Trappist monk Thomas Merton was a prolific writer before his early death in 1968. But he’s best known for a spiritual epiphany that happened on the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets in Louisville, Kentucky. “There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun,” he wrote afterward.

Today there’s a plaque at that mildly famous intersection; visiting it is on my walkabout itinerary for fall. Years later, Merton was a mentor for younger monks. One of them, Daniel Quinn, tells of breathlessly sharing with Merton his own transcendent moment. Quinn had witnessed all of the trees and wildflowers around their monastery literally ablaze with the power of love. Merton dismissed his account with a wave and few brusque words about animism. Quinn was crushed and wound up leaving the monastery two weeks later.

Merton was a teacher for me as I puzzled for years over the developmental steps necessary to apprehend our basic goodness at such a profound level. What did he do, what prayers or ablutions did he offer that gave him the eyes to see divine union shining in everyone around him? What step had he not taken that would have extended his vision to Quinn’s account of the fiery radiance of nature?

I never cracked Merton’s precise formula. But years later, I find myself at the same place, grateful and astonished to be able to see divinity shining brilliantly in everyone. On Monday I met Sonja at a state park near Glyndon, MN. She and her dog, Milo, are traveling from Madison, WI, to Portland, OR, to visit her son. Her husband died a few years ago. Sonja gave me a five-minute primer on her passion: competing in international sock-knitting contests. Who knew that’s a thing? A new sock pattern has just been released, and she was eager to gear up at a Fargo yarn shop.

Two days later, I met Brian, who owns the Yellow Feather Farm and Art Studio near tiny Fairfax, MN. I found Yellow Feather through a “boondocking” app that matches travelers with free places to park their rigs. When I pulled into Brian’s driveway, he met Tamar and me with dog treats and a half-dozen homemade oatmeal cookies. That night he delivered to my van a delicious chickpea salad. The next morning he brought over a plate of warm cinnamon rolls. His mother’s recipe, he said.

There is a force leading Sonja forward despite great loss. There is a force calling Brian to deep hospitality and generosity. Competitive sock knitting looks different on the surface than blessing a guest with mom’s cinnamon rolls. They both look different on the surface than traveling the country in an 80-square-foot box. But in the end, we are all of us just responding to and longing for divine union. We are all shining like the sun.

GRATITUDE:
Thank you to Mary Waters for introducing me to the best birthday song ever, “God Danced the Day You Were Born,” and better still demonstrating her singing talent over the phone. Thank you to Mauri Cohen and Ken Lessley for curating deep-cut road-trip playlists that’ll keep me swaying in the driver’s seat. Thank you to Elaine Wolf for recommending “Way of the Peaceful Warrior,” which gave me insight into Merton’s code. Thank you to Nancy Agneberg for listening to me talk about Merton dozens of times over the years.

“Sing yourself to where the singing comes from.” – Seamus Heaney