The Bishop’s Room

Imbolc                                     Waning Bridgit Moon

This room is the Bishop’s bedroom.  B-1 in the Bishop’s wing.  Which has only B-1 and B-2.  When the Bishop comes, he stays in this room, uses this pigeon-hole desk, which I find surprisingly user friendly, and has a whole sitting room for himself and his entourage.

(lined up to reserve this room. this first guy just couldn’t believe they’d let me in ahead of him.)

I imagine I have it because, since Tuesday, I’ve been the sole retreatant.  Just me and 14 monks.  By chance I stayed in B-2 during the Woolly Retreat in February, so I’ve completed a tour of the Bishop’s wing.  This room’s better.  It has this pigeon-hole desk while the other has a flat top desk that would look at home in a down-scale dormitory room at a community college.

The shower here has sliding doors and a plastic molded seat.  B-2 has a narrow stand-up shower almost under a window.  Here, I have a bookcase bed.  In B-2 it was just a bed.  There is also a small nightstand with four drawers and brass handle pulls.  I put my pajamas in there.   Oddly, the drawers all have a divider which makes them less, rather than more, useful.

Tonight, after I wrote in praise of silence, I discovered that the monks kick up their heels on Thursday night, dining in the guest dining area and, wait for it, talking during the whole meal!  I sat with Brother Paul and Brother Chris.  Father Tom joined us, too.

We talked bees.  Brother Paul and Brother Chris are bee-keepers here though they’ve not kept any bees for the last couple of years.  Sounds like they’re going to give it a go again this year.  They have large fields of clover, one of the best honey plants, and alfalfa.

Silenced

Imbolc                                          Waning Bridgit Moon

Today I took my nap at 10 am.  Slept for an hour.  Felt refreshed the rest of the day.  Strange.

At around 2 pm I grew stale in my writing so I went downstairs, strapped on my snowshoes and went for another aerobic adventure on the grounds here.  The Abbey has two lakes, though I saw only one, the one on which the agnosic psychiatrist lives.  She suffers from an inability to remember faces.

She told Father Tom that if she met in the mall in Sioux City, she wouldn’t recognize him until he spoke.  I’m not sure how long she’s been here, but it’s a while.  She lives here as a hermit in a small house provided by the Abbey.

Father Tom and I ate lunch together and he mused about women being “more relational.”  He quickly added that might be a bit of a generalization, but buttressed his point with a story about the every third meeting between Benedictine Abbots and Prioresses.

As a former Abbot, Father Tom, a short man with wiry white hair and an athlete’s nervous energy, was among the Abbots when they decided to begin meeting with the Prioresses.  The Prioresses, he said, wanted to meet every year, but the men said, “Noooo.  Every three years is plenty.”  Even on the third year, Father Tom went on, the Prioresses show up a day or two early and leave a day or two after the men.

I’m beginning to like the silence that really begins at supper at extends through breakfast.  It gives a time for renewal, meditation, contemplation or relaxation.  Woolly Bill Schmidt sent an e-mail suggesting that the reason for the silence might be found in these closing lines from Yogananda:

You can wander through the universe incognito;
You can make vassals of the gods;
You can be ever youthful;
You can walk on water and live in fire;
But control of the mind is better and more difficult.

As for me, I think it may be way to calm disputatious monks.  Like me, if I were a monk.

I (heart) Religion

Imbolc                               Waning Bridget Moon

Some people like NASCAR, others quilting, some the middle ages, some middle age.  Tastes and attractions vary for often indiscernible reasons.  Me, I like religions.  Most of them anyhow.  Islam, Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism, Zoroastrianism, Shinto, Taoism, Celtic Faery Faith, ancient Greek, Roman and Egyptian, Voodoo, Native American, Mayan, Aztec, Hawai’ian, Tibetan Buddhism, Jain.  Buddhism, except for its practices like meditation, mindfulness, some how doesn’t attract me.  Don’t know why.

A part of me, a strong, even dominant part never left the young boy stage where why came out at every instance of anything.  Why do birds sing?  Why do dogs die?  Why is the sky blue?  Why is Dad grumpy?  Why did you make noise last night, Mom?

Philosophy suited me, fit me like a bespoke suit straight from Saville Row.  What is beauty?  Why do we love?  What is justice?  What is the nature of reality?  What is reality anyhow?

Religion is often a folk way of asking–and answering–these same questions.

Let me give you an example from breakfast.  I just experienced transubstantiation.  The folks who run the monastery think that happens at the eucharist as the wine and wafer transform themselves into the actual body and blood of Jesus.  I”m not sure about that.  But, I do know that this morning I ate an apple, a slice of bread with peanut butter and drank some tea.  They became me.

No.  I’m not saying I’m Jesus, far from it.  I am saying that the apple, the peanut butter, the bread and the tea did transform, through the miracle of my digestive tract and its millions, billions, of host organisms, into me.  Think about it.  After the big bang and the gradual cooling of the universe, gas clouds gathered, due to gravity and created stars from the initial elements, thinks like hydrogen, iron.  The stars themselves, in their fusion furnaces, then combined and transformed those basic elements into the familiar elements making up the periodic table.

Later still, as the gas clouds and chunks of matter surrounding each star coalesced those elements deposited themselves inside and on the newly born planets, comets and asteroids.  Those same elements, the very same elements, then, through more eons, at least here on earth, combined and recombined to form simple organisms like single celled animals and  plants. Long after that those simple organisms combined to form multi-celled life forms, among them humans.

This morning I–consider that I–the end point of a certain historic chain of events traceable to the creation of the universe ate.  In eating I took in the products of other organisms, the apple which grew in the air on a tree, wheat which grew in fields across these very plains and peanuts which grew beneath the soil.  I also drank water, the same water present on earth for eons, perhaps the same water drunk by dinosaurs.

And it is, even now, as I write, becoming me.  The apple, the wheat, the peanut are also, like me, the end point of a traceable (if we had the instruments and skill) chain from the moment before time until now.  So we recombine, sift and shift elements.  A miracle.