a German-American writer, recovering academic, and mama of a spirited five-year-old—seeking to live a contemplative life in a noisy world. Here at this cloistered space, we retreat inward to seek solitude and communion, wisdom and courage. Today’s (mid)weekly blessing invites you to ponder how innering and acting belong together.
Dear fellow pilgrim,
The rain has been falling for two days now.
Washing the world into grey and green.
It feels as if the earth is weeping and waking at once—
as if something deep is being asked of us, again.
Mother’s Day has passed, the celebrations have faded,
as have the Easter trumpets.
I think we do Mother’s Day all wrong.
We celebrate, post pictures, buy flowers.
But we leave no room for the ache—
for the missing mothers,
for the children who never arrived,
for the silent stories we carry like seeds half-sprouted.
We rush through the rejoicing.
Just as we rushed through Easter.
As if rebirth could happen in a single day.
But spring does not come like that.
It takes time, moving through sorrow and softness.
My garden reminds me.
Everything unfolds at its own pace.
And so must we.
You may know that this month we’ve been writing about the spirituality of gardening — as monastic practice, as remembrance, as “sacred rebellion,” and as a quiet act of Viriditas,
the green force of divine life that Hildegard of Bingen spoke of.
Today, I return to another gardener of the soul: MEISTER ECKHART, the German mystic of the inner path.
Eckhart once wrote:
“In us there is another human;
it is the inner human.
The one the holy text calls the new human,
a young human,
a friend and a noble being.”(my translation from BgT 76-140)1
But isn’t it selfish to tend one’s inner human when the world falls into chaos, I find myself asking. Can I even write about this?
Then, I am reminded: The journey towards the inner person is also a political journey!
Befriending one’s inner person is a political act, dear friend, it is building the heart from which humility, morality, and courage spring.
The outward person sees greatness in great achievements, in success, most often measured in numbers or money. The inward person measures greatness in stillness and compassion.
Gathering virtues is different from gathering things. A heart of gold is different from sitting on golden chairs. Our soul’s energy is too often vulnerable to promises of better, bigger, greater, and of course, faster. But we forget then about the way inside: deeper, wiser, purer, slower.
The mysticism of Meister Eckhart calls us to go into ourselves, to meet the Divine waiting there—like a young friend with a pure heart.
It stands in stark contrast to the obscure promise of the “kingdom of God” delivered as external greatness— ever more thirsty.
Instead, like many wise women and men before him, Eckhart points inward: to the kingdom of God within us, to the grace that quietly awaits at the ground of our being.
To turn inward is not selfish, dear friend. It is a necessary act, as dormancy is for Spring.
To care for our inner human is the foundation of morality, of action, of compassion.
Innering is a political act.
We need to grow the inner garden in order to grow the garden of this world.In a noisy age, where grievance, urgency, and outrage compete for attention,
to tend the soul is not retreat—it is preparation.
It is the quiet labor that makes courageous tenderness possible.
I’ve been walking this path again—through rain,
through remembrance,
through the garden behind our house,
where we buried the dreams of our children we lost before they were born.
It’s our own little memorial garden.
Just a patch of earth with a stone and some lilies.
But there, more than anywhere, I remember:
tending the earth is a way of tending the soul.
The outer and inner gardens belong together.
Both need gentleness.
Both need seasons.
Both need us to wait.
Thus the path inward, where the mystic way invites us, is as much needed as it is practical. It leads us inward to the chamber of our heart where the healing starts, for our soul and for our world.
A Blessing for your Inner Garden
When joy has passed and the silence settles,
do not be afraid, but remember
The deepening is holy.As the rain pours down,
and thin light fails to warm,
trust the roots you cannot see,
drinking deep the cool water.
Lean into this wintry Spring.
You are the garden—
waiting, breathing, growing, becoming.May your inner human grow,
even in this pause.
Especially in the pause.And may Grace unfold when words have faded.
Peace and Blessings to you in this time of lengthening and deepening,
Almut
PS: If this blessing touched something in you, you can leave a heart or reply.
And if you feel moved, share it with someone whose spring feels slow to come.
Further reading from our Gardening as Spiritual Practice Series:
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In case you missed it
The latest “Letter to America” with reading recommendations:
From our (mid) weekly blessings:
From our On Being Human series
About Cloister Notes
A letter for dancing monks and weary pilgrims in the intersection of psychology, philosophy and spirituality. Contemplations on being human to deepen your path, nourish your heart and build wisdom within.
About The Weary Pilgrim
Almut is a German American psychologist turned philosopher turned writer, traveler, photographer, retreat leader and mother of a kindergartener. She has taught and published on authors like Kierkegaard, Buber, Frankl, Yalom, Edith Stein, and Hildegard of Bingen. Almut is also a Benedictine Oblate and lives with her family in a little college town in the American Midwest.
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I often fall into the Hallmark Mother’s Day sentiments- brushing off inner wishes , being satisfied with a brief phone call from busy adult children. As a favour to a busy daughter I took a long traffic cluttered journey to spend a few sunny hours in a large urban city, watching a grandson’s soccer game, while Daughter and Son-in- law took off for a weekend break. A nice picnic , some Japanese gelato and back on the road, hours on the road home to my country home.
When I was a Mom of young children, I would have loved if my Mother gave me an hour break, but this never happened. I failed to nourish my inner world but was rather demanding of myself to stop being selfish. I ignored the inside tears and Mother’s Day each year serves to pick open this neglect.
So imagine, back home that evening I manage a sunset walk along my favourite riverside tree bath. I chance run into others but here before me is a neighbour friend who one shared a rare bald eagle sighting with me. Through her I met her capable contractor husband who renovated a run down cold space in my home. He and his wife had just had their one and only girl during CoVid. Although we promised to get together- years go by and I had not met their little girl. So here on this day, where my inner self was still stinging a little, is walking alongside her Mom, a 5 year old child. Her Mama points to me and says leaning over “ there is Daddy’s friend”. We look at each other and I greet her like a long lost friend… she runs down the dusky quiet road and greets me with a hug. Her Mom catches up and this little one is all chatty, and tells me “ My Birthday is Coming “. I smile, but Mama corrects her and says “no sweetie, you just had your birthday “. This little bundle of enthusiasm is dampened a little until I ask her “When is your birthday?”. She looks to Mom to remember the month and tells me then… “It’s Avril, Avril 23”. I stop speechless, but then close our short meeting with an invitation to come by the garden. Delighted to meet this little joyous girl. I walk on, looking at the sky reminding me of my favourite Cinderella story where her dress turns pink and blue. I can feel my own mother’s presence accompanying me, blessing me , asking forgiveness, she who transitioned beyond our 3D world many years ago. Her birthday was also April 23. Thank you Mom, I whisper, for everything.
I am touched by the sweet alternative perspective to my eager readiness to be done with the dank dark cold rainy days. Pausing now, I realize that I am simply missing my healing connection to the true and deep essence of God in me and others. How good it is to be taught to remember to be present to moments of loss; to trust what is secluded deep within, that is in all.