A Monk's Ponderings

It is Sunday, the hunters are out, shooting rabbits and hares, maybe some quail too. Farmers are burning dry olive branches, smoke curls up all over the valley. Blue herons cross over looking for a safe place to land, more shots resound, the birds round my tent flutter up out of the bushes in panic. Shotguns silence their song. Like some scene out of Tolstoy's War and Peace, which I am reading once more to fall in sleep by. I'm running out of books and am recycling many works once more. Thomas Merton's writings are also worthwhile to read for a second and even third time. His monastic journals covering 25 years of writer/monk life, what a cross!

Yes I still have those dreams, to be a monk, to start a small community dedicated to silence and perpetual prayer. Just a few brothers growing together in charity and love, humbly going about their work; plowing, sowing, writing, study, sharing, inviting, embracing. However I have had only two responses on this idea of creating a small monastery. Oh well, shanti, shanti, God's will be done.

The rain which came down plentiful these last three weeks has kept me near the stove in my tent and given me opportunity to read a lot. Below I paste some quotes which speak a language to me I do understand, a language and thoughts which are mine too.

“That we might pass clean out of the midst of all that is transitory and inconclusive; return to the Immense, the Primordial, the Source, the Unknown, to Him Who loves and knows, to the Silent, to the Merciful, to the Holy, to Him Who is All. To seek anything, to be concerned with anything but this is only madness and sickness, for this is the whole meaning and heart of all existence, and in this all the affairs of life, all the needs of the world and of men, take on their right significance: all point to this one great return to the Source.”
-Thomas Merton

To be great is to go on
To go on is to be far
To be far is to return
-Lao Tzu

“You cannot give yourself to man in charity unless you have first given yourself to God. If you try to do so, your gift will be valueless; it will be giving a stone for a bread, or worse, giving for a fish a serpent”.
-Lord Northbourne

“In any case it follows from all traditional definitions of man's supreme function that a man capable of contemplation has no right to neglect it but is on the contrary called to dedicate himself to it; in other words, he sins neither against God nor against his neighbor – to say the least – in following the example of Mary in the gospels and not that of Martha, for contemplation contains action and not the reverse. If in point of fact action can be opposed to contemplation, it is nevertheless not opposed to it in principle, nor is action called for what is beyond necessary or required by the duties of a man's station in life. In abasing ourselves from humility, we must not also abase things which transcends us, for then our virtue loses all its value and meaning; to reduce spirituality to a “humble” utilitarianism – thus a disguised materialism – is to give offense to God, on the one hand because it is like saying it is not worthwhile to be overly preoccupied with God and on the other hand because it means regulating the divine gift of intelligence to the rank of the superfluous.”
-Frithjof Schuon

“In the temporal dimensions that stretches ahead of us there are only three certitudes: that of death, that of Judgment, and that of Eternal Life. We have no power over the past and we do not know the future. As far as the future is concerned we have but these three certitudes, but we posses o fourth in this very moment, and that fourth is all: it is that of our actuality, of our present liberty to choose God and thus to choose our whole destiny. In this instant, this present, we hold our whole life, our whole existence: all is good if this instant is good, and if we know how to fix our life in this hallowed instant; all the secret of spiritual faithfulness lies in dwelling in this instant, in renewing it and perpetuating it by prayer, in holding on to it by means of the spiritual rhythm, in enclosing wholly within it the time that floods over us and threatens to drag us far away from this “divine moment”.
The vocation of the monk is perpetual prayer, not because life is long, but because it is only a moment; the perpetuity – or the rhythm – of the orison demonstrates that life is but an ever-present instant, just as the spatial fixation in a consecrated place demonstrates that the world is but a point, a point however which belongs to God, and is therefore everywhere and excludes no bliss.”
-Frithjof Schuon

Speak Not

Another thing that boggles the mind of most; a “rule” of not speaking! “Not speaking? Aaaah I couldn't stand it. Never?” The thumping of a pestle in a mortar, the dough which is kneaded, you hear how the hands clutch it, then roll it into a chapati, the breathing of the one who labors, a bird trying out a new song, a kettle being filled with water, the wood-stove which crackles, a dog scratching, someone chops wood around the corner, the perennial cock crows once more, dogs having a talk, I hear the coffee percolator rumbling, dishes being set on the table, slurping and chewing, a content burp. Shuffling of feet going downwards, a hoe slung over his shoulder, a tractor passes by, Nunolito the donkey calls out like donkeys do, a turkey laughs, I hear scissors pruning an olive tree, I hear grace raining down in a myriad of languages unknown to many. Talk obscures it all; words which can hurt you and the other. So many thing I wish I would never have said. Quietude, solitude, silence among man, hearing the voice of the Father who gives, the sound of nature, song of the universe, silence of wisdom.

Virgin Point

The howl of an owl, barren branches creak in the wind, a rooster crows, announcing a new day still hidden in darkness. It is four o'clock in the morning, temperature minus zero. All is silent, no dog barks, even the night-birds do not sing. We await the first shimmer of purple, to see the horizon mysteriously appear out of veils of mist, from non-being to being, like the birds who open their eyes asking the Father if it is time to sing. Three hours later Mont Santos looms up in a sea of fire, the birds respond with song, I bow down thanking God for the wisdom which speaks in silence, in nothingness, between being and non being, when night makes place for dawn, when everything is created anew, born again, like on the first morning ever. Paradise is here, enter the garden and BE.

Funny, well, “funny”, that when in dialogue, when throwing up ideas about a small monastic foundation and how to live there, according to which daily rhythm we monks lay down our schedule; the idea of waking up at four o'clock in the morning when the whole creation reaches its virginal point, this proposition bounces back at you like a hard ball. The first natural reaction that people have is rejection of rising early as something bizarre. Rumblings about “freedom of will”, or “this makes no sense”. You can't have the cake and eat it too, the idea to wake up to meet God is already forgotten, waking at four o'clock is seen as a sacrifice, to meet wisdom in the death of night of no value. We rather snuggle in for some more hours and sleep undisturbed although the whole living world is like a house on fire, blazing with flames of death, disease, hunger, greed and war.

May we be clear that it is not about us, not about our own comfort, nor our own peace, but mankind's. For this, we lay aside our petty desires, rather seek love and love only, a love which embraces deluded mankind, in its delusions and sins.

Who will wake up with me in darkness, when wisdom gathers in silence, the virgin point before dawn?

New Chapter

My dear friend, brother, you tell me to write a book (cover with printed paper in between), but my life's book has not been written yet, I'm somewhere in the middle I hope. Let me live my story, these words, this divine scenario written on my heart, sentences of silence praising the all.
Three young people just descended my hill after an interview for some sort of book or blog. The topic was “Longing”, so the question was what I longed for. It took me not long to answer; “Silence”, and then explained how I came to such a longing. No, more; this deep conviction that silence cures, heals, strengthens a broken world. Many might be called to this silence, though only a few “hear”!
The three of them, in their late twenties or early thirties I guess, went back to the guest quarters quite content, happy, and, they ensured me, very much inspired; “We should come back with a camera crew”, yeah, yeah, making noise again.

However, this visit emphasized once more that there is a great hunger, there is a need to create spaces where men is able to live a contemplative/meditative life-style, a space of silence, a silence to hear.

The wood stove purrs, Violetta too. I might go down for a meal, though I am not really hungry. Oh well, community life! Mindless talking, empty chatter, time-pass!

Mosteiro De Jesus Do Deserto

Noise of tractors in the valley below me, they crawl around like weird yellow bugs chewing up and spitting out shredded straw on a barren field, another tractor plows, turning the yellow field into brown. I wonder what they are up to. Over all it is rather silent on this hill, some barking of dogs, the bells of sheep and the yelling of the shepherds just before sunset, and then the song of birds and howls of owls at night. Precious silence so seldom heard, as if people are afraid of silence in this Ipod age. Useless talking obscures the truth which sounds out in silence day and night, boisterous chatter masks the confusion that afflicts mankind, out of fear for the not-I, the hidden self, the not self, the void.

I see a need within me and recognize this need in my brother too, the need for silence. A silence of protest to the noise of the world, a silence of the heart in which we lift up the pain of this planet, the loneliness and confusion of mankind, the hunger and pestilence killing millions, our heart an altar with offers of peace and prayers of healing. A silence too in which we hope to see one day Christ face to face and know ourselves as we are known.

I envision and hope to create with a few like minded brothers, a small community, where just the three or four of us, pray, live and work as monks, in silence. Receiving in our midst the stragglers along the road. Our common way of life is simple, some gardening, some life-stock, maybe some carpentry or any other craft, Most of our time however, will be devoted to being in the presence of God. I see our life's rhythm being stipulated according monastic lines (or the time of birds). A time of prayer and fasting, a time of meditation and spiritual reading, of waking up (very early, before the birds, before the world arises from its wearied slumber) and sleeping (early too, like the chickens). I envision a life of brotherly love, humbly serving each other and welcome guests as we would welcome Christ, into a silence which will bring healing and nourishment to our soul, heart and mind.

Our silence will not be a merely “quietism” but rather an being awake, total awareness, a constant following Jesus through his death onto the narrow path towards spiritual maturity, the hazardous road into Divine Darkness, like pilgrims on their way to the City of God, the house of our Father.

In the community I live (and die) at presently is no scope for any personal spiritual growth (for me personally). I have flirted around with ideas of entering a monastery, the Carthusians (die-hard), but then, after I would have closed this heavy monastery door behind me, (I imagine a horrible creak of the rusty hinges), would I then have locked myself up, together with the love and gifts given to me, this need to receive the broken hearted, my desire to give, not able to share the things I have learned in life at this stage? To disappear into oblivion just now when I start to see more and more clearly what it actually is what I need and because I need this it might mean there is this need for others too. Love not shared is no love.

This is what suddenly dawned upon me the last day of 2008, that there is something more I have to do, Christ gently reminded me so, He will make a way.

Return from the Summit

Today is the last day of the year two thousand and eight and at a sudden I realize that I still have something to do. There is something more to create, the rain tells me so. The rain which drops down in a most curious rhythm, comforting in its regularity, the way the beads of my mala flit through my fingers, the way I breath in and out; Jesus, Jesus. Is there something more to create, where do I see a need? I see it!

Faith Once More

I have been troubled these last two months. While roaming through the forest, doing this and that on the land, my inner journey continued, a struggle inside. While outwardly at rest, inward there was mostly turmoil, a deep spiritual crisis, a challenging, a questioning and crying out to God, whoever or whatever God might be. Although I live in a veritable paradise and have all my body/hands/eyes need, my soul/spirit was longing for more. I felt separation, distance, even rejection from that “realm in heaven”, the source of all things, the house of the Father. This desire for God has always been within me. As an altar-boy I often became enraptured by things unseen while incense curled up into domed concrete heaven. In my later childhood I sought the essence of God in beauty, nature, love. I have searched for God in the darkness of hard drugs and on the heights of LSD.


After my “conversion” I have even served this unknown God for over 15 years, the last ten years in India, bringing healing and love to the sick and dying in the name of Jesus. I never really knew Him, the doctrine of faith; salvation through the blood of Christ was tasteless to me. So my search for God continued by reading all the books of the world; philosophy, mythology, psychology, physics, history and all world’s religions. Still, I found Him not. So in my emptiness and pride I puffed myself up, becoming the proverbial clay above the potter, adorning myself with all kinds of cleverness, oh freethinker I was. My ambitions were big, my reputation as a man of God, an evangelist, pioneer and spiritual leader stretched way back, although I knew Him not.
Who really knew me?


No need to describe the inner emptiness I experienced after I left India. Speechless I remained among my trees, walked with the dog, questioning, wrestling, thinking so deep, my head would hurt, my conscience burning within, voices of condemnation clamouring; the accuser inside gave no respite. It was in this spirit that I travelled with Barbara to Spain, into the “Sierra de la Luna”, the mountains of the moon, to attend the Rainbow Gathering. This time the European families - made up of hippies, freaks, freethinkers, anarchists and outcasts, in short all the beautiful people the world reject – came together on the astounding mountain ranges of Leon, to celebrate unity, love, nature, etc; running around naked and painted, free as children, worshipping a thousand gods unknown: Shiva, Krishna, Kali, Ganesh, mother earth, the moon, the stars, themselves. However, what attracts me in the Rainbow People (Children of the Pure Light), is their apparent freedom, joy, their search for truth, their respect for nature, their communal living by sharing all. Though most I was fascinated by their freedom, childlike, playful. In comparison I found myself bleak, burdened and lifeless, a shame within, no freedom at all.


Prompted by a “higher demand” I climbed the mountain to escape the spiritual din in the valley below. I went up until the tipi village was out of sight and I was surrounded by bare rocks and the rugged peaks of Moon Mountain. I was out of breath, all the while muttering, complaining, crying out to God. In black despair I embraced a rock and sunk down in darkness.

It was then that a light began to shine, first dim, then clear, removing one veil then others, from my heart, my eyes, my mind. It was then that I saw for the first time clear the beauty of the Gospel, the Word of God, His expression. I saw its brilliant simplicity, a simplicity which confounds the wisdom of this world, putting to shame the wise and mighty. “For God loved the world so much that he gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him should not be lost, but should have eternal life”. I saw its majestic message, I saw heaven opened, I saw God then and there, pure Light. At that instant I knew Jesus, the Christ, coming from God. Forgivingly he healed me from my blindness, loosened the burden of sin, while silencing the voice of the accuser, crushing the head under his heel. I descended the mountain a free man, I sprang down happy, carrying within the revelation of the Kingdom of God, in its true meaning, something beyond words. Faith is a gift.
The journey continues, the search, however, is over.


“I do assure you that I myself am the door for the sheep. All who have gone before me are like thieves and rogues, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the door. If a man goes in through me, he will be safe and sound; he can come in and out and find his food. The thief comes with the sole intention of stealing and killing and destroying, but I came to bring them life, and far more life then before. I am the good shepherd”.