Picture this: rolling hills full of happy grazing sheep, an endless expanse of fluffy clouds, wildflowers everywhere; a light-filled chapel under which lays a dark but beautiful crypt housing a fourteenth-century statue; old barns full of sheared wool and aged farming tools, morning light streaming in through the gaps between the worn wooden boards the structures are built from; an impressive overlook one thousand feet high, showing the mighty Chemung river and surrounding mountains and farmhouses from which hangliders are launching, soaring with the clouds… the list goes on of beautiful things I witnessed during my time at Mount Saviour Monastery.
Out of all of that, I choose to show a simple photo of the desk in my tiny, modest room which used to be a monk’s quarters. On the desk lies the summation of my journey: books, journals, too many pens to write my thoughts and poems; prayer beads, a painted icon, and my tiny Buddha statue on the windowsill, reminders of the spiritual journey I am on; a handmade tile and a piece of century-old paper with part of a story written on it, just some of the gifts from the residents I shared the week with; and of course, the charming little lamp which lit the way during the late evening or early morning hours I spent writing. But perhaps most important are the Polaroids lovingly laid out on the small desk. Each one a memory of the people, places and things I saw throughout the week.
I was seized by inspiration for an unexpected project at the Monastery. I photographed each of the residents in the act of creation. Painters, collage artists, musicians, poets, printmakers, each with a story to tell. On the back of each of the Polaroids, I inscribed a poem I had written about the artists and their work. At the end of the week, I gave these away to the artists as a keepsake for their trip. I loved the photos, and it was somewhat difficult to part with them, especially considering they were unique, special, one-of-a-kind pictures that I would likely never see again.
When I first arrived at the Monastery, I was told that what I found here would likely be different than what I was looking for. Indeed, I had many realizations that I didn’t expect, things I learned about myself and those around me and about my spirituality. I was touched by the kindness of everyone I met. Each person was so generous that it positively overwhelmed me with joy. The monks, the oblates, the priest, the caretakers, and the residents I spent the week with are some truly amazing humans. And so I realized that maybe I’ve been doing certain things for the wrong reasons. The benedictine cross I now wear (despite not being Catholic) is a loving reminder of the qualities that I want to embody. To make people’s lives a little brighter, to help foster peace whenever possible, to be generous of spirit and posessions, to never judge anyone for their differences, to create for the sake of doing what I love and wanting to share that love with those who are open to receive it.