"....and the enemy is us" ... pogo

Last winter I stayed several days at Pecos monastery in northern New Mexico. It is a pleasant society consisting of a dozen Benedictine monks and a couple of nuns. They are genuinely hospitable and simply pleased with the presence of a guest with no pressure of religious expectations.    The monastery is located in a remote village fifteen miles outside of Santa Fe. I went there with the intention of regaining some internal silence and renewed attentiveness. A blizzard arrived about the time that I did. The place is quiet anyway and the snow added to it with a foot of soft insulation. The individual guest rooms are spartan , chilly, and could foster a sense of loneliness if it were allowed foothold.

I looked forward to mealtimes. They  are communal.  Dinner is in total silence. Breakfast and lunch consequently invite all kinds of conversation: stories, jokes, and questions. The monks are a non-judgmental bunch and quite open to all kinds of dialogue. Nothing seems to shock or offend them. One morning about halfway through a breakfast of lox and bagels and thick oatmeal, a person entered the dining area with garb of animal skins and a scent that corroborated the outfit. The welcome by the brothers was robust and familiar. Initially, I thought this was a male person, but after getting food from the buffet, he sat down at my table and I soon concluded—though still with a bit of doubt—that this was actually a woman. I think she was only in her late forties, but well-weathered. She had a story.

I was taken with her. She is Julie and she lives alone in a cave about twelve miles from the monastery. She reads the Philokalia continually when she is not painting. She is adept with words. The monks give her occasional meals and conversation. Her natural home has no utilities and she hikes in once a month to enjoy a place of human contact, living mostly the life of a solitary person.

We sat talking long after the monks had done the breakfast dishes and left to do their other monk business.  I learned a lot about Julie. I learned that her work is represented by a well-respected gallery in Santa Fe. She was married briefly. No children. We talked about many things. She has lived alone for over 20 years. Her cave has no mortgage and she requires little for her existence. She seems content, but she returns ritual-like to sporadic contact with this community.

Living well in relationship may be the supreme human challenge (and unrivaled human joy *). At some point Julie decided to leave us to live alone in her cave. Assumption of heroics aside, I am compelled to wonder if there was an event or series of events, an insult, sense of inadequacy, lust, fear, or rejection that drove Julie to her cave over two decades ago.  If that be so, I suppose that fear of some kind impelled her to enter into her isolation. As unique and meaningful as her life appears, something is unresolved. I say that without censure because something in her hermit life reflects in my own. 

Deep and unfettered connection with another or others must be the bottom line purpose of human communication. I have little experience with it but I find myself seeking it like a madwoman. I find my conversations tend toward settling into core matters with an aversion to affectation. (although I certainly do that well also) And in that pursuit of clarity, I discover as Pogo says “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

If I were to submit myself to hauling about a large bag of rocks on my shoulders each day the burden of the unnatural load will soon distort my body and hinder my movement. I suspect most of us unconsciously tolerate heavy relational baggage that equally distorts and hinders freely loving and connecting. I may be completely wrong about Julie. It’s a good story that generates some wonder and mystery and questions.

A friend and I had a discussion this afternoon that prompted this post. We discussed the ideas of our histories with others and how we feed our pain and fuel this baggage—about the damaging effect of our sorry stories… that altogether serve to keep relationships in the realm of fraudulence and control. I want to add to this post next time with some of the content of that conversation.

* Thanks, Laura B.