August 14, 2009 – St. Benedict’s Monastery
Well, I thought I was done with my floral bouquet, but I deceived both myself and you. I found a few I’d forgotten about, and now have taken some more. A few will appear later, after I’m long gone from here. For now, though, this one spoke to me today. Its downcast face, even while lit from above, resonates with how I have been feeling in the last 12 hours or so. I had a wonderful meal with Mary last night, but for some reason, I could not sleep. I was agonizingly restless. Mind you, it could have been the strong coffee we had at the restaurant, but I think there’s more to it than that. The reason I think this is because the exact thing happened to me at this juncture in my journey last year. Curious, no?
I have several theories as to why, and I think it’s a combination of all of them. Each year of retreat, I have come with a project that has been waiting for the appropriate space to be tackled. I work intensely on it, hardly coming up for air except when necessary, for several days. Then finally, I allow myself to breath deeply. I have a sense of accomplishment. I fully absorb and take time to appreciate all the good that has come from the break.
And then, sometime around midnight of the second to last evening, a feeling of dread, or restlessness, or letdown — a combination of all these — takes hold. Part of it is the turning toward home and all that awaits me there. Though I miss my family and look forward to the reunion, it’s an overwhelming thought to go from this to that in an hour’s time. I think it has to do with the project, too, the breadth of it and what it has taken from me to write it. I am feeling that, too.
Nevertheless, I’m accepting this as part of the process. We cannot live on a high forever. The utopia is a mirage. Real life is a blending of work and play, of sorrow and joy. I don’t wish to deny reality. Without the more somber times, the lightness would not be as clearly felt, either. I am trying to welcome all of it, knowing that no matter what it might seem, it is all part of the gift of life.
And I think of what Mary and I discussed last night — how change comes at us in small steps, making it manageable. Today will be the day for tying up loose ends. Taking time to do laundry and tidy up the apartment will be part of the process of the transition back into home life. Joining in several more communal events — including a blessing of the fruits of the gardens and earth — will all contribute to the sending forth that will allow me a peaceful exit.
This morning at chapel, I was overtaken by the contrasts of Sacred Heart Chapel. Again, it’s the darkless and lightness of life colliding, speaking to me in a profound way. I am drawn to these contrasts. I find them beautiful. My ultimate goal, however, is to reach for light.
This probably being my last post from here, I wanted to thank you all for coming along with me to St. Ben’s. I’ve enjoyed the wonderful exchanges, and sharing my journey. I hope it’s been mostly uplifting to you!
Where and how are you finding light today?
Beautiful pictures as usual your talent as a photographer is equal to your immense talent as a writer. Coincidentally, I didnt sleep well either last night. Would have been fun to think of you up while I was up in the restless night. I know the kisses and hugs from the smiling faces of those who miss you will make transition an fun and upbeat on in an instant even amidst the chaos!!!!
I get that way too..restless…find the glimmers of happiness you have hade while here ande treasure them always..hugs. Nicole
More beautiful pictures, Roxane!Thank you for honestly sharing your time at St. Ben’s. It’s been so enlightening, especially to hear you talk about the mixed feelings you’re having as the week winds down. I pray you will return home refreshed and renewed!
Thank you for sharing your journey with us! Good luck with your return.
My daughter had a birthday yesterday, the whole time of the celebration I was in a twist, worrying about that moment when the presents are all open and the cake is eaten and the grandma is leaving — I don’t know what it is. I think maybe even with the very best this world can give us, there’s just always some little reminder that this isn’t where we’ll find our peace, in the end, with these things — that even our greatest celebrations in life are only shadows and glimpses of what we are waiting for. But I don’t know why this would bring sadness or anxiety, rather than joy and hope and anticipation. Maybe it’s just as simple as, while you enjoy the flower in your hand, part of you misses the garden?
Jealous that you had such great writing time — I’m sure I’d have wasted it. Thanks for the posts.