Yesterday afternoon at Maryhill School of Theology, I moseyed over to the edge of the garden outside the refectory and smoked while waiting for the men to finish up measuring the walls in the library for the installation of the Saint Peter, the Saint Paul, and the Saint Sebastian paintings. There were no classes then, and so the campus was empty. I just sat there listening to the trees, reminiscing the days I spent there as a Religious Studies student, It was an extremely private and personal moment--the men upstairs and my family had no idea where I was exactly, what I was doing, and what I was thinking of.
We all have moments like this, which is why we never completely know anyone, and no one completely knows us.
We do die with our secrets.
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