My Life as a Monk ...

We are more then the 'stuff' we collect to define us. I have often let go of 'stuff' and it has often let go of me. This fact has amused, annoyed, and baffled me over the years. But, it never effected me that much. I lost friends when I lost a perceived status. I acquired them when that status returned. Though disappointing, these people never once altered my sense of my worth. My worth was never placed in that which, to me, is transient. As I wrote in my blog about Buddha transience is life. So, the spiritual mattered more, Faith , God, call it by any name that means something to you.

I had not yet graduated from Oxford University. I was in my second year. Brother Benjamin would visit my college, Worcester, on occasion and told me about Ampleforth monastery in Yorkshire(picture at the top). He was a Benedictine monk and was studying Theology. I was fascinated by an alternative to this perception of material success that prevailed in the 1980's.

I did not want a life on a treadmill chasing 'stuff', which never felt true to me. I did not want to run in a race I did not create, that felt rigged from the start and whose goal post was forever out of reach. Life seemed too short for that. And, success meant what exactly?. I did not know. The image above speaks volumes. So, the opportunity to spend time in this monastry was something I could not refuse. It offered and alternate path in life to the one prescribed for happiness in society in the late 1980's - money, sex, worldly power.

My question was what remained of a person once they renounced all those definitions of self that defined them in a materialistic secular culture. People sacrificed everything to achieve that brand of success and subsequent validation in society all around me during those years. The movie "Working Girl' defined the era, as did the best selling book by Tom Wolfe, and movie, 'The Bonfire of The Vanities". Mammon ruled the day along with Reagan and Thatcher. I had not paid much interest in Eastern religions, but had read Herman Hesse at that time, so he sowed a seed for further study over the years.

Many people projected all sorts of sexual fantasies around my trip to Ampleforth monastery.They had no idea what monastic life was like and nor did I. A few thought it was a loss of individuality to become a monk that alarmed them. It seems to be many things to many people, though none had any actual knowledge of living in a monastery. I was intrigued by vows of chastity, poverty and obedience. I packed my bags and got on the train for Yorkshire with an open mind.

Ampleforth school was founded in 1802. It is also a Benedictine monastry. The monks here take a vow of Obedience, Stability and Hope. I was greeted by one of the Fathers and after I had settle into my cell. I walked out an took in the view. Corn fields with red poppies, green hedges, birds singing and a cool summer breeze swept gently through the valley.

The narrative for a successful life had been written for me. I loved what Oscar Wilde had to say about our lives:"Most people are other people.Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry , the passions a quotation." This is not what I was seeking.

The concept that entering a monastry meant that you lost your individuality was instantly obliterated. Fashion defines one, and fashion is an effective medium to avoid being your true self. We can escape into a new trend, and project a whole new image of self. We can attract an entirely new community based solely on what fashion we wear and belong to a tribe immediately as a result. However, that brown cassock does not allow that ability to hide who one is, one is forced to confront oneself. They cannot externally change to avoid internal truths. The monks individuality did not reside in their attire I discovered. It resided in them facing the challenges within and becoming completely uniquely themselves as a result. It is hard to explain, but it was amazing to witness.

Father Alexander was the 'radical', because he liked Carl Jung. He had wild brown curly hair and spoke like a revolutionary from a Russian novel. Father  Dunstable taught English and moved like a poet through the monastery with the grace of a beautiful sentence. I had never met anyone so utterly themselves that they almost became a parody. The monks had devoted much of their lives to God. The brown cassock at first made them look the same, but that lasted only seconds as you spoke and shared life jourenys'.

There was silence in my cell. I lay in bed each morning listening to it. A bell rang for morning prayer at 5.40am. It was dawn over the valley and I could hear the chants. It was serene. There was silence until Lauds at 7.30am (morning prayer). There was an evening prayer at 8.15pm , which was followed by The Summun Silentum, The Great Silence, that lasted until morning.

I spoke with Father Alexander often and on one particular afternoon over tea I talked about my childhood, life, my interests, my path and he said this," It appears you have always been aware of two worlds co existing at once.You straddle both and try to unite them. You live at the shore line and always have."

That is true. I have not gone into my spiritual path, nor my mystical experiences on this blog. I seldom ever speak of those to anyone. Which are very real and present to me. I play with the physical image of my self and project that, sometimes to avoid the stronger abstract spiritual tendency within me. Perhaps, my journey now is to return to that inner 'monk' and find the balance between the two selves. Maybe it is time reconnect to that 'shore line' that Father Alexander spoke of once many years ago now.

I do not believe in material things. I really do not seek them, nor care for them. I learned from the monks there is so much more then 'stuff' in life and refuse the treadmill. I will not adhere to this narrative of life, it was never mine. My path is certainly more lonely as a result, but I am not lonely, I never was, or will be. I am a 'strange bird' and I like 'strange birds' as I am beginning to realize.

peace.