CHAPTER 1
SOUTH DEVON, ENGLAND
"Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you find; knock, and it will be open to you."
— Matthew 7:7
While driving to the first monastery, I was enthralled by the mustard-covered fields and rich green pastures that fill the fertile valleys of South Devon. There, the vistas glow with reflections of bright morning sunlight. Large, traditional farms with gray, timeworn, earth-walled, and timber-framed buildings stand surrounded by stone fences. Interspersed among them are newer farms made from quarried stone and brick, roofed with tile or slate. It was charming to see all the unusual properties spread out across the green land.
Road signs indicated that I was coming to a village near the monastery. Before I arrived in England, I had imagined what a traditional English village would look like, with its narrow cobblestone streets and the assortment of pubs, shops, and simple parish churches. In real life, however, the village was much more than I had imagined.
Crowded together were rows of shops looking like books on a library shelf, and the fairytale cottages outside the village came in all colors and shapes. I felt that an artist had taken a brush and painted the romantic scene of Victorian splendor before me. I couldn't help but think how a photograph of this scene would make a fun jigsaw puzzle.
Approaching Buckfast Abbey was stirring. The church bells rang loudly and clearly, calling the many people who could hear them from miles away to come to church. The sound of the bells seemed in a way to be giving me some kind of formal welcome. It was magnificent to see the tall sandstone-colored sanctuary's tower with its huge clock at the top like a lighthouse beacon showing me the way to the monastery.
I turned off from the main street and onto the monastery road, which led to the buildings and split off in different directions for the various activities that take place there. A small wooden sign painted in green indicated that I should turn right to find the guesthouse parking lot. After parking, I let out a sigh of relief that I had finally arrived.
I walked over a little arched footbridge that covered a small stream next to the guesthouse building. The babbling sound of water was soothing to my fragile nerves after the long drive. I walked up to the large glass double doors and rang the doorbell, watching the sunlight casting a multicolored light into the entry hall through the glass while I waited. After a few minutes, a brown-robed monk opened the door to greet me with a cheerful "good morning" in his traditional British accent. He was petite and thin in stature, with big green eyes that accented his sand-colored hair.
The monk introduced himself as Brother Frances, and he let me know that he was expecting me and was very pleased to see me. He explained that he was the guestmaster, and as such he was assigned to be in charge of the guesthouse. He said he was here to assure that I was comfortable and at ease with my surroundings.
A woman approached us to say hello, and he introduced her as the housekeeper, Jane. Brother Frances told me that she had been with them at the monastery for twenty years. "She knows how to run an efficient and tidy household!" he exclaimed.
Jane smiled and said to me, "If there is anything you need in regard to your stay, please don't hesitant to ask me."
Brother Frances then gave me a tour of the guesthouse, moving quickly and easily as we went through it. The downstairs consisted of a prayer room and a sitting room. Upstairs were the kitchen, dining room, and bedrooms. The rooms, although small, were filled with traditional Victorian furniture.
Brother Frances paused along the way in the dining room to explain the times for meals, and in the prayer room he handed me a pamphlet that explained the times and types of monastic services offered at the abbey. He mentioned that the monks celebrate the Divine Office six times a day, including the daily mass, and that I was invited to attend all services.
While we were upstairs, he showed me the large kitchen and dining area, explaining the self-help breakfast that consisted of cereal, fruit, and freshly baked bread for toast, eggs, juice, coffee, and tea.
He then led me down the hall to my bedroom, which was attractively decorated with floral wallpaper. The twin bed had a crème-colored quilt over a bedspread patterned with dainty purple flowers. A painted white desk and chair stood in the corner. On top of the desk bloomed a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers in a glass vase.
I was delighted to notice a skylight, which brought warm sunlight into the room. It was so lit up that I thought for a moment bright lights were on.
"It's a cheerful room," Brother Frances commented with a smile. He let me know that this completed the tour and then excused himself to return to some other work. With a quick "Cheerio," he turned and left.
* * *
The next morning I was ready for a good, strong cup of tea. Jane, the housekeeper, whom I found out also helps with breakfast, greeted me. She was the perfect example of an English housekeeper, carrying herself with pride and sophistication. That morning she was smartly dressed in a crisp white blouse and pressed black slacks. Her polished black flats completed the outfit. Her big, brown doll eyes accented her delicate features and soft creamy complexion. A golden hair clip held her thick, shiny, reddish-brown hair tied in the back with a twist.
The first thing Jane offered was tea, and there is nothing more enjoyable for me than watching how the English brew their tea. She added tea leaves to the hot teapot and filled it with boiling water, allowing the tea too steep for a few minutes while she warmed the cup with hot water. These rituals completed, she then poured me a nice warm cup of Earl Grey.
The aroma and taste of that first cup of English tea was warming and soothing to my entire being. Available for the tea were honey, sugar, milk, and lemon. Jane had also made fresh biscuits and crumpets for all of us to enjoy. She took a particularly genuine interest in ensuring the comfort of her guests.
The abbot joined us for breakfast that morning, which he said was one of his favorite times to visit with the guests. Jane was busy pouring juice and setting up when a guest put toast into the toaster without realizing that it didn't quite fit. The toast burned, and the smoke pouring from the toaster set off the fire alarm. Jane reacted quickly and said, "We'll all have to go downstairs and stay outside of the building until the alarm is reset." The abbot grumbled because he hadn't finished his breakfast and didn't want to let his eggs, toast, and sausage get cold.
Jane was halfway down the stairs when she noticed the abbot wasn't with us. She told us to go ahead; she would meet us outside. She went back up to check on the abbot, and after a few minutes, they came outside with the rest of us. We all had a nice giggle about the abbot being reluctant to follow the rules.
As we waited outside for permission to go back into the building, Jane led us over to her horse, Mr. Charlie, who was tied up along the fence. She told us, "Most days when I work at the monastery, I ride my horse, weather permitting, to and from my home in the village, which is just a few blocks away."
I thought how charming it was that she was able to ride her horse to work. "I love riding my horse," she said. "Riding keeps me in shape and clears my mind from my day of work. I grew up working with horses. I even trained my children to ride in competitions."
It was a delightful way to start my day with the other guests. The humorous event with the fire alarm going off and the abbot's grumbling response lightened my spirit and gave me smiles for the rest of the day.
* * *
Father Bosco
That afternoon, I walked to the small but revered historic chapel to meet Father Bosco. He was sitting inside, and as I entered, he got up to greet me with a charming smile and a friendly hello. He was of medium height with silver-gray hair and blue eyes. His cleft chin made me think of Kirk Douglas.
Father Bosco had wanted to meet with me in the chapel to show me where the monks pray. He explained that the chapel wasn't being used at that time for regular services because it was being remodeled.
While looking around inside, I could see why the monks enjoyed spending time in the quiet setting. The chapel had intricate, stained- glass windows all around that suffused the bright sunlight and gave the room a warm, peaceful feeling. Father Bosco said he was hoping to finish restoring enough of the benches so that the chapel could be used for small services. He smiled as he confided, "There are a couple of restoration projects in the works."
We had our conversation in the cottage next door to the chapel so as not to disturb the monks who would soon arrive to pray. The lavender-edged path to the cottage gave a softly scented aroma to our walk.
Inside, the cottage was sparse but adequate. The wooden floorboards looked oiled and shiny. There were enough scattered rugs around to keep our feet warm and reduce noise. The color scheme of the room was earthy, with warm brown and orange shades that made the room inviting. A small round table surrounded by a couple of high-backed chairs with tied-on cushions invited us to sit comfortably.
Father Bosco first talked about the monastery and how it has changed over the many years of its existence since the thirteenth century. After painting the history of the place around us, he began to describe his life as a monastic.
I was fortunate in that I grew up in a middle-class family. My parents owned their own accounting business, which did well. My father was a qualified accountant, and my mother had graduated from a business college. I was an only child, so I got a lot of attention from my parents and grandparents.
I spent many of my weekends visiting with my grandparents. Those were delightful times. My grandmother was a marvelous cook; whatever she made was mouthwatering. Her specialty, however, was making scrumptious desserts. For me, there's never been anyone who could make an apple walnut crumb pie as delicious as hers.
My grandfather was an avid gardener, and I'd spend many hours helping him there. His specialty was mulch. We would gather all the clippings and leaves into the compost bin and let them turn into the best fertilizer around. Even the garbage went into the compost to help make mulch. I was learning so much from gardening with him that I wanted to spend any free time I had in their garden. Grandpa told me, "Nature is to be felt and loved. She pleases the eyes and feeds the soul."
Father Bosco smiled at me with a look of nostalgia in his eyes and then continued.
In secondary school, I enjoyed studying many different subjects. I was especially good at science. I finished college with a bachelor's of science in chemistry and a high grade point average. I then applied and was accepted into a master's program in chemistry.
During my third semester in graduate school, I was doing research in the chemistry laboratory. It was just before the Christmas holidays, and I was working on an experiment in the lab using volatile chemicals. That's when my life changed completely. Unexpectedly, my experiment created a large explosion, and I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital. I felt a bandage over my left eye. I saw my parents and grandparents in the room with me. I remember my mother had tears in her eyes and was holding my hand ever so gently, quietly saying that the doctor would be coming in soon.
When the doctor arrived, he explained that I had lost the ability to see out of my left eye. He told me they would replace it with an artificial eye that would be virtually impossible to detect. Then trained specialists would help me acquire the skills and strategies to enable me to compensate for my loss. I was to rest in the hospital for a week. That was quite the somber time for all of us.
Father Bosco paused, as if reliving for a moment the severity of that time.
While in the hospital, I had a roommate named Ben. He had a round, ruddy face with wild hair to match. He told me that he had a hole in his heart, but he refused to have a heart transplant. He was a Reiki master and had been doing Reiki healing for several years. He shared with me that Reiki had led him to self-realization; it made him feel he was connected with the divine.
I didn't know the first thing about Reiki. As we talked, his voice had a way of making me feel calm and relaxed. He was a gentle man. Even though I had never met him before, I immediately felt that somehow I had known him much longer.
Unexpected synchronicities started to happen to me while Ben and I shared a room in the hospital. He told me that a few days before being admitted, he had a dream that he was soon going to meet a one-eyed man. He said his dreams always guided him in his life.
Then Ben proceeded to ask me about the events leading up to the explosion, and whether or not I had considered any possible risk involved. I explained to him that there was always some risk involved, but I had felt confident about going ahead with the experiment at the time.
Even as I said this to Ben, I remember looking at him and remarking how strange it was that he'd brought it up that way. I hadn't given any thought to the context of the accident.
I pondered his question for a while. It made me aware that I needed to take stock of my life and to be more conscious of what I was doing in my daily activities.
That night in the hospital, I had a flood of dreams. I had never paid much attention to my dreams before; in fact, I didn't remember having many of them in the past. On this particular night, I saw a man with a long white beard and cloud-gray eyes standing at the foot of my bed in a white robe. A voice emerged out of the silence: "Pray, meditate, understand, and you'll know in what direction to go."
Pure glowing lights danced around the man in the white robe. I felt as though I was being swept up out of my bed toward this man. Streams of high vibrations were running all through me. I don't know what happened, but I felt an incredible sense of exhilaration.
I reluctantly awoke to the sound of a nurse in my room. When I opened my eye, I saw the morning sunlight streaming through the window like a golden path leading me in a new direction. I was filled with that wondrous "peace which passeth all understanding." During the silent hours of that previous night, I felt that a healing had happened to me. In a deeper sense, I felt that this experience was a symbol of divinity, and that the dream changed me from an old me to a new me.
The experience seemed to heal my body and spirit, and I believe that the mystical robed man who appeared that night directed me on a spiritual journey. Inwardly, I was changed. I felt newly awakened to the deepest meaning of my existence.
Later that morning I was surprised by how alive I felt. I was full of energy and was ready to go out and do something in the world. My heart didn't feel heavy. I felt happy to be alive and inwardly at peace.
Ben noticed my energy had changed. I told him about the profound dream experience that had healed my suffering and restored my soul. I felt truly blessed, having had that spiritual awakening.
"Dreams can be powerful if we pay attention to them," Ben replied. "They have a secret language that we can learn to understand and allow to guide us."
Soon enough, I was able to start my spiritual quest by attending two years of seminary school. That's what brought me here, to this Benedictine monastery.
Since that time, Peter's letter to the Corinthians has been one of my favorite Bible verses. I live by that message: "Love is always patient and kind ... and is not resentful." I especially take to heart the last part because it reminds me why I am not resentful about the loss of my eye.
God has brought me great comfort in my times of suffering, and I've been able to help many people get through their own suffering in turn. I share with everyone that the Holy Spirit touches us all and is around us all the time. We have to dig deep within ourselves to find solutions to our problems and to remember that God is always with us.
Ben and I have stayed friends, and to this day, he often asks me how the "one-eyed monk" is doing. I always reply that the "one-eyed monk" is doing well. We chuckle over that bit of conversational humor each time.
It's a great mystery to me how we're often led on a journey through the most remarkable and unexpected paths to our final destinations. The process can be a great mystery to us for reasons of which we're not aware.
Father Bosco's story raised many tantalizing questions in my mind, such as how would I react to a life with only one eye? Would I still be able to enjoy the scenic splendor of a sunset? I was full of inspiration from his words, and I believed I would. I thanked Father Bosco for sharing, and I told him I liked that he and Ben were able to laugh about the one-eyed monk.
We left our meeting spot together and walked side by side to attend the next service. As we walked, I thought about Ben's gift of awareness to Father Bosco and how having more information about the experiment might have saved his eye. His story was a reminder that I should always take into consideration the possible consequences of my plans of action. Moreover, Father Bosco's story reminded me that there are important messages and meanings in every aspect of our life experiences, especially those we did not necessarily expect
