Been writing about monks today. There are plenty very cool cloisters still active in this country and albeit antichristian, I am very fond of the romantic aspects of these institutions. Of course the coolest by far is the Charterhouse Pleterje folk, the Carthusians. These little dudes insist in their pristine white robes and pursuit of total contemplation and silence - not unlike pretty much the extremes of most mystical religions, but it’s still impressive to have them so close-by. For a little while I was worried I won’t be able to write anything substantial but their location in the chapter, but they of course have web sites like all earthly mortals everywhere. There are other orders to mention, but inevitably the wiki files led me to once-was my favorite book on the subject, Name of the Rose. I found myself smiling, being able to still fully remember the last line in three separate languages without even thinking about it. I remember it, because it used to haunt me. I read this book long before I became a book zealot, so the fire in which the library burns, haunted me for a long while. It was only with my buddy dDaniel that I realized the difference between us, pagans, burning books and the truth – burning of the shelves. The last line means something like: ‘The once-was rose stands firm in its name, but it's only empty names *we* are (left) holding…’ Yeah, it sucks to be a sentimental historian sometimes :D
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