V.
From Saint Joseph’s Abbey
1963-68
Whatever
did I use to do on Sunday afternoons in the world? There used to be a song I
loved from the “Flower Drum Song”... I believe it went:
“Sunday,
sweet Sunday, with nothing to do;
Sunday,
sweet Sunday, my one day with you.
Lazy, and
lovey, we drift through the day,
Dreaming..
the hours.. away...”
I still
daydream a lot, a lot more than I should probably, but much of it
is helpful now- although I could be kidding myself in this. I’ve been in the
monastic life now for over 4 years and one of my favorite activities is to
leave the church after None and walk out into the woods and up the hills and
get to the most silent and solitary place, sit down and read a little, pray a
little, doze a little and... fall awake a lot.
In the
silence of the woods, the sound of the woods can be heard. All the noise in my
head filters out, the noise of my fears, the noise of my plans and thoughts,
the noise of my memories - and slowly has its place taken by the noise of
the present moment, the noise of the light breeze rustling the dry grass and
brown leaves, the noise of a scurrying chipmunk, and of a distant mower... and
the noise of silence.
It was on
such a day in December last year, that I was sitting on a stool- made by some
forgotten monk- at the base of a huge pine. There was snow in the air, and I
was wearing an extra warm winter coat from the pile made available in the
wardrobe. My eyes were closed - I had been both meditating and sleeping,
for me both are equally rewarding - when a loud sneeze sounded nearby. Before
opening my eyes, I distinctly remember saying to myself, “Oh
damn, another monk! Now I’m going to waste 15 minutes making useless signs to
him about trivia!” So much for fraternal charity.
I opened
my eyes.
Not
fifteen feet away from me stood the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.
Somehow, without a sound, a deer, a male deer with a full head of antlers had
entered my silent space and stood there looking at me with my intensity but
with none of my fear. I was obviously an object of curiosity to him and I
immediately knew that silence was the attraction.
We looked
at each other for a full two minutes. He gently snorted, and pawed once in the
pine needles, turned and was gone.
The
moment we shared will be present to me in total clarity all the days I live. I
often think of how a hunter would have mounted that 15-pt head over his fire
place to remember that event. To me it is a sin to even think of doing such a
thing. That most beautiful living animal and I had a shared moment, one
like no other I have ever had. It is the livingness of it that makes it so
wonderful.
How
unprepared I was for such an event - and yet, it is silence that prepares us so
well for such a happening. Why does it take so long for any of us to learn to
be silent. To learn to open our eyes, to learn to open our minds, to learn to
open our hearts - is this not the reason for us existing at all.
As Father
Henry’s, and my, favorite girlfriend Emily has said so well:
“A little
madness in the Spring
is
wholesome even for the King.
But
God be with that clown
who
surveys that scene
That
whole experiment in Green
as if it
were his own.”
Charlie Mc (1967)
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