A friendly monk is attending the reception when I walk in. He is warm, welcoming and smiling. His presence makes me comfortable. I tell him my name.
“Welcome — I was just drawing a map for you in case you get here late!” he says.
I resisted.
The idea of going on a retreat occurred to me a few months ago. But voices in my head were vehemently against it.
“I should not travel… There are covid cases… I have to take time off from work… It’s far away from home… It may not be useful.” Et cetera, et cetera.
Beneath these excuses is a resistance to change. Not only a change of place, pace and focus that a retreat demands. But a change of attitude: to open my heart, to let go of the familiar, and to embrace the unknown. I am not sure what I will find.
Then, an angel appeared. Mary, a friend of mine, has been going on retreats at the New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur for more than three decades.
“The hardest part was coming back, and trying to keep alive the gratitude, awe, wonder, and joy I felt while there.” she wrote. She urged me to go. Deep down in my heart, I know I have to. The invitation is clear. No more excuses.
I am in awe.
The panoramic view from the top of the mountain is stunning. The Hermitage must be one of the most beautiful places on Earth.
The immaculate Pacific Ocean is filled with infinite shades of blue. The rolling mountains are veiled by a gentle fog. The sky is painted with incredible orange, pink and purple hues at dusk and dawn. Stars explode after dark.
When I gaze at the pristine ocean, I experience a deep sense of peace and love. Nature always invites me, without conditions, to appreciate its beauty. But I have been busy doing many things. I have been running. I finally give it time. Now I am home. I can rest.
I pray with the monks.
The hymns and scriptures are beautiful. I find the deliberate pauses in between verses inspiring. It’s wonderful to have space to let the words sink in.
Many prayers are offered for the people in Ukraine as the war unfolds. While the monks live a simple life, they are attuned to the happenings of the world.
We pray for the separated families, the frightened men who need to fight for their country for the first time, and the refugees unsure of what the future holds.
I feel pain and helplessness. But I’m comforted by the compassion that I know millions of people around the world hold in their hearts, as the monks do here in Big Sur.
It feels like there isn’t much I can do with the atrocities from afar. But when I pray for my brothers and sisters, I am in solidarity with them.
I meditate after evening prayers.
Our small congregation gathers in a circle along the octagonal edges of the rotunda in the heart of the chapel. The practice is akin to a Zen meditation, which I have grown familiar with over the years.
I take a mat, remove my shoes, and sit on a cushion. A monk puts the Eucharist, a piece of unleavened bread, at the center of the altar, lit by candles and natural skylight. I close my eyes, focus on my breath, and pay attention to my senses.
The presence of the community is palpable. There is no exchange of words. But in silence, we say to each other we are brothers and sisters. We dwell in God’s peace.
I go on long walks.
I stroll, pause, and sit on the many benches around the Hermitage. For hours, I gaze at the breath-taking panorama: the morning haze, the shimmer from the ocean, and the expansive sky. I take this all in.
Many animals keep me company. Out of nowhere, a dozen blue jays come winging and squawk loudly. A bunny leaps out of a bush. Two squirrels sprint as if they have found treasure.
Sounds are abound. Beyond the animals, I hear gentle waves hitting the shore. A breeze blows through the trees. Once in a while, a motor engine roars from the distance Highway 1. I wonder where that car is going.
I am no richer than yesterday. Yet I feel like the wealthiest man on this planet.
On my way out
I stop at my favorite bench one last time. Reluctantly, I say goodbye. Then I hear a voice: “Do good. Be good. I am always here with you.”