prose and poetry written by our guests in response to their time here.
Living Deeply by Keas from Miami
The busyness and noisiness of the world make it easy to live a distracted and shallow existence. I come to the monastery because I want to live deeply. My annual retreat is spent remembering and reflecting on that which is at the center of life - God, gospel, and kingdom. The stillness of the canyons, the silence of the desert, and the simplicity of the brothers always help me get back to these basic, fundamental truths.
Balancing Action and Stillness by Pat
As a former Co-Director of the Center for Action and Contemplation, I learned that without balancing action with the stillness of a place apart like Christ in the Desert, my body, soul and mind suffered fatigue. Since retirement, I am very busy with friends and family (and a cause or two). I have come here to remind myself who I am on the Path apart from my other roles.
I come with no agenda. I am quiet. I participate in the prayer life, am absorbed in that incredible natural beauty. God incarnate does the rest!
Swimming through Vigils by Chris from San Diego
We walked out in the chilly, starless night,
a line of soundless bobbing flashlights,
across the desert valley floor from the guesthouse
to the monastery chapel.
Deep darkness,
deep silence;
and then, shedding our jackets
we dove into the obsidian water of Vigils,
swimming where we could not swim,
praying beyond where we ourselves could pray.
When body and mind would be asleep,
the third part clung for buoyancy
to the circle of chant.
With no bearings of our own, we could only follow the wake
of eighteen strong swimmers, far ahead,
as each of them had gone this midnight way a thousand times before.
We swam, to where?
Out to the middle and back.
In our jackets once again, and safe,
another time we trod the frosted night clay path.
The line of bobbing flashlights traced
over the footbridge and the rutted road,
on through the gravel courtyard,
up the stairs and back to sleep,
a sleep as calm as peaceful death,
anticipated warmly in the center of the night.
Why Do I Come to the Monastery by Dale from Manchester
I first came because I literally had no choice. I was recovering from a radioactive cancer treatment and I couldn't be around pregnant women or children for three weeks. Since you never know what women may be pregnant, I had to go somewhere where I thought women and children would not go - a monastery.
I had never before been to a monastery and knew nothing about it. The first week, my entire being was in rebellion against the order and the silence. And then something strange happened.
During the second week, I made peace with the order and silence.
During the third week, I became friends with the order and silence.
Those three weeks changed my life. I was introduced to a completely different dimension of life, one that I craved to explore and develop.
Now, 15 years later, I go as often as I can.
I thought I knew God before I went to a monastery. Now I know better just how little I knew God, and am only now finding out how much I crave God.
Reflections from Rose, in Downers Grove, IL
I was on my annual retreat at the Monastery where I always benefit from the wisdom of the desert. Its timeless, indiscriminate beauty and ruggedness always put things in perspective, emphasizing both my smallness compared to God and the universe, as well as my insignificance as part of God's grand dream for the cosmos.
The desert is a wonderful place in which to taste and see that the Lord is good. Its beauty, quietness and dignity inspired this poem I wrote called "Sacraments".
Sacraments...
Words...
Experience...
Sacraments...
Gifts...
Part of the reason I go to the desert is to notice: to notice what is at work in me, to notice what `crops up' that I've submerged, to notice what I listen to and what I shut out. I took quite a bit of restlessness with me to the desert, and that restlessness lingered. I noticed that I had a harder time settling in this time than I usually do.
While there, I wrote in my journal: "Within my body/spirit/psyche is a restless that constantly is at work in me. This raises some issues for me - am I restless because I still don't feel at home with God or rest in God? Or is the restlessness a result of seeing a bigger picture, a greater opportunity, a wider vision? I suspect that sometimes it's one, sometimes the other, and sometimes all. When I reflect on who I am and whose I am, a gigantic dose of humility is in order as well as an audacious awe. When one is struggling to be born and embrace life as a whole person, restlessness is a result, and is healthy and appropriate."
HOME by Rich from Chicago, IL
When I'm at my desert home,
I can see the tree where God lives.
Rust and copper stain the hills,
watercolored solid stone.
God's creation pierces my heart,
wordless beauty engenders awe,
causing me to fall on solid ground
to listen closely to earth's heartbeat.
A measured pace breathes between
my inner and outer God.
Moved to sing the eternal song
imprinted in my soul,
I simply move my feet and dance.
Prayer by Rich from Chicago, IL
Wasn't time for church yet,
but I knew I needed to be there.
Nearing the heavy wooden doors,
I shook the dirt and dust from my shoes.
Slowly making my way up the aisle,
I stopped and gently bowed at the waist.
Took my usual seat, front row right
so I could lean against the adobe wall.
The cool clay soothing me,
putting me in mind of the dirt
and dust of my soul -
and the life breathed into me long ago.
I come here and feel
connected to the earth,
and to the water
mixed with dirt that put a skin
on this church,
this Body of Christ.
Now through this simple act
of being with my God,
I understand deeply:
He called me here.
I listened, I breathed,
I ate, I drank, I answered,
and that made all the difference.
Reflections from a soul-searcher from NH
Truth be told, I don't know why I came to the Monastery. I just know I was led there.
While I was visiting, I read a quote in a book: "You go on a pilgrimage because you know there is something missing in your soul, and the only way you can find it is to go to sacred places, places where God made himself known to others. In sacred places, something gets done to you that you have been unable to do for yourself." (Chasing Francis by Ian Morgan Cron)
It was then that I knew why I came.
Reflections from Ellen in New York
The question - Why do I come to the Monastery - brought tears to my eyes, because this place has come to mean so much to me.
I first came to the monastery because of the extraordinarily beautiful landscape that surrounds it. But while I still delight in the landscape, something else pulled me back year after year for 7 years: a sense of deep, meaningful silence and a life of the spirit. A non-Catholic (I am a Jew), I am deeply moved by the quiet, disciplined prayerful life of the monks and their generous hospitality made possible by their few and clear rules for guests. In the silence they offer, I can rediscover my own spiritual path and learn from theirs.
And they have come to mean so much to me as well: throughout the year between my now annual visits, I wonder about them, particularly those who are growing older: will I see this or that one again? Who is there and who is going on to other service in other lands? They are not my family, yet there is a sense of loving reunion each year when I return. So too, for the now familiar beloved landscape and the astonishing stars!
My life is enriched by my time there and by its life while I am at home.
Reflections from Don in Albuquerque
I came to the Monastery as part of an Episcopal Church retreat. For one weekend we shared in worship and breaking bread with the monks. Their living example of holiness and peace had an impact on all of us at the retreat as we sought the will of God.
Reflections on My Trip from Stella in Houston
For several years, I had heard people rave about a Monastery in New Mexico. I thought about going but I knew it was about a three hour drive from the Albuquerque airport and, as I do not like to drive, I wondered how I would make it. Well, God, as always, did provide. A friend was able to pick me up at the airport, and drive me to the Monastery.
The drive was very pleasant with beautiful, beautiful scenery. All surrounded by mountains, not the mountains that are green with trees - but humongous pieces of clay and rock - in colors ranging from white to pink to red. The bright blue sky and white clouds seem to be bluer and whiter than I have ever seen, in those wide open spaces.
The main road is excellent, and a side road to the Monastery itself, is gravel, not paved, but still good. The road did not appear hazardous; one has to take it slowly.
There is a complete schedule of prayers in the church for the monks that all guests may participate in, or they may do their own prayer period. On Sundays, the guests have an opportunity to speak to the monks over refreshments. It was a joy to visit with them, and another highlight of my stay.
Words cannot describe the feeling I had being in this Monastery; I felt so close to God. I thanked Him over and over for making it possible to be there - I thanked Him for putting my friend in Houston in my life who has always inspired me, but more so in convincing me to visit the Monastery, as well all the people who were instrumental in getting me to this place that God helped the Benedictine Monks to create. I can hardly wait to return!
The busyness and noisiness of the world make it easy to live a distracted and shallow existence. I come to the monastery because I want to live deeply. My annual retreat is spent remembering and reflecting on that which is at the center of life - God, gospel, and kingdom. The stillness of the canyons, the silence of the desert, and the simplicity of the brothers always help me get back to these basic, fundamental truths.
Balancing Action and Stillness by Pat
As a former Co-Director of the Center for Action and Contemplation, I learned that without balancing action with the stillness of a place apart like Christ in the Desert, my body, soul and mind suffered fatigue. Since retirement, I am very busy with friends and family (and a cause or two). I have come here to remind myself who I am on the Path apart from my other roles.
I come with no agenda. I am quiet. I participate in the prayer life, am absorbed in that incredible natural beauty. God incarnate does the rest!
Swimming through Vigils by Chris from San Diego
We walked out in the chilly, starless night,
a line of soundless bobbing flashlights,
across the desert valley floor from the guesthouse
to the monastery chapel.
Deep darkness,
deep silence;
and then, shedding our jackets
we dove into the obsidian water of Vigils,
swimming where we could not swim,
praying beyond where we ourselves could pray.
When body and mind would be asleep,
the third part clung for buoyancy
to the circle of chant.
With no bearings of our own, we could only follow the wake
of eighteen strong swimmers, far ahead,
as each of them had gone this midnight way a thousand times before.
We swam, to where?
Out to the middle and back.
In our jackets once again, and safe,
another time we trod the frosted night clay path.
The line of bobbing flashlights traced
over the footbridge and the rutted road,
on through the gravel courtyard,
up the stairs and back to sleep,
a sleep as calm as peaceful death,
anticipated warmly in the center of the night.
Why Do I Come to the Monastery by Dale from Manchester
I first came because I literally had no choice. I was recovering from a radioactive cancer treatment and I couldn't be around pregnant women or children for three weeks. Since you never know what women may be pregnant, I had to go somewhere where I thought women and children would not go - a monastery.
I had never before been to a monastery and knew nothing about it. The first week, my entire being was in rebellion against the order and the silence. And then something strange happened.
During the second week, I made peace with the order and silence.
During the third week, I became friends with the order and silence.
Those three weeks changed my life. I was introduced to a completely different dimension of life, one that I craved to explore and develop.
Now, 15 years later, I go as often as I can.
I thought I knew God before I went to a monastery. Now I know better just how little I knew God, and am only now finding out how much I crave God.
Reflections from Rose, in Downers Grove, IL
I was on my annual retreat at the Monastery where I always benefit from the wisdom of the desert. Its timeless, indiscriminate beauty and ruggedness always put things in perspective, emphasizing both my smallness compared to God and the universe, as well as my insignificance as part of God's grand dream for the cosmos.
The desert is a wonderful place in which to taste and see that the Lord is good. Its beauty, quietness and dignity inspired this poem I wrote called "Sacraments".
Sacraments...
- Visible signs of invisible grace.
Words...
- Signposts to name experience.
Experience...
- Tasting and feeling life's offerings.
Sacraments...
- White moon flowers opening to the night,
- Pointed ears of a listening alert squirrel,
- Geese belly-diving into the river.
- Monastic rice soup seasoned with leek,
- Plaintive chant rising of incense,
- Welcoming smiles and open doors.
Gifts...
- All imbued with the presence of God.
- Little things pointing to the All in All.
- Creation as a Sacrament if there be eyes
- To see.
Part of the reason I go to the desert is to notice: to notice what is at work in me, to notice what `crops up' that I've submerged, to notice what I listen to and what I shut out. I took quite a bit of restlessness with me to the desert, and that restlessness lingered. I noticed that I had a harder time settling in this time than I usually do.
While there, I wrote in my journal: "Within my body/spirit/psyche is a restless that constantly is at work in me. This raises some issues for me - am I restless because I still don't feel at home with God or rest in God? Or is the restlessness a result of seeing a bigger picture, a greater opportunity, a wider vision? I suspect that sometimes it's one, sometimes the other, and sometimes all. When I reflect on who I am and whose I am, a gigantic dose of humility is in order as well as an audacious awe. When one is struggling to be born and embrace life as a whole person, restlessness is a result, and is healthy and appropriate."
HOME by Rich from Chicago, IL
When I'm at my desert home,
I can see the tree where God lives.
Rust and copper stain the hills,
watercolored solid stone.
God's creation pierces my heart,
wordless beauty engenders awe,
causing me to fall on solid ground
to listen closely to earth's heartbeat.
A measured pace breathes between
my inner and outer God.
Moved to sing the eternal song
imprinted in my soul,
I simply move my feet and dance.
Prayer by Rich from Chicago, IL
Wasn't time for church yet,
but I knew I needed to be there.
Nearing the heavy wooden doors,
I shook the dirt and dust from my shoes.
Slowly making my way up the aisle,
I stopped and gently bowed at the waist.
Took my usual seat, front row right
so I could lean against the adobe wall.
The cool clay soothing me,
putting me in mind of the dirt
and dust of my soul -
and the life breathed into me long ago.
I come here and feel
connected to the earth,
and to the water
mixed with dirt that put a skin
on this church,
this Body of Christ.
Now through this simple act
of being with my God,
I understand deeply:
He called me here.
I listened, I breathed,
I ate, I drank, I answered,
and that made all the difference.
Reflections from a soul-searcher from NH
Truth be told, I don't know why I came to the Monastery. I just know I was led there.
While I was visiting, I read a quote in a book: "You go on a pilgrimage because you know there is something missing in your soul, and the only way you can find it is to go to sacred places, places where God made himself known to others. In sacred places, something gets done to you that you have been unable to do for yourself." (Chasing Francis by Ian Morgan Cron)
It was then that I knew why I came.
Reflections from Ellen in New York
The question - Why do I come to the Monastery - brought tears to my eyes, because this place has come to mean so much to me.
I first came to the monastery because of the extraordinarily beautiful landscape that surrounds it. But while I still delight in the landscape, something else pulled me back year after year for 7 years: a sense of deep, meaningful silence and a life of the spirit. A non-Catholic (I am a Jew), I am deeply moved by the quiet, disciplined prayerful life of the monks and their generous hospitality made possible by their few and clear rules for guests. In the silence they offer, I can rediscover my own spiritual path and learn from theirs.
And they have come to mean so much to me as well: throughout the year between my now annual visits, I wonder about them, particularly those who are growing older: will I see this or that one again? Who is there and who is going on to other service in other lands? They are not my family, yet there is a sense of loving reunion each year when I return. So too, for the now familiar beloved landscape and the astonishing stars!
My life is enriched by my time there and by its life while I am at home.
Reflections from Don in Albuquerque
I came to the Monastery as part of an Episcopal Church retreat. For one weekend we shared in worship and breaking bread with the monks. Their living example of holiness and peace had an impact on all of us at the retreat as we sought the will of God.
Reflections on My Trip from Stella in Houston
For several years, I had heard people rave about a Monastery in New Mexico. I thought about going but I knew it was about a three hour drive from the Albuquerque airport and, as I do not like to drive, I wondered how I would make it. Well, God, as always, did provide. A friend was able to pick me up at the airport, and drive me to the Monastery.
The drive was very pleasant with beautiful, beautiful scenery. All surrounded by mountains, not the mountains that are green with trees - but humongous pieces of clay and rock - in colors ranging from white to pink to red. The bright blue sky and white clouds seem to be bluer and whiter than I have ever seen, in those wide open spaces.
The main road is excellent, and a side road to the Monastery itself, is gravel, not paved, but still good. The road did not appear hazardous; one has to take it slowly.
There is a complete schedule of prayers in the church for the monks that all guests may participate in, or they may do their own prayer period. On Sundays, the guests have an opportunity to speak to the monks over refreshments. It was a joy to visit with them, and another highlight of my stay.
Words cannot describe the feeling I had being in this Monastery; I felt so close to God. I thanked Him over and over for making it possible to be there - I thanked Him for putting my friend in Houston in my life who has always inspired me, but more so in convincing me to visit the Monastery, as well all the people who were instrumental in getting me to this place that God helped the Benedictine Monks to create. I can hardly wait to return!