PHILOKALIA MINISTRIES

The wind moves softly through the palm leaves. The stones are warm with fading sun. In the distance, a cave breathes out the cool air of forty years of prayer. The seeker stands at its entrance, hesitant. St Paul the Hermit emerges with a gentleness that feels older than the world. Seeker:  Father, there is a longing within me that I barely understand, a quiet pull toward stillness and the hermitage. At times my heart cries with the psalmist, “O that I had wings like a dove t

Let my heart be a holy temple of the living God and my hermitage the city of the Lord. May God Himself protect it by His holy angels and put within me only the desire to walk the way of perfection. There are mornings when I rise and the silence presses against my chest like a living thing. The walls of this hermitage are close and familiar, yet within them there is an expanse larger than any city. When my heart begins to awaken to prayer, I sense it: how easily the boundaries