The monk is a bird who flies very fast

May 11, 1964. The monk is a bird who flies very fast without knowing where he is going. And always arrives where he went, in peace, without knowing where he came from.

I wish I had more charity. Perhaps I should say I wish I had at least a little charity. I wish I were less resentful of dead immobilism: the ponderous, inert, inhuman pressure of power bearing down on everyone to keep every beak from opening and every wing from moving. Authority sitting in its office, with all the windows open, trying to hold down, with both hands, all the important papers and briefs, all the bits of red tape, all the documents on all the members of the Body of Christ. I wish I could stop hoping the whole mess would blow away.

Elias becomes his own wild bird, with God in the center.