Pearls of Wisdom

Monday. My last day at the monastery. I awaken at 6am and my morning rituals begin: splash my face with cold, fresh mountain well water, brush my teeth, dress up warmly for the cool morning, and wear my pink -- yes, pink --hiking boots.

I head next door to the kitchen for my morning tea. There is a big white board for the community to write anything, mostly wildlife sightings. Taking the blue marker, I write: "Hello, this is Liz Room #4. Today's my last day. Peace to you all." I pause, take a deep breath and smile. I head out to the canyon for my last walk.

At night, the sounds of whales, owls, and crickets kept me company. This morning, it was a magnificent symphony of birds. I head down the canyon, and see a few guests walking. We wave at each other and smile. I am conscious of the time -- 8:45 am I am meeting the monk. After my hour-long walking meditation, I quickly head back up to the monastery.

The chatter of morning birds is overheard, but inside the monastery the scent of frankincense permeates the air from last evening's prayers. Upon entering, stillness fills the air. I sit in contemplation by the cupola, gazing at the light beaming from above and Jesus suspended on the cross.

Then, I hear footsteps. It's the monk.

I stand up and head to the front entrance. Tall, gray-haired, wearing his white robe and a face mask, I meet him.

"Good morning! You are Elizabeth, yes?"

"Yes, friar, I am," I reply.

"Oh good, it's good to meet you! I am Friar Ignatius. Please come inside."

He is British! His accent and demeanor is warm, tender-hearted. I sense I am in wise company. He shows me into the private room by the entrance of the monastery church. We say our hellos through our face masks, as it's still pandemic time.

Friar Ignatius begins. "What brings you here, Elizabeth?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"Well Friar, firstly I would like to say...it's nice to talk to someone after four days of silence!" I laugh, as he smiles. I share the story of my maternal grandmother in Lebanon who would hold days of fasting from speaking.

"She would do this to venerate the beloved Virgin Mary, who is a very important figure both in Islam and obviously in Christianity." He nodded as I was saying this.

Sitto would tell my eldest sister, after being endlessly prodded by her on why she would not speak during the day until the evening, "So that by day's end, what remains to be said is what is most important."

"She was a woman with no education but lived and breathed ancient biblical wisdom," I told the friar.

Friar Ignatius nodded and smiled through his eyes.

"So, I have come here, Friar, because I needed some time to reflect and speak to a wise guide as yourself. You know when you read something that changes your life forever? A seminal moment?

He smiles and continues to nod.

A moment of realization -- monks are the best listeners in the world. They do not speak much, but when they should speak, you simply must listen.

"Ten years ago I read an article in the NY Times - The Joy of Quiet. It was Pico Iyer's article that piqued my interest in your hermitage. When I wrote my letter to you all last year, I mentioned I had experienced big losses: the sudden loss of my beloved mother three years ago, my father seven years ago, and a marriage." My eyes well up. He is comforting and harnesses the vulnerable moment.

"Elizabeth, you have lost the two most important pillars of your life -- your parents. These are significant losses. Huge figures who have shaped and influenced you as a human and woman that you are," said Friar Ignatius.

His emotional intelligence continues to embrace me from a distance.

"Years ago, a good friend of mine in London told me she found herself walking down the street, big smile on her face. Suddenly, out of nowhere -- a sound, a scent -- triggered a memory of her mother's passing. She started balling her eyes out. Right out there, in the open. Middle of Soho London. She felt momentarily awkward, but quickly wiped her tears dry and moved right along with her day. Again -- with a smile on her face. She now knows this -- grief is a journey. And this you must understand by now, yes?"

"Yes," I reply.

"But what I find most challenging is the pace at which modernity does not allow for space and time to heal. I was not able to catch my breath -- all these years! Not even during my marriage, to properly mourn my mother's sudden passing. Then, after my marriage ending...working hard, living life, carrying on. I still felt the need to come here. To feel comfort in nature, in God, wrapped around the beauty of Big Sur."

And this is where the Monk's Pearls of Wisdom begin to drop. One by one. Each one to be savored and treasured separately.

On Motherly Comfort

"Friar Ignatius, during the night, after reading and writing, I sit on my rocking chair and stare at the wooden portrait of Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. I miss my mother. Miss her warmth, her embrace, her tenderness - she was the sweetest woman. My love for her grows stronger. And seeing this portrait of The Virgin is so comforting," I confess to him.

In Islam, there are no figures to venerate but God, who is omnipresent. But it feels good -- mostly human -- the see a motherly figure holding a child in her bosom.

The monk smiled and nodded.

"Elizabeth, the figure of Mary is one of the most important for Catholics, as you know. That's where the Protestants got it wrong," he smiled. We both laughed.

"Because as Catholics, we understand that in our most vulnerable moments, humans need that motherly comfort. A mother is always comforting. A mother and child can only do good."

Then he said something that shocked me -- coming from the Catholic church.

"Since you are from the Islamic tradition, seek out women spiritual figures. Dive deep into your spiritual tradition. Catholicism, much like Islam, is patriarchal. Seek out the women."

"The Catholic Benedictine nuns of New Camaldoli," he continued, "are far wiser and useful than us old monks! As are the women of the Sufi Islamic tradition. Go to them, seek them. They are full of joy and life!"

We had a good laugh. A private moment was shared and I appreciated his empathy.

Next Sunday: Stay tuned for the second pearl of wisdom.

This is the fifth edition of?Liz's Newsletter - Summer Series, based on her silent retreat at a Benedictine Monastery in Big Sur, California.?Elizabeth Ayoub?was born and raised into a Muslim secular Lebanese family in Caracas, Venezuela. If you liked this story, subscribe to the newsletter.