Your Cell Will Teach You Everything

Some of you have heard my story and the story of the Wild Goose Hermitage before.  I told it a few weeks ago at our community retreat, and in the context of this series on teachers past and present, I include some recent reflections here.  Let me preface the reflection by noting that the phrase that appears in the title here comes from the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, and is attributed to Abba Moses, a fourth-century Egyptian hermit.  A similar observation appears in the Laozi, also known as the Tao Te Ching: "Without going outside, you may know the whole world.  Without looking through the window, you may see the ways of heaven."  (Feng & English, ch. 47)  The Wild Goose Hermitage is becoming the space from which I contemplate heaven, and here is its story....

My 5 years with the Lindisfarne Community have allowed me to refresh and renew my sense of Christian identity and belonging in a number of ways.  First, after spending 10 years without a "church home" I  encountered a community to which I now feel truly connected.  Second, +Jane and +Andy's affirmation of my ordination to priesthood was, and is, personally deeply significant.  And third, the monastic dimension of the religious life had called to me in my early twenties, and was calling again in the midst of many life changes.  Lindisfarne has become a lively environment in which the notion of vocation can be examined and re-examined.

Following the Rule and studying the Understandings provided a context for that examination, and my practice of prayer and meditation developed, mostly in the direction of fewer words, less "outward and visible" manifestation, and more silence.  Much more silence.  While some of my brothers and sisters in community were establishing daughter priories, I realized that my husband and I were not called to host others in our home, or develop an outside meeting place.  We arrived home at the end of a work day many months ago now, and I suddenly said to him, "This isn't a home church, it's a hermitage!"  He immediately agreed.

At this year's retreat I spoke about two elements that are essential for me in living the life of the Wild Goose Hermitage.  First is what I call a theology of place.  The space itself, our home, is small, modest, located on a dirt road on the side of a mountain in rural western New Hampshire.  There's a vibrant stream that runs across the street from the house.  Visitors usually find themselves walking toward the road to listen to it as it rushes downhill - it's part of what drew us to this place.  We are visited by deer, bear, moose, possum, porcupines, turkeys, a red-tail hawk and some loons overhead, along with the usual squirrels and chipmunks, and have herb, flower, and vegetable gardens around the house.  What I slowly came to realize is that this is a sacred space.  Others have said the same -- coming here is like going on a mini-retreat -- and I have taught Reiki classes and done healing sessions here as well.  This is a place of engagement with God, a place where my husband and I wrestle with the Divine, and take those insights out into our work.

The second essential element is rhythm.  I do best when I can go out to my workplace three, maybe four days a week.  That hasn't always been the case, but for the last few years I've been able to work at home 2 days a week, go in to work 3 days, and have the weekends with my husband and family.  When that rhythm gets disrupted, which it was recently, the balance of my spiritual life suffers.  I'm actively working to re-establish that balance now, and the months of May and June have been very helpful in that regard -- turns out I'd accrued lots of vacation days, and my supervisor has encouraged me to take them!  What I've discovered is a rhythm to my day that includes morning coffee and writing, then some qigong, then care of the hermitage (looks a lot like laundry and house-cleaning), then walking or reading or playing music, afternoon meditation, then dinner.  External obligations has always obscured my own underlying rhythm before; this is a very new and welcome discovery just now.

My heart is drawn to the peace of the hermitage as the setting in which the inner wrestling of the soul may be engaged in some measure of safety.  Other teachers appear in the form of books and conversations, but the "cell," the hermitage itself is very much my teacher.  Like the river in Hesse's novel, Siddhartha, its first lesson has been the importance of deep listening -- to self, and others, and the gentle sounds of water and wind.  As other lessons appear, I will share them.  Blessings!