When I woke, the next morning, I had my oatmeal in silence then took a walk with my coffee around the convent grounds. Just to see the sights. I wasn't far from home - just outside Baltimore and about an hour-and-a-half from our house. But there's something about being on a hilltop, in the woods, that makes you feel like you're a million miles from anywhere. I stumbled upon the Peace Garden.
Years ago, on another five-day silent retreat, I had a dream about a gate just like this one. In the dream, the gate sat in the water behind my childhood home. I woke up with peace I had not known before in my life (I was about 23.) Interestingly enough, I didn't think much about that dream when I was in this peace garden. I was too busy noticing the things that people had left behind.
And that's where the noticing really kicked in. As I sat on a rock, things started to take shape before my eyes.
I couldn't find a blank book, so I brought this journal -- half finished from 2006 -- with plenty of room for more. In it I read, "There are no more good days. We are down to good hours, and bad hours." And yet, I would not leave for five more years. And those would be the years that I got a lot closer to the grandkids - which I wouldn't trade for anything. I'd give all the hours I have left for them, if they needed them.
There were all kinds of memorials here.
Who comes to light these candles?
I sat on a rock in the peace garden, listening to birds singing into Spring, and watching the bamboo trees stretch in the breeze. As surely as I am sitting here, it changed my life. Suddenly, I saw everything. I was really there. And it was ok for me to just be there. That was the peace I found in the garden.
The noticing that started with the waterfall the day before seemed to be the first, and most important, thing. Thinking back, I am actually quite proud of the fact that I made that connection to my old life so quickly - and kick the stone down the stream. I am a ruminator, after all.
I had meetings, but I carried the noticing and the permission to just be t/here back inside with me. It shaped the rest of my time on the retreat.
Starting with lunch. For the rest of the weekend, I let myself eat whatever I wanted. After six years of living with someone who commented on everything I put into my mouth, I wanted to just taste food. Even if it meant meat or cheese. I have been enjoying veganism, but sometimes (when it's a lot of work to cook/shop/make everything) I wind up starving myself or making unhealthy choices because there is "nothing" I can have. Which isn't all that different than what I was doing before veganism. There just isn't any meat in my bad choices. It's a way of "taking care of myself" by not taking care of myself.
And the interesting thing is, I still chose not to eat meat or cheese, the difference was I gave myself the option and felt free to decide.For lunch they had lovely roasted vegetable wrap sandwiches and homemade potato chips with garden salad. Loved it. The convent had a soda fountain and I indulged liberally in root beer.
And the homemade peach cobbler and thought of my dead father. (I once spent an entire afternoon peeling fresh peaches and making a peach cobbler and woke up to find my Dad had eaten the entire thing in the night. Now I understand it, but at 14? I was pretty peeved.) I bought myself a Milky Way from the vending machine and didn't allow myself to feel guilty. It was still a battle to give myself permission to enjoy the food. But I did it.
I sat and appreciated that someone had prepared such wonderful food for me and all I had to do was show up. I didn't even have to wash dishes or say thank you. I thought of a visit that my friend D. made to Montana at a time when I was really worn out and I sat there like a rag doll while she prepared food in my kitchen. The only difference was maybe she didn't know how worn out I was, and maybe she didn't really want to make the wraps that much. (Thanks, D. )
A moment then and now when you feel like a pebble balanced just on the very edge. You could be brushed off. You could fall off. You could remain there, in a state of tension possibly forever. You just won't know until you know. And, until then, there are good hours and bad hours spent just trying to maintain your balance.
I'm glad I made the wraps. And that you discovered that beautiful garden. I can see you there, a sculpture at peace among the stacked stones and candles in waiting.
Posted by: Debra | April 03, 2012 at 05:07 PM