02/03/2022
Lynn Murphy Mark
For over 70 years I have found places where I felt an immediate connection with God, or the Universe, or the source of All That Is. As a child I recognized the ocean as something absolutely holy, though I did not know what holy meant in the deepest sense of that word. Ocean side was where I felt an affinity with life itself. I have a picture of myself barely out of toddlerhood standing in waves with my arms raised toward the sky as if greeting a beloved being.
I have traveled the ocean in small fishing boats and massive cruise ships. Nothing engages me more than watching the bow of the vessel part the water into white tipped waves. I have walked for hours on beaches, looking for treasures brought in by the tide, or just letting my mind wander as I walk on the wet sand. If there are rock formations on the shore I love looking for residents of the small salt water pools huddled in the rocks.
Not until I was nineteen did I discover the Grand Canyon in Arizona. I went there on a college field trip with my geology class. Part of the trip involved hiking down to the Colorado River as our professor explained the creation of the multi-colored rock layers. When we got to the river he showed us the basalt rock that is billions of years old. Billions. With a B. Talk about feeling small and somewhat inconsequential.
Then the Grand Canyon became another holy place. I have traveled to it at least five times in my life. I have visited both rims, and hiked down into its depths. I have rafted down the Colorado River and seen the majesty of the Canyon from the very bottom. Standing on either rim, looking into the folds of rock and the turns of trails, is always a lesson in the values of sacred space.
The place where I have spent days marveling at God’s sublime creation is in Northern New Mexico. The Monastery of Christ in the Desert has become my latest spiritual home. Getting there involves an hour’s drive from Santa Fe, looking for a tiny sign that indicates a Forest Service road and the location of the Monastery. Turning off the paved highway on to a dirt road, the first trip to the Monastery feels endless. Thirteen miles of rough road requires the driver to pay attention to the ruts and hollows in the road. Passengers, however, can fully experience thirteen miles of absolutely gorgeous cliffs on one side and the Chama River on the other side.
The Monastery is as self-sufficient as it can be. While the monks go through their seven chapel services in 24 hours, and spend hours in prayer and meditation, they also host overnight guests. The rooms are simple: a bed, a chair, a desk, and a small closet. The simplicity brings home the relative unimportance of “stuff” when it is measured against spiritual engagement and development. The isolation of the Monastery is the factor that makes discernment and enlightenment all the more possible. Three simple meals a day provide sustenance. Eating in silence allows a person to appreciate the taste of the simple fare. Everything there is focused on communion with God and with Spirit.
I try to make a pilgrimage to the Monastery at least once a year, although COVID has made that impossible lately. The monks closed the Monastery to guests for a year and a half. They have just reopened. I hope I can head out there in March. I’m way past due.