A while back, I read this quote by Mark Twain: “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." This struck a chord with me, and my first instinct was to hurl myself into insurmountable credit card debt by booking trips and enrolling in classes. I talked myself out of it, because in twenty years, I’ll regret that I didn’t show more financial prudence and restraint. Mark Twain probably didn’t have car payments to make when he wrote that. But it did make me think about doing smaller things that I usually hesitate to try due to some rationalization, valid or not.
One thing I’ve thought about doing was a silent retreat. I liked the idea of being completely alone in silence, but I has afraid that I’d be instantly bored or go crazy and develop alternate personalities, just for the company. As a three-day weekend approached, I decided to sail away from the safe harbor and give the retreat a try. I found the New Camaldoli Hermitage online, after having read a little blurb about it in Sunset magazine. The hermitage is in Big Sur (one of the most beautiful areas I’ve ever seen,) and the price was right: $80 a night for my own little silent cell, with a view of the ocean and three meals a day. Sounded heavenly. I live alone, so I could do a silent retreat here, but there are my dogs to tend to, and my MacBook, and WiFi, and a thousand distractions. I wanted to be completely cut off from everything. I’m also a total freak about silence, especially at night. I’ve moved out of perfectly good apartments because of noisy nocturnal neighbors. It’s one big reason I won’t buy a house, because I’m afraid I’ll move in and find out that I have clog dancers living upstairs or heavy metal enthusiasts next door, and I’ll have to put the house back on the market before I’ve unpacked.
The route to the monastery is up Highway 1, which runs along the coastline. Several times, I pulled over to admire and photograph a view. I stopped for about an hour at the San Simeon Elephant Seal sanctuary and watched elephant seals sleep, swim, and sun themselves. They went on their elephant seal way, completely oblivious to the line of people behind them taking photos and videos.
The Pacific Coast Highway through Monterey is a white knuckle ride. Its windy, blind turns and distracting views are at once relaxing and nerve-wracking. I would be nervous about driving it at night or after a rainstorm. Still, there’s nothing like California coastline to remind me why I love this state.
The hermitage is in Lucia, up a windy, narrow driveway which is two way, although there are long stretches where my car took up the entire lane. I prayed that there were no oncoming cars, and immediately started to stress about leaving on Sunday because of the drop offs and soft shoulders. I put it out of mind, and went into the bookshop to check in. I was greeted warmly by a friendly monk who told me about meals and nice walks around the site. I try to access my Catholic school etiquette to recall if he was to be addressed as Father or Brother. I couldn’t recall, so just resorted to repeating “Great. Sounds good.” He told me I’d be staying in a “cozy” hermitage called Kairos.
No kidding. Kairos was a small trailer with a kitchen and bathroom and single bed. I was wary as I pulled up to it, but as soon as I settled in, I did appreciate its coziness. It was surrounded by trees and bushes, with a view of the ocean from the porch.
There was no cell phone service, which had seemed appealing to me when I made the reservation, but now made me edgy. I’m always a little nervous when I’m off the grid. I always assume someone is trying to reach me for some catastrophic reason.
The silence was very profound. I kept whispering to myself in a distracted way, and wondered if that was the first sign of schizophrenia. I became keenly aware of how I always have some kind of noise on in my house, whether it’s music, the TV, or just a fan. The only sound I heard as I sat on my porch was chirping birds and slight rustling in the foliage.
I walked around the grounds and took some photos. I headed down the long drive towards the PCH. There are some beautiful vistas, so I kept walking, almost to the end. I then realized that I now had to walk over a mile back uphill. Curses. I huffed and puffed my way up, stopping frequently to catch my breath under the guise of taking more photos. Maybe one thing God wants me to learn from this is that I need to exercise more.
Other retreatants walked by, and it was very difficult not to smile and say hello. I had to clamp my lips together. Some people ignored me completely, others smiled and nodded.
At 5:30, I went up to the kitchen with my dinner pails to get dinner. It’s left out in the retreat house kitchen, for the retreatants to come pick up at their leisure. Bread, soup, and breakfast items are available 24 hours a day. Lunch, the main meal, is served between 12:30 and 1:00, and all meals taken back to your hermitage, to be eaten in solitude. As I walked in to get dinner, a man was there, getting his meal, and again I struggled with not making chit-chat to fill the silence. I looked at the books on the shelf of the small lending library as he finished up. He left, and I dished out my own salad and soup. I almost spilled the tureen of soup as I pulled it out of the fridge. I stood in frozen horror for a moment, wondering how I could rectify that if I had actually done it. Could I go find a monk and offer to make more? Could I just leave it and run? Luckily, I wrangled it back into the fridge, and headed back to my hermitage. I left my meal there, grabbed my camera, and ran up to the main drive again to watch the sunset. It was spectacular. The colors against the wide expanse of water were sublime and constantly changing.
In the dusk, I headed back and ate dinner on my porch, slurping my soup because no one was around, and I like doing it. After dinner, I washed all of my dishes and made my bed up. It was 7:15 and I wonder if it’s too early to go to bed, despite the fact that I wasn’t the tiniest bit sleepy. I fought the urge to clean out my purse or play Angry Birds on my iPhone. I thought about eating all of the snacks I brought, despite being full from the delicious soup and salad. Recalling that I have iTunes on my computer, I started to cue it up when I stop myself. I came here to revel in silence, and at least for the first night, I was going to try.
I went outside on my little patio to look at the stars. The night was clear and there was almost no light pollution, yet it was unnerving how dark and quiet it was. I heard rustling in the bushes nearby, and instantly my Woody Allen instincts kicked in. I was sure it’s a machete-wielding lunatic. I grabbed a flashlight and shone it towards what I’m sure was my oncoming violent end. It’s a squirrel, scared out of its little wits by my beam of light.
I went back inside. I wondered how my dogs are doing. I broke down and watch a clip from “The Ricky Gervais Show” that I have stored on iTunes, and that made me less lonely.
I read until I got sleepy and I was proud that I lasted until 9:30. Once I turned off my light, it was pitch black. It’s discombobulating to sleep in utter darkness and silence. I slept well, but my dreams were very vivid and it was hard to shake them when I woke up. The dreams weren’t particularly insightful. In one dream, I showed Leonardo DiCaprio my new purse. Without a word, he took it and walked around with it for a few minutes, then threw it in a trash can and walked away. I don’t think there was any kind of message in that, and I laid awake, thinking about my new purse. I drifted off, but was woken up suddenly by an owl hooting outside of my door. The sound was sad, then comforting, then annoying, then comforting again. When I was on the verge of throwing a shoe at the door, the owl flew off.
In the morning, I woke up right before dawn, and looked out my window. The ocean is beautiful, lavender and azure, and dead still. I thought about getting up and taking pictures, but my bed was warm and comfy. I decided to shoot for the next morning.
I got up a couple hours later, took a quick walk, snapped some pictures of some birds, and then went to grab a yogurt and some sugar from the retreat house kitchen. I brought my own tea and some zucchini bread, so I headed back to my hermitage and made breakfast. On the way back, I ran smack into a herd of deer, grazing by my door. I watched them and waited for them to amble on, but they were in no hurry. Clearly they’re used to humans, but I was hungry, so I walked straight up between them. I made breakfast and ate it on my patio. I washed the dishes and made my bed. It was 8:15.
I tried to go on the internet. My AirPort picked up WiFi signals called MonksEast and Monks South, but they were password protected. Those rascals. Just as well. I reminded myself again that I came here for the cloister experience.
I decided to take another walk. The room instructions request that retreatants don’t walk along dirt roads, because of poison oak and “to maintain the cloister of the monks”. But I had already explored all of the approved routes, so I pledged to avert my eyes from any monks I encounter and watch where I step, and I set off down the dirt road that ran past my place. I was rewarded with another spectacular view of the ocean and the Monterey coast. I found a bench and sat for a long time, soaking in the sun and silence.
I came back, read for a little bit, then decided to go up to the gift shop and look around. The cloistered monks spend their day in prayer and reflection, but clearly they have some free time as well, because the gift shop stocks some of their art, along with books, jewelry, and religious knic-knacs. The only people in the shop were a monk and a woman who must have been their secretary. She was prattling on about a coworker, and it was such a sharp contrast to the silence of the past day. The monk was listening intently, occasionally trying to interject but was ignored by the woman. It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode, when Kramer takes a vow of silence until Kathy Griffin’s character makes him cave. “You got to shut up!” he bursts out. “You talk too much.” I wonder if the monk was thinking the same thing, or if he enjoyed hearing conversation, no matter what the subject.
I bought a St. Francis of Assisi statue and a coffee mug. I wanted to look through the books, but I couldn’t listen to the woman any longer. As I get older, I have less and less patience with idle chatter. It bores me and grates on my nerves. The monk seemed a little relieved to come ring me up and escape the barrage of nattering.
The lunch bell rang at 12:30. I grabbed my dinner pail and walked up to the kitchen. Lunch is all vegetarian and served buffet style. There were two men in the kitchen when I walk in, whispering to each other. They look guilty when they spotted me, like they’d broken the silence rule and I was there to bust them. I smiled, said nothing, and started to load up my plates. Lunch was delicious; rice and veggies, artichokes in a cream sauce, roasted potatoes, vegetable lasagna. I took a little of everything, and headed back to Kairos.
I looked up the word Kairos and learned that it’s a Greek word that means an opportunity, a propitious moment for decision or action. It would be a perfect place to do some serious thinking. I don’t know if I’m here seeking any insight. I’m open to God nudging me in the right direction, if I’m messing up. I don’t think I am, though. Is that supreme arrogance? Maybe. I sometimes wonder if I should be a teacher. It tires me. But I think work tires me in general, because I’m lazy. Well, not lazy, just unindustrious. When I have a day off, I do get out and do leisure things, but they’re things that I enjoy doing, not that I have to do. If I could get paid for going out to lunch, going to museums, reading, napping, playing on the internet, and sitting in the park with my dogs, I’d be delighted to go to work every day. I feel like I’ve made the right life choices. If God disagrees, I’m open for discussion. But it’s going to take more than some psalms to get me into the negotiations.
After lunch, I slipped into the church to look around. It’s beautiful and simple. It reminds me of a Quaker meetinghouse, with rows of chairs facing each other and no decoration. There’s a simple altar and a small crucifix suspended from the ceiling. I like that. I get squeamish about churches with a huge, bleeding Jesus staring tragically down at the churchgoers. I get what He went through and I’m sorry He had to do it; I don’t need to be distracted by a bloody, torn corpse. I sat for a few minutes, but as what always happens when I’m in a church, I get antsy to get outside. I said a quick prayer and left.
I got my evening meal, more artfully this time. No near spills, and I don’t forget anything. After stowing my meal in my kitchen, I went to watch the sunset. Again, beautiful. I began to stress about the ride home the next day. Windy roads; Sunday traffic. There’s no way around going home, so I put it out of mind and went back to eat dinner. The meal was carrot and rice soup, and salad. I really, really LIKE soup and salad, and I wondered why I don’t eat more like this at home.
Decided to give looking at the stars another try. Once more, it was awe-inspiring, then that freakin’ owl started up again, and suddenly I felt very sad. I started thinking about physicist Brian Greene on the Colbert Report, explaining how our universe might just be one of many, and Stephen bellowing, “This has to stop! I can’t feel any more insignificant than I already do!” I get that. It’s times like these that I understand that I’m a tiny person on a tiny planet in a tiny galaxy of what might be a tiny universe. I crawled into bed and read until I got sleepy.
I’m jarred awake in the middle of the night by something walking on the roof. It sounded big. I mean, human big. How could someone get up there, and more importantly, why? My heart pounded and I fished my pepper spray out of my purse, Whatever it was leapt off (or FLEW off, maybe? My mind filled with swirling, supernatural images) and I drifted back into an uneasy sleep. That blasted curvy driveway wheedled into my thoughts again. Let it go, let it go. What will be, will be.
Woke up to another beautiful dawn. Packed up, cleaned up the hermitage (per the request of the monks. I didn’t mind. They kept me, fed me and left me alone for 48 hours. It was the least I could do.)
Packed up the car, and headed down the drive, praying and watching with one eye for any oncoming vehicles and the other on where I could pull off if need be. I met no one, and heaved a sigh of relief until I remembered the 20 plus miles of twisting highway that I still had in front of me. I’m not a nervous driver unless I let my imagination run wild. I squelched it and plowed on.
It was an uneventful ride home, with the scenery that I love best in the world. I enjoyed my time at the hermitage very much, and I can see the allure of such a simple life. On the drive, I thought that I could live a cloistered life very easily. If I had my dogs. And my books. And my computer and digital cable and my camera and my car, because you HAVE to have a car, right? Ok, so maybe the monastic life isn’t for me, except the occasional weekend. But I may be able to inject a more simple aesthetics into my everyday life, and be my own brand of monk.
