At the Centre of Things

Here, where art, nature and presence flourish,

meaningful conversations become prayer —

improvisational, ephemeral, alive in the moment

The chokehold loosens; my soul can breathe

Clothed in verdant hues and tartan leggings,

with pilgrim staff and pilgrim song,

I feel the greening of Spring within:

a lightness deep inside me —

alive, fully human, free

This is what I long to carry

to all who might understand

At the centre of things

My poem, 'At the Centre of Things', from Soul Care Poetry Retreat, February 2026

I have found myself thinking a great deal about centres over the past few months — through Lent, Easter, and now as we move towards Pentecost. What does it mean to come to the centre of things? To dwell there, even briefly, amid uncertainty, change, and the demands of life?

The week before Lent began, I was given the opportunity to realise a dream I had not previously known I carried: to share my PhD thesis in the context of a retreat. It was a profound gift to gather with such courageous and generous people who came to explore the theme of the retreat — the same as the short title of my thesis: Holy Risk of Empty Space. Only a few days before the retreat began, I suddenly noticed that, with the addition of one extra ‘e’, the acronym became HeROES. It felt providentially fitting.

It truly was a gathering of HeROES — people willing to journey towards the centre of things while navigating difficult, uncertain, and sometimes empty-feeling terrain. Together, we reflected on void-like spaces in our lives: places of transition, loss, unknowing, and perhaps even possibility. Yet woven through our conversations was a quiet but persistent hope — the growing awareness that God journeys with us even in places where, at times, that presence can feel hidden or hard to discern.

Some of the energy and openness of that gathering continued into a Soul Care Poetry retreat led by Liz Crumlish. There, too, participants discovered fresh inspiration by attending to what lay near the centre of their lives: their longings, stories, memories, creativity, and encounters with the natural world. Poetry became a way of listening more deeply — to ourselves, to one another, and to the movements of God within creation and ordinary experience.

Thomas Merton refers to a precious part at the centre of ourselves as le point vierge:

At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God. . . This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is so to speak [God’s] name written in us. . . It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billion points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely.

Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (Garden City, NY: Bantam Doubleday Publishing Group Inc, 1994), 158

A piece inspired by the HeROES and Soul Care retreats: a reflection of le pointe vierge at the centre of things in me

As we journeyed through Holy Week, we were invited each day to reflect on the Cross at the centre of things — and on our own crosses we carry. Together we shared a Seder meal, walked through interactive and creative Stations of the Cross, and lingered in the stillness of the tomb-like void. Entering deeply into the mystery at the heart of the Paschal story, we found ourselves drawn through the solemn depths of the Triduum towards the extraordinary joy and hope of the Resurrection. It was not simply a remembering, but a journey of transformation.

The chapel itself became part of that unfolding pilgrimage. During Lent, it was marked by ashes, sackcloth, and bramble — signs of penitence, wilderness, and waiting. In Holy Week, the space became sparse and stark, centred around a burial mat and shroud that spoke of grief, surrender, and silence. Then, slowly, Easter emerged through the shroud in the bright presence of daffodils, appearing almost like a new creation breaking through the earth.

Now, as Pentecost approaches, the space will once again be transformed. Vibrant flames will descend and alight among us, symbols of the Holy Spirit renewing, awakening, and sending us onward.  Sustained by breath, fire, and grace — as we seek to live faithfully and courageously — our journeys continue. . .

at the centre of things.

We welcome you to journey with us, here at the Bield.

~ Karen