Retreating Forward

Seeking the Quiet that Quenches Past Wounds…

Nearing Abiquiu, a hauntingly beautiful corner of the world in northwest New Mexico, my weary soul exited the highway, and a depthless breath released from my crying heart. Staring straight into the majestic red, brown, yellow, and white-streaked cliffs of the Pedernal Mesa, I physically felt the wounds of the past be absorbed into the clay and gravel that lay at my feet. The road ahead held what Thomas Merton, American Trappist monk, described “the peace which the world cannot give.”

John Dear, American priest and peace activist, described the challenge that lay ahead of us:

“To call it a road is to give it too much dignity. It is more of a two-way half lane dirt path. It clings to the edge of a cliff some four stories above the river. The view snatches the breath, but you must resist the temptation to gape in awe. Otherwise, your last act on earth will be to plunge into the river below.”

The thirteen-mile switchback rugged dirt road that connects the monastery to the outside world where all is left behind is a balancing act providing ample opportunity to begin your deep dive into a prayerful existence. Undoubtedly, you will find yourself (as I did) begging a Higher Power for your life.

As John Dear is quoted as saying: “The trek to the monastery is the ultimate metaphor for the spiritual journey.”

A small wooden sign beckoning “Peace” alerts you to your entry into the monastery grounds, assuring you are still alive. The monastery rises at the point where the canyon narrows and the road vanishes into rock and brush. The red and yellow cliffs, the blue spruce, the sagebrush, the stern mountains and mesas, the wandering hawks, ravens and magpies, the brilliant sun, the soothing blue sky of a color you have never quite seen, the rustle of the flowing Chama River, the pressing silence and expansive solitude astonish me. Quench me.

I can breathe. I am here. I am home. I am safely held by all that is. I have come to reclaim my spiritual center of peace, as the small wooden sign invites.

For me, there is no other time than NOW when I am at the monastery. It is an open invitation to say YES to each moment. There is no other moment than this one, and this one. Spiritual Thought Leader, Eckhart Tolle has a famous quote: “The past has no power over the present moment.” This is the salve for which my soul has been aching.

Here at the monastery in the desert my worn suitcase of old hurts was left on the side of the road as I exited the highway. My weary soul left behind the last vestiges of painful wounds opening the way to ‘set the clock of my heart” to the ways of Benedictine monasticism: a communal life of prayer, study, work, and praise in the silence of the desert where the Word of God has always been best heard. “Retreat” takes its meaning not from the military definition, but the withdrawal from the world and its distractions, to quiet and introspection.

My footsteps traversing the gravel road from my cell where I temporarily take refuge and the Sanctuary are a blasphemous blare in the silence of the canyon. As I walk, the darkness blankets itself securely around me as I listen to the bells calling me to the Sanctuary for Vigils set to begin at 4:00 am. I chant. I kneel. I bow. And I pray. There is nothing more than this beautiful act of asking God (in anyway you believe in some form of Higher Power) to open your lips and beg to honor the Divine in me, the Divine in you, and the Divine in all things. To be transformed by the Love that is always walking by your side.

I am reminded of a quote by Fannie Lou Hamer, American activist during the Freedom Vote Rally in 1963: “I never know today what’s going to happen to me tonight, but I do know as I walk alone, I walk with my hand in God’s hand.”

An hour or more later after Vigils, He holds my hand, guiding me by the light of the iridescent crescent moon, to the refectory for a light respite before returning to the Sanctuary for Lauds (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying) followed by Mass. My husband and I are both deeply moved by Jesus asking us to “do this in remembrance of me.” And so, we do. We accept the bread of life renewing our commitment to say YES to life.

In silent gratitude, observing the dramatic skyscapes, rustic beauty of the canyon, and listening to the soundtrack of the church bells, bugs and birds chirping in every direction, birds in flight, and the donkey complaining loudly, I find myself back in my cell for a brief rest before Terce (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying) and volunteer work hours somewhere on the grounds.

My husband and I had the privilege one morning to be asked to clean the floors of the Sanctuary. Another day, it was work in the gift shop. Work can be anything the monks need an extra hand with from cleaning toilets, to helping with a mailing. All of our work during our three visits so far has rewarded us far beyond the actual “work”.

French philosopher, Simone Weil said: “If we go down into ourselves, we find that we possess exactly what we desire.” In those minutes of silence and focused work, I found a peace hiding under the frightened little girl always running for safety. The power of constantly being in the moment, not wanting to be anywhere but where I was, freed the chains locking the little girl inside allowing her to roam the canyon in the wind and on the eagle’s back. She was free. She was safe. What a gift!

Saint Theodore wrote centuries ago, “The monk is one whose gaze is fixed on God, who desires God above all else, who applies himself to God, who seeks to serve God alone, in peace with God, and so becoming peace for others.”

In that spirit of peace, I sat in the clean silent chapel taking it all in. The silence, The solitude. The beauty. The peace. And I began to breathe again. Breathe as if I had been holding my breath for months or years, or under water. I felt healed, disarmed, refreshed. And I knelt and I prayed.

Sext (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying) was next, followed by Main Meal with the monks. The silence of the meal was interrupted only by prayer and spiritual readings. After Main Meal we met again in the Sanctuary for None (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying).

Late afternoon was time for a walk, reading, sleeping, showering, and sharing in the quiet of your cell. It was a time for reflection, deepening, change, and transformation.

Gently through our sharing, my husband and I invited change to come quietly and invisibly on the inside as the knowing of our souls crept forth.

As the sun began its descent on the other side of the mountains, we were called into a lengthy meditation and Eucharistic Adoration. Vespers (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying) followed Exposition. Upon Vespers conclusion, once again only illumined by the moon, we walk in silence to the refectory for a Light Meal. This is followed by the last prayers, Compline (chanting, bowing, kneeling, and praying) of the day. The monks retire to their cells and my husband and I, along with the other retreatants, walk in wonder and awe beneath a darkened sky alight with endless stars, to do the same.

We will set our alarm for 3:30 am and do it all again over the next few days. Already the prayerful peace of Christ in the Desert has seeped into my tissues healing my wobbly knees and fortifying my depleted spirit. I feel ready to stand again and beg for a revolution to protect children from hurt. To beg you to be a part of a movement to create awareness and stop Adverse Childhood Experiences.

His Holiness, The Dalai Lama teaches us that “If we want to change the world and create peace, we can begin by creating peace within ourselves. If we practice peace, we can teach the rest of the world.” The little unobtrusive wooden sign that beckoned me to find Peace upon my arrival spoke volumes of wisdom through those five little syllables: “Christ in the Desert.”

Five days later, Ed and I traversed the thirteen-mile switchback road, now wet and slick with mud, leaving this corner of the world and “the peace which the world cannot give.” My heart is full. My soul repaired.

My old worn suitcase of past wounds sits by the wayside waiting to be picked up before entering the highway home. Do I leave it behind? Can I? Can we?

Until next time, friends.