Day 4;goodbye to the mountain

Up at 3.45 am again and not feeling wrecked! Working hard at acquiring serenity and spiritual whatever.

Later in the morning, I made my way, on my own, up to the Cross. Heard noises as if something were coming up the path after me. Alone on the mountain, my heart was in my throat. Indeed, something was coming up the path after me- two somethings. A pony and a donkey. The donkey was in pitiful condition. His hooves were so overgrown that he could barely walk. The poor thing was in need of urgent veterinary attention.  (Later enquiries ascertained that the mountain and any animals thereon belonged to a local woman with a reputation for being difficult.)

I made my way down to the Guesthouse, packed and tidied up in preparation for an early afternoon departure. I was leaving feeling not very different to when I had arrived. I had met some very interesting people (to say the least!) and gained huge respect for the strength of belief that kept this community of monks in this life day after day, year after year.

Final task; donation envelope to be filled. The advice given was to donate whatever you would pay for Bed and Breakfast in an ordinary guesthouse. Or less - whatever you could afford. I gave what I thought a hotel would cost; I thought it the least I could do in return for the experience I’d had. I also added a note requesting the Brothers to please, please, look for the little donkey and have it attended to. I’d have made reference to the little donkey of Bethlehem if I’d thought it would strengthen my plea.

Goodbyes said and envelope slipped into the Guest master’s post-box, I was heading out of the secret garden when I heard my name being called. The Guestmaster was hurrying down the path, robes flapping. Very taken aback, I wondered what could be wrong.  Had I not left enough money for my stay? Had he taken offence at my requesting help for the poor creature on the mountain? This is what he said when he caught up with me: “I couldn’t let you leave without complimenting you on the state you left your room in. It was spotless. Thank You. You left me very little to do.” 

Hello? The fact that the elderly Brother practically ran down the garden to thank me, begs the question; what state do other guests leave their accommodation in? Are they partying and trashing the rooms? Perhaps he finds rooms lined with tinfoil tacked to the walls in order to keep the mind readers away? The thought of him having to shovel piles of anti-demon salt away from the doorsteps had me in convulsions of unseemly laughter.

My four days and nights had not been silent, quiet, or enclosed, as expected. On the contrary, they’d been action packed. I’d climbed, gotten up at 3.45 am, had chocolate cake for breakfast with a monk, met people who talked in tongues and made day trips to castles and the seaside. And that wasn’t the half of it.

I left the monastery and drove home, singing along to the Gregorian chant cd, until I took a wrong turning. After that, only The Eagles could help me fly along when I eventually got back on track.