There was a quiet sense of serene peace, if not silently awkward at first, when I arrived at the monastery for my weekend retreat. I made it to my very clean, but very minimalist room. Waited patiently for the five o'clock supper hour and set out about my way to find the dining hall. There was one woman, quietly walking with a book in hand who obviously didn't want to be disturbed, but I was lost. So I whispered was she also going to the dining hall, she nodded, once again silently. I stepped in a few yards behind her to respect her privacy.
The retreatant's dining room was made up four wooden tables with four chairs each. There was one table lining the wall with basic breads, a toaster, peanut & butter, and jelly, and a small crock of butter. A table on another wall had two bowls of soup and a crock pot of delicious vegetable rice soup. You were to get your own drink in the galley style kitchen. This was one of the things that surprised me about the retreat. The kitchen was tiny, barely a hallway. There were nine of us. Yet nine of us moved around in there like we'd be married for 30 years. No talking. Soundlessly -- just a passing of cups, or milk. A slide down when someone needed the cereal cupboard, but all totally still. It wasn't as awful as when you get into the elevator and you realize with a horrid, panicky feeling that you're going to be stuck going four floors, jammed up against people you have never seen or quite possibly, will see again. That's awkward. Here, as we went about the basic rituals of assembling our meal with complete strangers there was a sense of sereneness.
We sat across from people we didn't know and ate our meals, in complete silence. During the main meal at noon, the French doors between the monks dining hall and the main hall were opened and one of the monks read from a book. Other than that, or one sign up for a spiritual counsel with one of the monks, you had very little to do with the Brothers. We were in their home, and we did what was expected. Noiselessly.
There was a series of services. Vigils started at 3:20 a.m. until 4:10. (Yes, 3:20 a.m.) I got up the first morning and went. Then there was meditation at 4:10 until 4:30. Then there was Lauds at 5:30, breakfast at 6:00. The Eucharist at 7:30, followed by Terce at 8:30. At noon there was Sext, then the main meal. Free until dinner at 5:00 and then Vespers at 5:30, ending with Compline at 7:30. Then there was Grand Silence. No one must speak at all. Everyone was completely foreign to me as if I spoke another language all together, though it was all in English, not Latin.
It was intimidating at first. The first night I swore I'd leave. But when I woke up at 3 am Saturday morning, I decided to go because I had never truly experienced anything like this. The services were new to me. The chanting between brothers and retreatants. The beautiful guitar playing was so soothing. It was comforting on a level I'd never expect. After attending Vigils, Meditation, and Lauds on Saturday morning I realized that I didn't want nor need to speak. I was horribly offended when someone who was also new tried to speak to me. The world got so much simpler. It was basic, and I could focus on the spirituality book I brought. I had brought a twelve pack of diet coke, and since we were not allowed food or drink in our room, I spent a lot of room journaling in the dining hall. I wrote and wrote and wrote. About the peace around me, about things that I was in turmoil over. It was completely not at all how I thought I would feel.
Truly, the idea of not talking seemed great at first, and then immediately following that "great" feeling, I thought there's no possible way. But I felt like I really had some insight into why silence in our cultural is so vastly more important than the iPods, the tvs, the computers, the radios, and so much more that comes "at" us in our daily lives. I was almost fearful of returning home.
Unfortunately for me, I had the worst nightmare in my entire life one evening, and was totally incapacitated by it. I was too scared to go to sleep for a nap during the day, and so after two days, I left my little slice of heaven, and went home. Going home meant more noise, questions, a messy house, craziness. And since I was coming home a day earlier I knew that the arrival could be that much the worse. But I took my chances.
I arrived home to a silent house. No one was home, and no one would be home for an hour and a half. I came home to a clean, and spotless house. The laundry was away. My husband and 12 year old had bought me a lovely old reading chair that my 12 year old had recovered for me. They created a writing haven for me. For an hour and a half I walked around my house in the silence and appreciated it in a way that never had before. It was amazing.
I know it won't last, but I do know I'll go back the abbey and as a "veteran" this time, I truly won't talk. I'll make every single service. One of the most special experiences was on Sunday at Mass. I was asked to "bring the gifts" during Sunday's mass. They handed my the chalice filled with wine. This beautiful piece of art, so important to their ritual. It was not my religion, nor even close to mine, but there was tremendous sense of importance. When I handed it to the silent but smiling Abbot, I could see the kindness in his eyes. He had welcomed me into his home, perhaps loving me just because I was there to join in the journey to open one more closed set of eyes, to silence one more iPod -- even for a bit. Just to breath. Just to notice the amazing amount of butterflies around us sometimes.
I know the next time I get into that quiet, awkward elevator I'm not going to even try to make small talk. I'm going to merely enjoy the journey. From here to there, and all that it entails. Silently.
The retreatant's dining room was made up four wooden tables with four chairs each. There was one table lining the wall with basic breads, a toaster, peanut & butter, and jelly, and a small crock of butter. A table on another wall had two bowls of soup and a crock pot of delicious vegetable rice soup. You were to get your own drink in the galley style kitchen. This was one of the things that surprised me about the retreat. The kitchen was tiny, barely a hallway. There were nine of us. Yet nine of us moved around in there like we'd be married for 30 years. No talking. Soundlessly -- just a passing of cups, or milk. A slide down when someone needed the cereal cupboard, but all totally still. It wasn't as awful as when you get into the elevator and you realize with a horrid, panicky feeling that you're going to be stuck going four floors, jammed up against people you have never seen or quite possibly, will see again. That's awkward. Here, as we went about the basic rituals of assembling our meal with complete strangers there was a sense of sereneness.
We sat across from people we didn't know and ate our meals, in complete silence. During the main meal at noon, the French doors between the monks dining hall and the main hall were opened and one of the monks read from a book. Other than that, or one sign up for a spiritual counsel with one of the monks, you had very little to do with the Brothers. We were in their home, and we did what was expected. Noiselessly.
There was a series of services. Vigils started at 3:20 a.m. until 4:10. (Yes, 3:20 a.m.) I got up the first morning and went. Then there was meditation at 4:10 until 4:30. Then there was Lauds at 5:30, breakfast at 6:00. The Eucharist at 7:30, followed by Terce at 8:30. At noon there was Sext, then the main meal. Free until dinner at 5:00 and then Vespers at 5:30, ending with Compline at 7:30. Then there was Grand Silence. No one must speak at all. Everyone was completely foreign to me as if I spoke another language all together, though it was all in English, not Latin.
It was intimidating at first. The first night I swore I'd leave. But when I woke up at 3 am Saturday morning, I decided to go because I had never truly experienced anything like this. The services were new to me. The chanting between brothers and retreatants. The beautiful guitar playing was so soothing. It was comforting on a level I'd never expect. After attending Vigils, Meditation, and Lauds on Saturday morning I realized that I didn't want nor need to speak. I was horribly offended when someone who was also new tried to speak to me. The world got so much simpler. It was basic, and I could focus on the spirituality book I brought. I had brought a twelve pack of diet coke, and since we were not allowed food or drink in our room, I spent a lot of room journaling in the dining hall. I wrote and wrote and wrote. About the peace around me, about things that I was in turmoil over. It was completely not at all how I thought I would feel.
Truly, the idea of not talking seemed great at first, and then immediately following that "great" feeling, I thought there's no possible way. But I felt like I really had some insight into why silence in our cultural is so vastly more important than the iPods, the tvs, the computers, the radios, and so much more that comes "at" us in our daily lives. I was almost fearful of returning home.
Unfortunately for me, I had the worst nightmare in my entire life one evening, and was totally incapacitated by it. I was too scared to go to sleep for a nap during the day, and so after two days, I left my little slice of heaven, and went home. Going home meant more noise, questions, a messy house, craziness. And since I was coming home a day earlier I knew that the arrival could be that much the worse. But I took my chances.
I arrived home to a silent house. No one was home, and no one would be home for an hour and a half. I came home to a clean, and spotless house. The laundry was away. My husband and 12 year old had bought me a lovely old reading chair that my 12 year old had recovered for me. They created a writing haven for me. For an hour and a half I walked around my house in the silence and appreciated it in a way that never had before. It was amazing.
I know it won't last, but I do know I'll go back the abbey and as a "veteran" this time, I truly won't talk. I'll make every single service. One of the most special experiences was on Sunday at Mass. I was asked to "bring the gifts" during Sunday's mass. They handed my the chalice filled with wine. This beautiful piece of art, so important to their ritual. It was not my religion, nor even close to mine, but there was tremendous sense of importance. When I handed it to the silent but smiling Abbot, I could see the kindness in his eyes. He had welcomed me into his home, perhaps loving me just because I was there to join in the journey to open one more closed set of eyes, to silence one more iPod -- even for a bit. Just to breath. Just to notice the amazing amount of butterflies around us sometimes.
I know the next time I get into that quiet, awkward elevator I'm not going to even try to make small talk. I'm going to merely enjoy the journey. From here to there, and all that it entails. Silently.
Wow!!! All I can say is WOW!
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like a deeply spiritual weekend! I'm so pleased that your family gave you such a gift for your homecoming! Silence, a new chair, and a clean house. No small gift. In the silence of your homecoming it spoke volumes!
I love you dear friend! xoxo
Luna,
ReplyDeleteI will never know how I was so lucky to have been blessed with you in my life all these years. Your support over the years has been tremondous! Those chipolte peppers are on their way, baby!
Love,
K
Kathie,
ReplyDeleteThank you for the beautiful story about your time at Mepkin Abbey. It brought back so many wonderful memories. Your descriptions were perfect. It's the kind of place you just have to experience in person. For those who have never been, they would think the silence would be irritating, but rather just the opposite. You learn to embrace it as you did. The silence, the peace, the ability to meditate, but yet also having the sense of purpose to attend services and meals....somewhere in the midst of it all you remember who you are. Thank you for the beautiful piece about your journey.