tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31998727368200209522024-03-20T20:04:25.517-07:00talks, notes, and traveloguesCyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comBlogger309125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-77643168292369893752024-03-20T20:03:00.000-07:002024-03-20T20:03:39.520-07:00singapore and a little work in malaysia<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">20 march, 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m back in California now, again staying with Bob and Ellen Peck until next week. I must say, 15 hours hurtling through the sky at 30,000 feet 300+ miles per hour––our bodies are just not supposed to do that. But it was without incident, thanks God, and I picked up a day coming home.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> The last week was certainly a change of pace from the easy flow of ashram life in India. I flew into Singapore from Delhi early morning March 11, met by good friend Leonard, and stayed with him two nights. He and I met Mark Hansen down at Arab Street the second evening. It being the first nights of Ramadan, there was quite a lot going on down there. All kinds of extra food stalls were set up near the grand mosque for the iftar at the end of fast, as well as other booths and shops. We had a delicious Turkish-Lebanese meal and walked around enjoying the sights and sounds. I also got in my first run in several weeks early in the morning along the canal outside of Leonard’s apartment complex and a morning at the gym there too. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then I headed up to Kuala Lumpur by bus on Wednesday where I had some "work." I chose the bus rather than flying, because these are great comfortable air-conditioned buses, and it’s a beautiful relaxing five hour trip with one stop along the way. I was met by my faithful old friends Pat Por and Joe Lipp of the WCCM Malaysia, and Ian John, both of whom were sponsoring me for some work I was to do there. I stayed at the newly built parish house at St. Francis of Assisi Parish in Cheras, where I have been two or three times in the past. The pastor there is Fr. Paul, OFM Capuchin, who I had also met a few times in the past. It was a very comfortable private lodging with three bedrooms. The Malaysians are marvelously hospitable. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The schedule was pretty full from there on. The main thing I was there for was to do three Lenten reflections with music and speaking. The first one was at St Francis Xavier Jesuit Parish on the other side of town. An amazing turnout of about 200 people on a Thursday night. It went very well. Friday evening, I did a small music workshop for Ian’s choir back at SFA. That was more fun than I thought it was going to be. I sang some fun songs with them first just to break the ice, then gave them a bunch of theory about music being mainly a share in the ministry of the Word, and how liturgical music, from my standpoint anyway, ought to be “essentially vocal.” And then we spent about an hour and a half with me teaching them Psallitè pieces, almost all acapella. They loved it and though it was a lot of work, I was very pleased at how well they sang the pieces. Then Saturday I did my Lenten reflection there at SFA before the evening Mass and then presided and preached at that Mass. On Sunday morning I did the same thing at the Cathedral. The pastor there is Fr. Gerard who I had also met, worked and lodged with in the past.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In between that there were several lunches and dinners. Malaysians and Singaporeans eat out a lot. Some say it’s actually more economical to do so, especially at the famous “hawker stands.” Plus we had a brief visit with Archbishop Julian Cheow who again I had met some years before when he was living and working in the seminary in Penang. He was a runner back then and I was interested to see if he has kept in shape. I am pleased to report he has! I was also impressed that he seems to have remained a simple down-to-earth guy. We met him at his residence-office, and he came into the parlor wearing what we would call simple street clothes (I am not sure I have ever seen a priest in clerical garb in Malaysia) and barefoot. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I took the bus back to Singapore on Sunday afternoon. That was a bit of a longer trip given that there was a long delay at the border on the end of the weekend. You have to do immigration on both sides as well as bring your luggage in to get inspected.<br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My friend Keith Toh had arranged for me to stay at a nice hotel for the two nights that I was to be in Singapore before heading home, since I was to be doing something that he had arranged at the Tanglin Trust School, which I wrote about before I headed to India. It was a late night and an early morning, since we didn’t get in until 10:30 PM, and then I was to meet some other friends for breakfast the next day––Jeff Plein and his son Luke, who did a father-and-son Ora et Labora with us a few years back. Actually, Luke was a surprise. He’s in school at Yale now but had flown in at the last minute for Spring Break. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then a kind of long day at the Tanglin Trust. I was in the same room all day, which made it easier. In the morning I met with students from year 12 and 13, theology and philosophy classes. Our topic was “exploring arguments for the existence of God” and I was to offer some insights into different conceptions of the nature of God from around the world and the role of contemplation in reasoning about God. They were not as interactive as we (the teachers and I) had hoped they would be, but it went okay. Keith said I should have sung for them. So the next class in the early afternoon, I did start with a song. It’s a required class that’s part of the International Baccalaureate Curriculum (IBC) which Tanglin follows (which I had never heard of) called “Theory of Knowledge.” It’s not epistemology per se but rather “how different ‘knowledge communities’ construct knowledge, methods they use and perspectives they develop” (according to the notes I was given). Pretty sophisticated curriculum for 16/17-year-olds. After surveying the notes that Keith had sent along to prepare me for those classes, I had gotten up earlier than I would have naturally that morning to jot prepare some notes of my own. Whether because of that or not, that class was more interactive. Keith teased me about sending him 8 pages of notes at 7 AM (with footnotes), but I had to remind him that he is the one who could crank out a spread sheet in the middle of a Financial Advisory Board meeting. But he was right: I was way, way over-prepared.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The array of backgrounds of the students is phenomenal: several with dual citizenship, often British plus somewhere else, China, Italy, India, Pakistan, Denmark, the US, New Zealand and Australia are the ones I remember, with only a handful of actual Singaporeans, due to government regulations, I believe. I imagine these are all children of highly professional parents in business or diplomacy of some sort. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The late afternoon was more like a concert, open to parents and faculty as well. It was entitled “Universal Wisdom: The Sounds and Songs We Share.” Basically it was me sitting on a stool singing songs and telling stories. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After that I had a nice relaxing evening in my hotel room, Keith had a delicious meal delivered to me and I went to bed early for the early morning departure. As I said, I find those long flights really strange. I was squeezed in the middle seat between two not-small young gentlemen who were polite enough but also not very interactive (which was fine with me). I found a really fun Taiwanese Sci-Fi TV series called (in translation from the Chinese) “Oh No: Here Comes Trouble.” I have now learned what people mean when they say they “binge watch.” There were 12 episodes, all about 45 minutes long, and I got to watch 10 and a half of them before we landed, which took up a lot of the flight. Customs and immigration were mercifully quick at that hour, my bag arrived, and Ellen picked me up at the SFO airport, and now I am safely ensconced at their home for the next week. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I will be going up to Skyfarm in Sonoma to spend Palm Sunday with the Francis and Michaela, but other than that I have a very quiet week ahead of me: Bob and Ellen left for the east coast this morning and I have the house to myself ‘til Sunday! Then somehow I will be heading south to Big Sur just for the Triduum next week, rain and roads allowing. After that I am heading into a month-long solitude retreat at the Jesuit Retreat House in Los Altos, during which time I plan on being offline until May, so this may be the last you hear from me for a while.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Every blessing on the upcoming Holy Days. May the memory of the Passion and Death of Jesus, as well as the energy of Easter and the Eucharist, make us grow in our awareness of our place in this world so in need of mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Some pics....</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb5QDlQWl0lTnQTanNxfGyRk-US-UcLhjSk2-Kl_ppcpo4MkYbyuMK3xnry7RCDPV-Es-XY97fxRWi4Tde1MjHKneqAwZDtp-LUCSbf1g9o3uEBl9nwipDKh-fpz2qNqsKIxU8xyRYN0I4sy5bQi6mgC-CfwHGVcrOGJg_bHBB6vyZkGP2eUnRnXErJnfg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjb5QDlQWl0lTnQTanNxfGyRk-US-UcLhjSk2-Kl_ppcpo4MkYbyuMK3xnry7RCDPV-Es-XY97fxRWi4Tde1MjHKneqAwZDtp-LUCSbf1g9o3uEBl9nwipDKh-fpz2qNqsKIxU8xyRYN0I4sy5bQi6mgC-CfwHGVcrOGJg_bHBB6vyZkGP2eUnRnXErJnfg=w394-h296" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Music workshop at SFA Friday evening.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTlxMVq15LmjQ4ZnLdRgWSLT_ZwILGRIIxd1g52j8S1FvJdZmSMG64o05EhTvhVgVN-7vZ1-_QamJP5jiTq1D3IsfLI6M5AhaucxdBYRYmUGnRPInfxO8zOb74QXndPqD1A_EWniEfw8t4CtbBcv2D0Y2YSkJhvWkoq3sq4eNYaEOmmAXkTP6uTfXTxJSw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTlxMVq15LmjQ4ZnLdRgWSLT_ZwILGRIIxd1g52j8S1FvJdZmSMG64o05EhTvhVgVN-7vZ1-_QamJP5jiTq1D3IsfLI6M5AhaucxdBYRYmUGnRPInfxO8zOb74QXndPqD1A_EWniEfw8t4CtbBcv2D0Y2YSkJhvWkoq3sq4eNYaEOmmAXkTP6uTfXTxJSw=w390-h293" width="390" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Malaysian "handlers": Ian, Joe Lipp, Ann, <br />Pat Por, Fr. Gerard</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 48px;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrb5aYi_WTwjH9469jyr5RsDPobYcx4ptdB9pmVPA2zvGTf4XcElWFw94c3DHtJCIJyoZlC4X2SNObVYoq2NCX_eQJKzm7MydOMWFuHj2dELpiCHeczLtfOjYomVqYV65oE9bhpRQHeW2yYdvcKQgB2pvsUL-7bUFjf98HuFcoOCJLmmvBkml2DvhN6k2y" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgrb5aYi_WTwjH9469jyr5RsDPobYcx4ptdB9pmVPA2zvGTf4XcElWFw94c3DHtJCIJyoZlC4X2SNObVYoq2NCX_eQJKzm7MydOMWFuHj2dELpiCHeczLtfOjYomVqYV65oE9bhpRQHeW2yYdvcKQgB2pvsUL-7bUFjf98HuFcoOCJLmmvBkml2DvhN6k2y=w394-h288" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian's family who I have known for some years, <br /> brunch on Saturday morning after the gym. <br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ228Las_FMjhjNLu4NSAzpaD1_9icjfmUvGmk-LTc_d0L4-_SO_uc-mjepdwuRjsMBTCaVkkx63Z8ewHVhr3MYuiQhHkPgiNI4T5pypA8vyGfNSHCriTTNtQncv52XU7gUQBcmIrdT4i3cas1OKPGzB88Z8vKaBDC4WxsSiQunksVriLqM_9dRBPQiUQc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="756" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ228Las_FMjhjNLu4NSAzpaD1_9icjfmUvGmk-LTc_d0L4-_SO_uc-mjepdwuRjsMBTCaVkkx63Z8ewHVhr3MYuiQhHkPgiNI4T5pypA8vyGfNSHCriTTNtQncv52XU7gUQBcmIrdT4i3cas1OKPGzB88Z8vKaBDC4WxsSiQunksVriLqM_9dRBPQiUQc=w305-h407" width="305" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful St John's Cathedral, <br />Kuala Lumpur.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVZK6zk8Mtpk3GiTQ3jy3goXI3o8ZP9yE5PBMU7GR4pq6GxcnE5V-jncAFs4YfD2v0m-jSYARVicsT1fzgFgwuxYnimSYDkbjPej8GjY2L02m3VMGqdNMYYWRQX8vgnznChSj3FO3fF14uAJeUP7kcwNi7MaV9tYQd9Q0SgapjAqqz_ecbnXzC_luOK0Wa" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="401" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVZK6zk8Mtpk3GiTQ3jy3goXI3o8ZP9yE5PBMU7GR4pq6GxcnE5V-jncAFs4YfD2v0m-jSYARVicsT1fzgFgwuxYnimSYDkbjPej8GjY2L02m3VMGqdNMYYWRQX8vgnznChSj3FO3fF14uAJeUP7kcwNi7MaV9tYQd9Q0SgapjAqqz_ecbnXzC_luOK0Wa=w301-h401" width="301" /></a></div><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvo13PnUmjyZsgO2WPDZVtj67tDFMUviW_MWloZwYPzaADldmp9KxD0D4VT7NVGplwaGcUvCgBl3ps__fXin-Hnb6mGm6eykget3uQKhLPHpGf3K4AC6eL5XDWdJLW52X2NGkD8fC4eSx1pQJhlzry36Fy9mGKRwTdUh-JVCuj8XvXcWFzjI_KGbhdHQMH" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="750" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvo13PnUmjyZsgO2WPDZVtj67tDFMUviW_MWloZwYPzaADldmp9KxD0D4VT7NVGplwaGcUvCgBl3ps__fXin-Hnb6mGm6eykget3uQKhLPHpGf3K4AC6eL5XDWdJLW52X2NGkD8fC4eSx1pQJhlzry36Fy9mGKRwTdUh-JVCuj8XvXcWFzjI_KGbhdHQMH=w409-h238" width="409" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting up at Tanglin before the students came.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br />Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-46115021874160791972024-03-09T17:30:00.000-08:002024-03-09T17:30:13.894-08:00a natural upsurge of energySaurab <p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">March 7, 2024, from Sadhana Mandir Ashram, Rishikesh</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The promenade along the Ganges is not far from my window. If I open my curtains people could basically watch me sleeping. It’s 4:30 AM and I already hear pretty distinct voices of folks walking along it. Every now and then you see someone jogging. I was planning on doing that myself but with the schedule for the day there hasn’t seemed to be an opportune moment to sneak in a run. I have enjoyed walking it myself though. The weather has been quite pleasant, not too darned cold at night (there is no heat) and very mild during the day. Like other places I’ve been in north India, the houses are built to retain the cool for the hot months so in the winter rooms such as mine are like meat lockers nearly all day long. They supply marvelous thick duvets of sorts on the bed though, so sleep is no problem, and I wrap up in blankets to do my meditations.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUzGRwYL6WStBbNmp9_L9MFwZKtfkkp7CuvFy206BiP5SwNNKyn-KUELLjL0s11gnklNZ5rEaosr0mSk4YKyZfiHuJG4EPK4M4IkCYQwwLfA7gIIsqma93HOI9Mnjkebi-Y_Tnl7QvLNaw7_qTBUm7sdu4ttNJLDSXtwX9JqzHuNkUESX1iCC1MOf2LeVl" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="640" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUzGRwYL6WStBbNmp9_L9MFwZKtfkkp7CuvFy206BiP5SwNNKyn-KUELLjL0s11gnklNZ5rEaosr0mSk4YKyZfiHuJG4EPK4M4IkCYQwwLfA7gIIsqma93HOI9Mnjkebi-Y_Tnl7QvLNaw7_qTBUm7sdu4ttNJLDSXtwX9JqzHuNkUESX1iCC1MOf2LeVl=w534-h276" width="534" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over the Ganges from the window of my room.</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">If I have any disappointment about this week, it’s that I would have liked it to be a little more retreat-like. I suppose if I had not attended the Daily Ashram Program (DAP) and kept to myself, as many guests do, it would have been different. The ashram itself feels a little bit like a hubbub of activity some days, and even though there are signs all over the place saying “SILENCE,” it is not observed very much. There is even a sign on every table in the eating hall that says “SILENCE,” but many folks carry on conversations at about half volume, as if that counts. I was worried about playing my guitar, but my next-door neighbor practices scales on his flute, which is quite loud, each day at 11 AM, so no problem.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The DAP is not as formal as I thought it would be. Attendees at the sessions come and go and the residents don’t attend at all. (I’m such a rule follower! I was sticking to the agreement that I was to attend all the sessions the first three days.) In the early morning there is a session called “joints and glands,” which I thought was a humorous name, but it’s mostly breathing and stretching, no real asanas. Swami Rama, the late founder was very big on pranayama. So far, all but one of the sessions has been led by young Saurab, 23 years-old, recent graduate of the Yoga University near Dehradun and an intern here. His English is pretty good once you get used to his accent and vocabulary. One pranāyama session was led by another intern named Kunji, whose English was very limited so that was a bit of a trial. He kept saying, “The whole body are relax.” Hard to silence the discriminating mind and not sure whether or not to correct him. I did offer Saurab one correction the other evening: instead of “causal body” he kept referring to the “casual body.” When I explained the difference, he found the humor in it. I was trying to imagine myself teaching any class or leading a yoga session in Italian. My guess is it would be a lot worse, so hats off to them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a philosophy class at 10:30, the first two days a survey of Samkhya and yoga philosophy. Saurab is very knowledgeable about the tradition, though it was hard to have a discussion with him since he does not seem to know much about any other tradition. But we did have a pleasant exchange about the difference between “spirit” and “soul,” and also the connection between mind and soul, the nerdy stuff I like (and the topic of my Masters Thesis and nearly unreadable second book). Then there is another pranāyama session right before lunch and a rigorous asana practice at 5 PM.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I wound up having a few sessions with Saurab by myself. He’s a very talented yogi––I found out later that he has been studying since he was 4 years old and seems to come from a family of yogis. I have been comparing him to a pipe cleaner which we used to play with as kids, a wire covered with fur that you could bend in any shape. A 23-year-old pipe cleaner without an ounce of fat on his body who can basically fold himself into a wallet––needless to say, the asana classes have been challenging. He has not yet learned the art of finding where his students are at and leading them beyond. We have had up to six people in the class, but some of them dropped out because it was too difficult, and I did hear a few of them grousing about it after class the other day. He also has an issue with counting. You can hear the clock ticking behind us but when he says “30 more seconds” it usually lasts over a minute, for example. (I suppose he could be using “yoga seconds.”) But he will also at times start counting up and you have no idea how far he is going to count, sometimes 8, sometimes 12. And then he will count backwards and stop to adjust someone and then start at the same number when he is done. So, some long holds! The variations on postures that I already know may be the most challenging thing. Thus far I have been able to get into at least a modified version of all but one asana, but my hips are pretty sore. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Last night, not sure whether or not it is because of the unhappiness of the other ashramites, I wound up being the only one in the asana class. Saurab and I had had a few friendly conversations, and at the start of class he asked me if I had ever been to the aarathi up river at Triveni. I said no, and after some confusing exchange I finally figured out that he wanted me to go to the aarathi at Triveni with him that evening, which started at 6:30, which meant that we would cut short the asana class. I was absolutely fine with that, and he led me through some nice hip opening asanas, and we set out down the promenade at about 6. Along the way we told each other a little more about our backgrounds. He is bound and determined to be a yoga teacher in Singapore, of all places. But if I knew of a place in California that needed an Indian yoga teacher… His family comes from a village up near the source of the Ganges. He by that time had figured out that I was a monk and I explained that I was on a sabbatical after ten years in leadership. He asked me some questions about monastic life, and at one point asked, “Are you the pope of your church?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The aarathi was indeed a sight to see. It’s done every night, similar to what I have experienced here in Haridwar/Rishikesh before. The main devotion is to Ganga Mata herself, Mother Ganges, and is led by young priests in training standing on platforms on the bank of the river, waving large ghee lamps while the music plays from behind, highly choreographed. There were thousands of people there. Saurab said it is very popular with tourists, but I did not see many, though I didn’t feel too conspicuous. When the aarathi was done people then gather in front of the musicians on what was like a dance floor and then the kirtans start up in earnest. He had asked me on the way if I dance, and I said maybe not, not sure what was going to happen. Well, as the music turned up to a fever pitch it really did break out into a kind of ecstatic dance, with lots of shouting and singing along. Everyone seemed to know the words. I did not want to be in the middle of it so let myself get squeezed to the outskirts of the dancing area near a pillar, all the while keeping my eye on Saurab. I think in the past I might have felt a little moment of panic in a situation like that––it feels like there is always the possibility of being trampled by a crowd in India––but this time I felt safe and Saurab was keeping an eye on me too. It was really fun to see him break loose in “praise and worship.” As we left, we stopped at a little Hanuman shrine (his main devotion, he told me shyly, is to Ram), and again very touching to see how devout he was.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This same school of yoga, Himalayan Yoga Tradition, has another ashram about 3 km down the road, Sadaka Gram Ashram, which is their main center (though this place is the original). It is very large, set up to host big conferences. Our Brother Axel, who is a very well-trained yogi in this same tradition, has already been there for some weeks. It is he who recommended this place to me. He and a delightful Italian woman named Lucia came to see me here earlier in the week, and then as planned I went down there yesterday afternoon after lunch for a full tour of the place and a long visit with Axel, which was a really fine meeting. Axel and I both had some “disappointments,” shall we say, at the Chapter at Camaldoli this past fall so it was healing to talk that through from this distance, physically and emotionally. He is opening a new chapter in his monastic life in that he is going to be moving from the Sacro Eremo in Italy to have a trial period with our fledgling community in Hildesheim, Germany, which is of course his country of origin. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Again, the issue of the kavi robes came up. He has a couple of very nice sets and wears them everywhere in the ashram, as well as walking the road and back and forth along the river. He is often referred to as “Swami” and noted to me that people recognize the orange robes as the sign of a monk. I find the dhoti so comfortable, but I am just not there. I have this aversion to either seeming like I am going native (no Indians dress like that here at this ashram) and a real caution about cultural appropriation––a white Christian wearing the robes of a Hindu monk and then changing back into street clothes––especially in Nerendra Modi’s India. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Now already making my plans for the next transitional phase, back down to Delhi Saturday, two nights at my old haunt, the YWCA Blue Triangle Family Hostel, and then fly to Singapore Monday. It’ll be nice to have a day to tramp around Connaught Place and see how Delhi has changed since I was there 15 years ago. Tomorrow, Friday, is Maha Shivaratri, a major festival here especially on the Ganges, so there will be no classes for which I am grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday, 10 March, 2024<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It is nicer than I thought it was going to be to be back at the YWCA Blue Triangle Family Hostel here in Delhi. As I was coming here in the taxi yesterday, I recognized the Cathedral and the Archbishop’s House, then the big Gurudwara, and then I called out to the driver, “It’s here!” as we passed the YWCA Blue Triangle Family Hostel. He seemed surprised and apologetic and, though I asked him to let me out at the corner and I would walk back, he insisted on driving all the way around again, which took an additional ten minutes given the traffic in Delhi and the maddening array of one-way boulevards in this area. We passed the spot where I got hit by a car in 2009––well, grazed by the mirror of a passing taxi going the wrong way, but still… the memory of the fact that if I had been one second faster I might very well be road kill still gives me the shivers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This place is clean but more run down than I remember, but I’m very happy here. I have a huge room (they had no single rooms left but it is still eminently affordable from the perspective of the USD). And the food in the little canteen/restaurant is really good. I didn’t venture out last evening, but I plan on going to Mass at the cathedral this morning, then perhaps tromping up to Connaught Place. My nextdoor neighbor from the ashram, Dhruv, the flute player, told me about his school of music and a cultural center nearby and then offered to take me there if he is free. So I might do that in the late afternoon. It would be nice to see Delhi from the perspective of a native, and it will be interesting to see how much it has changed since I was last here which I think might have been 2009!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">You knew it was a festival day by early morning Friday: there is often some music from loudspeakers playing in the early morning hours almost everywhere in India, but there was especially a lot of it that day. I spoke too soon about there not being classes on Shivaratri. At dinner Thursday night, young Saurab went up to each one of us and whispered that there would indeed be the 6:45 joints and glands class. I was actually looking forward to a morning to myself, maybe an early morning jog along the river and my own practice, but I felt somewhat impelled to attend and avail myself of every opportunity to get some input into my own practice. Saurab has been showing up every day in something like workout clothes, black sweats and a hoodie. But this day he was all in freshly pressed white kurta and pajamas, with his hair combed and beard trimmed. He was going to be going to the temple immediately after class. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigztVuS_g8M6QIZvGUnMuTYCYgmJwVDk7G7ANWJkyQTr_zIM-ppv7BtOIKE9qr7KdgD_9qEXbjX0B0SPDcj-uy1ZLF9nYkeN4vUvwIyYG5Klxo7BUfXYX1VRwwRp0T_HV_ddY1Dm2XxddyHHe8GMLIe6RvnlPDm1SS6cBbM1qX9mfMYJ-CsYEo212db05u" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigztVuS_g8M6QIZvGUnMuTYCYgmJwVDk7G7ANWJkyQTr_zIM-ppv7BtOIKE9qr7KdgD_9qEXbjX0B0SPDcj-uy1ZLF9nYkeN4vUvwIyYG5Klxo7BUfXYX1VRwwRp0T_HV_ddY1Dm2XxddyHHe8GMLIe6RvnlPDm1SS6cBbM1qX9mfMYJ-CsYEo212db05u=w282-h377" width="282" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saurab in his festal whites saluting <br />Ganga Mata after class on Shivaratri.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I didn’t realize the significance of the feast for yogis. All I had heard was it was the legendary day when Shiva married Parvati. But some people say it is the most significant event in India’s spiritual calendar. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The fourteenth day of every lunar month or the day before the new moon is known as a Shivaratri. But among all the twelve that occur in a calendar year, the one that occurs in February-March is of the most spiritual significance and so is called Maha-Shivaratri. Aside from its mythical significance, on that night, the northern hemisphere of the planet is positioned in such a way that there is thought to be a natural upsurge of energy, “when nature is pushing us towards our spiritual peak.” That’s why many people celebrate it all night long. To allow this natural upsurge of energies to find their way you are supposed to stay awake with your spine erect all night long. I am very attracted to the idea of lining ourselves up with the natural gifts that nature has to offer, aligning ourselves with the cycle of the seasons. The indigenous peoples all over the world have a real gift to offer us in this way.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I did have the rest of the day free. There was a handful of extra guests at the ashram, some preparing for the evening puja which was to take place, others gathering early for a retreat that was to start on Saturday, so the place felt a little extra crowded. After lunch I ventured off on my own back down the same route to the big market and the ghats upriver at Triveni. So much going on there! I originally was going to walk back on the road instead of along the river but it was quite unpleasant with all the traffic and dust, so I had a lovely meditative walk back, passing lots of people prepping for the evening’s ceremonies, weaving garlands and cooking pastries.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had a nice long exchange with Ma Tripuram, the youngish Dutch woman who is the main monastic and teacher there. She sought me out at teatime, wanting to hear about me (she already knew Axel) and I was fascinated to hear her story as well. She sees herself as a sannysini in the universal yoga lineage, not really as a Hindu. We spoke about the usual things––perennial philosophy, non-duality, the changing climate in India. I gave her my spiel about the energy and the container, and how I find yoga to be a marvelous container for my devotion to Jesus and my Christian spiritual life, which she really loved. She goes back to Holland each summer where she does not wear her kavi robes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I did dress up and go to the puja that evening out of respect. It was held in a big hall, with many extra guests and visiting dignitaries of sort, mostly administrators from the Himalayan Institute of Yoga Science and Philosophy in Dehradhun. The VIPs were seated in a semi-circle at the front with the portrait of Swami Rama and all the vessels and instruments for the ceremony. There was a line of about ten Brahmin priests on the right and of course the main pandit and pujari. It was supposed to start at 5:30, but it didn’t start until 6. The priests were chanting the entire time––something I was used to––and the pandit gently guiding the main participants through the ceremony, while the rest of us watched. After an hour there was a little break and I asked my neighbor Dhruv, who was seated next to me, if it would be rude to leave. He assured me, no, and so I went off to dinner and bed. Another great night’s sleep and this time I did have the morning all to myself, besides packing up, seeing if I have added any new skills to my own practice after this intense week immersed in another tradition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They needed my room for this new retreat coming in, but they had assured me that I could stay until breakfast. So I cleaned up, packed up and after breakfast went looking for a place I could store my stuff and kill a couple of hours doing my own lectio and prayers before I had to head out. This happens so often: the very last day I find the perfect spot. Upstairs from where we did our DAP was just marked “silent hall.” I stored my stuff under the staircase and ventured up there only to find out it was Swami Rama’s old rooms, now turned into a kind of shrine and meditation hall. I spent a very powerful two hours there wishing I had found the space earlier. It reminded me of staying in Swami Saccidananda’s rooms at the Divine Light Society in Kuala Lumpur with Mother Mangalam all those years ago, where and from whom John Main learned meditation. There was kind of a touching moment. I was to take an autorickshaw to meet Axel again back at Sadaka Gram at 10:30 and had told Saurab that that was my plan. As I was coming down the stairs from the Swami’s rooms, he was coming into the building. I asked him if he had philosophy class today, and he said no, he was coming to find me. Right behind him was old Vippi; the two of them just wanted to accompany me out and get me my autorickshaw, which they did. I would really like to return there someday for a longer stay, though they tell me it is beastly hot in the summer months.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I really do respect that tradition, and of course love the idea of yoga being a universal science, a part of the <i>sanatana dharma</i>. I also love the fact that Swami Rama sponsored medical facilities that serve the poorest of the poor, that there is social outreach from the practice. It was only later that I learned that from the 1970s onwards, there were persistent allegations of sexual abuse against him. In 1997 a woman won a lawsuit against him for multiple sexual assaults. </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Disappointed but not surprised. Obviously, this is not just a Catholic problem. Ken Wilber calls it, “the uneven development of spiritual leaders,” writing mainly about the Buddhist tradition. But (I was writing about this the other day), principles before personalities!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I fly in the morning back to Singapore, then almost immediately to Malaysia for a little work in Kuala Lumpur. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-31999126660977409772024-03-03T07:49:00.000-08:002024-03-03T07:49:24.107-08:00Haridwar and Rishikesh<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">3 March 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84a-Y0b9pKexHObseIPIergbSOu02bq4-6aooQrZgsJWUJEe5sYhhaRWvXY6Iua_GJJUIq8YWotBE3xTVZYAj17eXy50kM6Zb8xeEmF0ZpONA40mW32Zx3mu8WBFlhZDa8nfiqJ-AoMrMQMCKbUEn9AnOZozFnVjzIxJl5cmO3fBiYnrDbSK2Z5XB7XpX" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="418" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi84a-Y0b9pKexHObseIPIergbSOu02bq4-6aooQrZgsJWUJEe5sYhhaRWvXY6Iua_GJJUIq8YWotBE3xTVZYAj17eXy50kM6Zb8xeEmF0ZpONA40mW32Zx3mu8WBFlhZDa8nfiqJ-AoMrMQMCKbUEn9AnOZozFnVjzIxJl5cmO3fBiYnrDbSK2Z5XB7XpX=w187-h286" width="187" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m just outside of Rishikesh now at Sadhana Mandir Ashram which is, unbeknownst to me when I booked it, right on the north bank of the Ganga. Like the last two nights, in Delhi and Haridwar, there is tremendous thunder and lightning and intermittent heavy rains going on outside. I immediately have felt like this is the most pleasant place I’ve stayed here in India this time and after four nights in four different places to sleep, I’m happy that I can settle into this fifth place for a week.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Yesterday I got a ride to Haridwar, arranged by faithful Devin. That is Sri Ram Ashram, which is an orphanage founded by Baba Hari Das and the good people of Mount Madonna, that also has a school for about 1000 students. I had been there several times in early 2000s, the first time with John Pennington in 2005. He returned several times after that with students from Augustana College when he was teaching there. (Actually, a woman on the staff asked me, “Didn’t you come with John and the students from Augustana?”) Back in the day there would have been lots of folks from Mount Madonna here at this time of year, but things have changed a bit since Babaji died. Two old friends, Dayanand and SN were the only ones there from California, deeply engaged in laying out a new field hockey and football (soccer) field and building an addition onto the school. Very impressed especially with SN at 77 years old out there with a shovel showing the young guys how it’s done.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dayanand gave me a tour of all the work going on and was explaining some of the new restrictions imposed in them by the government of India. For one thing, for all the amazing good work they have done there, the local government has always been a little suspicious of the Mount Madonna folks as foreigners. It was somewhat easier when Babaji was alive. Secondly, the government has forced them to be an adoption agency now, not just an orphanage, which somewhat diminishes Babaji’s dream of the place being a long-term family as it has been for at least two generations of children now. That being said, it is normally the youngest of the children who get adopted so there are still a good percentage of the older ones that stay through college age. The third challenge, which Shantivanam is also facing, is that institutions can only accept 25% of their income in foreign donations. Up until recently Babaji’s faithful disciples were donating a considerable amount more than that. Dayanand thinks that this is actually mainly in response to Saudi money that is pouring into India to support madrasas. Nothing wrong with madrasas per se, except that, according to Dayanand, they are not teaching much more than the Qur’an, and poor education and lack of adequate labor are a bad combination. At any rate, he and SN hope that the expanded school will now generate enough income through tuition to help pour back into the ashram itself. One last change is that there are considerably less children there than there used to be, especially boys, only between 6 and 9 of them (I heard different numbers and only counted five), and maybe twenty girls <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So it was a whole different atmosphere. Besides the fact that it was raining, there was no outside play time, of course no gathering in Babaji’s room at night for games and candy, and no real adult community to hang out with. On the other hand, the kids were great. Almost every one of them came right up to me––they must be trained for this––and said, “What is your name?” I remembered from before that I have to distinguish for them between Supriya (“But, uncle, that is a girl’s name!”) and Cyprian––and did. I sat in with them for their hysterical evening aarathi in the shrine room, the 10 minutes or so of the chants being led by a screaming 6 or 7-year-old girl with a young guy proudly offering the deafening blast of the conch shell at random intervals. One of the boys kept turning back and making sure I was on the right page of the songbook, asking me if I read Hindi. I also ate with the kids, sitting next to an enterprising 14-year-old named Rohit who was very keen to practice his English. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then a good night’s sleep amid the thunderstorms. And, in a much-appreciated improvement, there is now a “geezer” in each bathroom. (That’s the generic term for a water heater, kind of like “kleenix,” a mispronunciation of the brand name “Geyser.”) Back in the day I would stay wrapped up in my blankets until 7 AM when the chai was ready, crawl back under my blankets and do my prayers, readings and meditation until 9 when you could go downstairs and get a bucket of hot water for your pour-over “bath,” and then still wait until 10:45 for brunch. I ate breakfast with the staff and then waited and waited and waited for my taxi to Rishikesh, which was an hour late due to the literally thousands of people on the road walking to a special spot on the banks of the Ganges to get water to carry back to their villages for the feast of Shivaratri which is officially this Friday. (I posted phots on Facebook of the many of the colorful yokes that are carried, all by men, it seems.) And then we snaked out about five miles up the road back into Haridwar and onto the main road that leads to Rishikesh. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Rishikesh was a bit of a letdown. I am far more attached to “back in the day” than I thought I was. So much has changed in all the spots in India that I knew so well. The main spots in Rishikesh, by the Ram Jhula bridge and the Lakshma Jhula bridge, were very crowded with tourists, a lot of them Indians, but more like for an amusement park than a spiritual destination. There were a lot more young guys there for sport, river rafting, and rowdy groups yelling up cheers and chants from the Ganga below. Of course, there are still dozens of yoga schools and ayurvedic clinics, and shops catering to spiritual tourism, etc. etc. I was hoping to see Ranjeet at his South Indian food stall “hotel,” and Ram Ram, who I studied yoga with, at his CD kiosk (as if anyone buys CDs anymore), and the place where I got the amazing ayurvedic hot oil massage. But I didn’t see any of them. I ran out of time and never made it to walk along the north bank, just the south bank between the two bridges, so I never got to the village of Tapovan and Jeevan Dhara Ashram (I’m not sure anyone is there anymore!) either, where I wrote a good deal of <i>Prayer in the Cave of the Heart</i>. It was pleasant enough in the end, and I ducked into a nice little food stall for a tali when it started raining hard, hoping against hope that it would be Ranjeet’s having just moved to a new location.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEIQDs9X-VKlu2RbmHyl7Kln0YOhwTK3bfI9nSyHvkE0g9y4bba9LvKSZXRRx6if5XZS7ffqV6qc4CQAMPTzTYGnynpvpM5_pHt2yPluiEm69a0SzLj3LXgCWBkvuI2PjDocC_4tMJUw_eXdVsNFPQDXSlEG_P4QlWei6ke9K8uQ91a91ivqxBdCnQfzkq" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEIQDs9X-VKlu2RbmHyl7Kln0YOhwTK3bfI9nSyHvkE0g9y4bba9LvKSZXRRx6if5XZS7ffqV6qc4CQAMPTzTYGnynpvpM5_pHt2yPluiEm69a0SzLj3LXgCWBkvuI2PjDocC_4tMJUw_eXdVsNFPQDXSlEG_P4QlWei6ke9K8uQ91a91ivqxBdCnQfzkq" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daily schedule for the week. At least there's tea at 6!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And now I am settled in at Sadhana Mandir Ashram of the Himalayan School of Yoga founded by the late Swami Rama. My German brother Camaldolese and friend Axel has a long history with this lineage and the two ashrams here in Rishikesh. As a matter of fact, he is at the other facility 2 km away. I will see him on Wednesday since they are on retreat over there right now. I was greeted by a gaggle of young guys all trying to help me fill out the ubiquitous forms one fills out here as a foreign visitor, the main guy, Vipin, who insists on being called Vippi, especially wanting to engage about the guitar and America. He was familiar with San Francisco, where my passport was issued––“the place where the Boston Tea Party took place.” Every time I have seen him, he has reminded me that he wants guitar lessons. Two of the other young guys, who I took to be in their early twenties, are indeed recent graduates from the college the Swami Rama started and have got their BS in Yoga Studies and are on their internship. One of them, I found out, is leading the classes this week. He very officiously explained all the sessions to me. I had originally asked to just make a private retreat here and maybe sit in on a yoga class or two but was told according to their rules that, since it is my first time, I need to follow the ashram schedule for three days first and then I can be on my own. It’s okay. I think I will benefit from a new perspective and have got a good beginner’s mind going. I was just hoping for a little more time to myself. I was worried that I would not be allowed to play the guitar, but instead there seems to be not only no issue with that, but even a little encouragement to play a little for others, as well as give lessons to Vippi, both of which I am going to try to duck out of.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHdQBk3-PBUm0LiJI4DLjqdTv0xrgxrYWKgcfVNjT2e848Mpbw1NOD6eApiXCVQIeu47TdBLEprG2GCsE4BKmiiWqkPngXhtRvcXwhS0GQta4Au5LGeaFldWfzywpIW44b3ODFQhL5XMYzsbsBGrSZpvyY662fVfyP_xIAzBxx7vKigAOMgVjdOCNUwA4n" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjHdQBk3-PBUm0LiJI4DLjqdTv0xrgxrYWKgcfVNjT2e848Mpbw1NOD6eApiXCVQIeu47TdBLEprG2GCsE4BKmiiWqkPngXhtRvcXwhS0GQta4Au5LGeaFldWfzywpIW44b3ODFQhL5XMYzsbsBGrSZpvyY662fVfyP_xIAzBxx7vKigAOMgVjdOCNUwA4n" width="180" /></a><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One other nice thing is that there is a beautiful paved promenade of sorts right outside the back gate that goes for a few miles along the Ganga, that is perfect for walks and even jogging, so I might get some cardio in for the first time in a month. There are only a handful of other guests here this week (I counted seven). There is a sign on every table in the eating hall that says “silence,” but at teatime (during which delicious samosas were served) and at dinner time (kitcharee!), there was no silence, so we shall see…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-26287240823153081552024-03-01T20:41:00.000-08:002024-03-03T20:29:31.812-08:00eucharistic coconuts <p><span style="font-family: times;"> 2 March 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Two other things from my interaction with Jyoti that I forgot to mention. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDBsO8Z-6ofG9ECURneYm3ehWu6RKgRQWDfnIrnDws-yU4XJftS86v25861uWRQZzLswow-JaiZ4DGsibgZN9JyllYmUyWU4FpR0fasBfdVxxs6pILN87p6cA7u6GqfFdzNW-G6zKK0z54TlpFVur-jPpYb-gA25erR4HL6jXXuiYjGj8EQegIB6ABwqfT" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDBsO8Z-6ofG9ECURneYm3ehWu6RKgRQWDfnIrnDws-yU4XJftS86v25861uWRQZzLswow-JaiZ4DGsibgZN9JyllYmUyWU4FpR0fasBfdVxxs6pILN87p6cA7u6GqfFdzNW-G6zKK0z54TlpFVur-jPpYb-gA25erR4HL6jXXuiYjGj8EQegIB6ABwqfT" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times;">One of the things that occurred to me this time at Shantivanam––and I do not mean this as a criticism, just an observation––was that the use of the <i>puja</i> stone for the altar for me harkens a little too strongly to the sacrificial aspect of the Eucharist and does not give much if any indication of a meal, only a kind of <i>prasada</i>, the food and drink offered to a deity during <i>puja </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">that, it is believed, the deity partakes of, thereby consecrating it, and then returns––the offering being distributed and eaten by the worshippers.</span> (The other thing I missed this time was very little intercessory prayer.) Hence, the use of altars that more resemble tables (<i>pace</i> the detractors––the Vatican II documents talk about the two tables of the Word and Sacrament). And so I asked Jyoti about this in the context is wondering what of the Vatican II liturgical reform, besides inculturation, particularly influenced their work on the liturgy in India. He thought for a moment and then, not completely answering the question, said that, similar to other cultures I suppose, the Indian culture would have a particular revulsion to the idea of eating human flesh and drinking human blood. He then told me about a Hindu man, who never became an official Christian but started an ashram dedicated to Jesus. Instead of bread and wine he did a kind of a eucharist with a coconut. It is broken open, the flesh is consumed, and even its water is consumed. Once it is broken open (how I love this image!), it gives all of itself, like Jesus, for others. The suggestion being, I assume, that in spite of being historically representative of what Jesus did on that last day with his disciples, maybe bread and wine are not the only or the best eucharistic symbols for every culture.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: times;">The other thing was this. It’s taken from the second article of his that he asked me to read. We only touched on this briefly as well as on his own study of Aurobindo (via Fr. Bede, again, like myself). I was suggesting that the mystical, the apophatic does not have to be seen only as the ending point of the journey but, in keeping with my own theme of “from the ground up: rediscovering the divine,” maybe it’s the starting point for a new art (music, dance, painting), new forms of worship. Here is where the mystical intuition is not necessarily opposed to the artistic one, another debate that Bede had with Jyoti. Jyoti wrote this is the essence of Aurobindo’ integral yoga (and this of course opens up a whole ‘nother conversation; I got this more from the Mother than from Aurobindo himself): “… it is not only an ascent, as in the concept of attaining to higher states of being: it is also a descent, a way of going into the very material reality of the opaque world in which we live.” This is why it’s safe to say that the liturgy and sacramentality in general is so Tantric: it sees that material reality can be a conveyor of the divine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: times;">This launched into my whole theory that in the Protestant Reformation these things go together: distancing from liturgy, the contemplative life (and monasticism) and an anthropology that views the human condition as hopelessly fallen in need of being completely covered over by grace (taking Augustine to the extreme), like snow over a dung heap. As opposed to Thomas Aquinas’ famous, which could be on my own coat of arms, <i>gratia non tollit naturam sed perfecit</i>––“Grace does not destroy nature but perfects it.” <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This attitude, or lack of it, affected all of our missionary work as well as interreligious dialogue––again, or the lack of it––for centuries. In the other article Jyoti suggests, in keeping with this theme, that being sent on mission ought to be more like a pilgrimage than a campaign, an encounter with the sacramentality recognized as already there. At the risk of putting words into his mouth, this means meeting Christ already present in beauty, truth, and goodness already in the culture, Jacques Dupuis’ pro-Christian, not just pre-Christian. As Jyoti put it, “By recognizing that what is sacramental is a shared ‘common land’ we can come to this space in a spirit of dialogue and mutual respect.”*</span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: times; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: times;">It rained this morning here in Delhi, and it’s a cool 65 degrees. I slept very well and had a quiet morning in my hotel room doing all the things I do left to my own devices, waiting for my ride to Haridwar at noon.</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></span></p><div><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">*“Elemental Signs of the Sacramental: Sacramentality, Visual Arts, and the Earth,” Jyoti Sahi in <i>Sacraments and Sacramentality</i>, 110.<o:p></o:p></p><div><br /></div></div></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-17734745227983435362024-03-01T05:40:00.000-08:002024-03-01T17:19:04.478-08:00silvepuram and the art ashram<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">1 March ‘24</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dorathick and Pinto escorted me to the Kulithallai train station Wednesday night and made sure I got on the right car and found the right bunk. As it turned out, though, someone else was already in my bunk. Each compartment has six bunks; I was supposed to have the bottom one (choice spot). But the gentleman who was occupying it asked me very nicely if I wouldn’t mind going to the next car and taking his lower bunk in another spot there since he was with his wife. With Dorathick and Pinto showing some signs of consternation out of the window, I agreed to it, and he led me there. Well, that bunk was already occupied as well, and it was now suggested that I take the middle bunk instead. After some confusion about where to put my luggage (it was 10:00 at night and pretty dark in there already), I stuffed my backpack and guitar under the bunks and somewhat gracefully crawled into the middle bunk. There was a pillow, a blanket and a sheet on the bed. Most bunks I saw already had the sheet on it, and the guy across from me did the sheet for his friend who was riding on top. No one offered to do mine and I decided just to cover myself with the blanket and call it a night. I fell almost immediately to sleep, comforted by the air-conditioned car, after all those sweaty nights at the ashram, and the quiet rocking of the train, and never wound up putting my sheet on. There was no interaction with anyone in my little compartment from then on out, except for the trio of snores around me. It’s a pretty undignified way to travel! I was hesitant to slip out of my middle bunk and go to the bathroom but at some point, I decided it was going to be a very arduous night if I didn’t, so I screwed up the energy and slipped out, to great success. There were no announcements as to what stops were coming up so I had my alarm set (as if I might sleep later than 4 AM somehow…) and started standing near the doors with my stuff and with some help managed to get off at the right stop in Bengaluru at around 6 AM. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My host-to-be, Jyoti Sahi, who is also the only reason I had come to Bengaluru, had arranged reception for me at the nearby Union Theological College, in spite of the early morning, so I called my contact there, Abey George, when I got in my tuk-tuk from the station, who met me and showed me to a very nice room. UTC is an ecumenical seminary, mostly CSI (Church of South India of the Anglican Communion) and Methodists I believe. Abey was a really sharp guy, very polite and articulate, a fourth year student from Kerala studying for the CSI, having already done his graduate work in English literature, now the editor of the college magazine. He brought me to their worship service at 8:30 AM (introducing me like a visiting VIP), had a wonderful chat over breakfast in the canteen, and then he gave me a tour of the facility. Jyoti in the meantime had made his way to town in a taxi for some other business and met us around 10 AM.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There are a few encounters I have had in my life with particular people that I look back on as being among highly significant conversations. If I had to analyze it, they’ve usually been moments when I<i> </i>was able to locate myself on the map and even got a hint as to what lay ahead. One was sitting at a piano in the basement of the Jesuit novitiate in Saint Paul, Minnesota with John Foley in 1985, when I discovered what I would later call “essentially vocal music,” that totally changed the way I composed. One of course was hearing Fr. Bede Griffiths speak in our chapter room in September 1992 that completely turned my thinking around and set me on the course on which I remain to this day. One was the hour and a half I spent with Fr. Thomas Keating in 2017 at Snowmass, the notes of which I carry around in my Bible. Even in the midst of it I was thinking that this encounter with Jyoti Sahi yesterday was going to remain in that constellation as well.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Palatino; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCZ54-PuDp_2Ofwr4httCYFZru9lp0FkLcF7PkEP6Tm2L5zhjh21lqj2NzIJ70Rufm5ufKlO4Uf6R8_cGFzVT5L92FIgamwH12YL0DJC4ZFFQbKCvyePkGgMgXt63p2-oJCK9mY5CV_znmrHwU9yL-WhS-VOS6in_X4o1tRraX0GEdfzGac2mpGXm33pYk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCZ54-PuDp_2Ofwr4httCYFZru9lp0FkLcF7PkEP6Tm2L5zhjh21lqj2NzIJ70Rufm5ufKlO4Uf6R8_cGFzVT5L92FIgamwH12YL0DJC4ZFFQbKCvyePkGgMgXt63p2-oJCK9mY5CV_znmrHwU9yL-WhS-VOS6in_X4o1tRraX0GEdfzGac2mpGXm33pYk" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Jyoti is considered to be the most famous living Indian Christian artist.I'll embed here some of his paintings that we in and around my guest room. You can find many things online.) He’s known for his paintings, murals and also design. Most notably he designed several churches, including the cathedral church of Varanasi. His distinctive style is incorporating what he unashamedly calls “Hindu” (and not the more generic “Indian”) symbol and style into his work. We had a good discussion about that as well. Like Raimondo Panikkar, Jyoti considers himself a “Hindu Christian,” his father being a Hindu. His mother was a Scottish Presbyterian but was later baptized Catholic bringing her teenage son with her, into the religion of Saint Francis of Assisi, their main inspiration. “Hindu” of course is a term invented by the British colonialists to describe not a religion, but the religions of the Indus Valley, and of course Jyoti considers his to be one of those religions (if I am not misunderstanding his explanation). He was raised in the north, Dehradun, where both of his parents were teachers, receiving the finest English education and then being sent off to study design in London. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As he grew in his Catholicism, Jyoti gradually became more attracted to the Benedictines than the Franciscans and even at one time considered being a monk. Ironically it was Bede Griffiths who told him that he would “never be a monk” but encouraged him to live in a hermitage near the ashram. That was 1963 when Bede was still at Kurisumala in Kerala. I knew that he had a friendship with Bede, but I did not know how far back or how deep it went. Of course, being at Kurisumala he also knew Fr. Francis Archaya as well, the co-founder of that ashram along with Bede. He also knew Abhishiktananda pretty well, having also had many encounters with him, including spending some time living at Shantivanam with Abhishiktananda before Abhishiktananda re-located to the north and turned Shantivanam over to Bede. That was the jaw-dropper for me. I knew some of that history but to hear first-hand accounts of the interactions between the three of them––Francis, Bede and le Saux––during the transition from le Saux to Griffiths, was just fascinating to me. Jyoti told one story of sailing north up the coast of India from Kerala with Francis, arriving ultimately in Dehradun, where his parents still had their home, and Abhishiktananda coming down to meet them from Uttarkashi. I asked him point blank what he thought of Abhishiktananda as a person and he said he was impressed by him though he found him “extreme,” as did Bede, so he confirmed. Then when Bede moved to Shantivanam, he and his new English wife Jane lived there with Bede for two years before re-locating up to Bangalore, now Begaluru, where they have been ever since. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6-8MUcskbEBDzorylbnTozuZscjtRoBwFEBgoSQQWacQ3S5OSXKicS8eca7tw9FPha8h-a-l-R-TVP0kjYbUYtZG8wA0mOQZ26KFCRP1wxG5JOJJKLAtaaRrV0qfUWSeqazIf2IkFUIHirLu-SdvS6m5h-qNyjx2rZ95p46nkox6sIwmQM305GxSUkUTQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6-8MUcskbEBDzorylbnTozuZscjtRoBwFEBgoSQQWacQ3S5OSXKicS8eca7tw9FPha8h-a-l-R-TVP0kjYbUYtZG8wA0mOQZ26KFCRP1wxG5JOJJKLAtaaRrV0qfUWSeqazIf2IkFUIHirLu-SdvS6m5h-qNyjx2rZ95p46nkox6sIwmQM305GxSUkUTQ=w202-h270" width="202" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />In the years that followed, aside from his own art, Jyoti was deeply involved in the liturgical renewal in India, through the National Biblical & Liturgical Center (NBCLC) which is located there in Begaluru. As a matter of fact, he had had a meeting there that morning before he came to fetch me at the UTC. He knew all about the proposed Indian rite and he and Jane were proud to show me a worn-out copy of the provisional lectionary that had been put together for the Office of Readings that included a scriptural reading, an ecclesial (patristic) reading, and a reading from Universal Wisdom. We actually used the reading assigned for the day for our Eucharist later, from chapter 7 of the Bhagavad Gita––the very verses that I set to music in “Lead Me From Death Into Life.” Actually, little synchronistic moments like that came up all day long, mentioning Coomaraswamy’s book on “Dancing Śiva” which I was just quoting last week, for example.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">As soon as we got in the taxi to make our way to his place at Silvepuram outside of town, totally unprovoked but perhaps assuming that is what I wanted to know, Jyoti began to tell me his history. I peppered it with a few questions, but his own narrative was enough to fill the cover. It took about an hour to get to Silvepuram where we met his absolutely lovely wife Jane and their friend Lucy, another Indian artist who now lives with her husband in Germany but at one time had run the art ashram that Jyoti founded there in the village. Jyoti and I continued to talk––I can’t begin to recount the list of related topics about art, inculturation, nationalism, the ashram movement, specifically liturgy and the arts, “the marriage of east and west,” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">, perennialism, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">some theology obviously, as well as more anecdotes about his interactions with the first generation of this whole legacy of which I find myself to be a part. He handed me a couple of books after lunch that contained articles that he had written and that he was interested to hear my thoughts about. So in the midst of an afternoon nap, I had a bit of homework, which I took to gladly, coming back for tea with a list of questions and comments. He then led me through the village up to The Land, the site of the art ashram, where is son Roshen now lives and works. He talked about his own disappointment that it has not really thrived and survived, and mused about his own legacy, which was fascinating to hear.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_Ag2LkuVGO1J2rTE5SLb38MRh8YIhbpfwMnDXJyyEYhC-sDVeWYcHNCBysxkcX-BIVPt4Q-5EBilZcQowZo85_Ok0zS3muWreqV2xm7ypRkpLuv2iK0W6xa-mq2Vo1gb5hcbjU8z7VPGRZpjR1adGN6ld_9tyVJAO7kkDKUSQhiZ2zhZ9wNuYDJc78f0R" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_Ag2LkuVGO1J2rTE5SLb38MRh8YIhbpfwMnDXJyyEYhC-sDVeWYcHNCBysxkcX-BIVPt4Q-5EBilZcQowZo85_Ok0zS3muWreqV2xm7ypRkpLuv2iK0W6xa-mq2Vo1gb5hcbjU8z7VPGRZpjR1adGN6ld_9tyVJAO7kkDKUSQhiZ2zhZ9wNuYDJc78f0R" width="180" /></a></div><br />Later it occurred to me that one of the reasons I was so interested in Thomas Merton when I first moved up to Santa Cruz was that he was someone who had to learn to live as a monk along with his talent for writing. There are religious, there are artists, there are religious artists who are not active religious and of course those who are. What Jyoti embodied for me, though not a professed religious, was someone so steeped in his faith with that added aspect of being so deeply involved in the specific ecosystem of the ashram movement in India, the legacy that has touched me so deeply. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the early evening we celebrated a very simple eucharist in the humble, comfortable chapel in their home, and then Jane asked me to sing for them, which I was only too happy to do. She called her son and daughters over as well at that point, and one grandson and a friend of their son Somo, who is a filmmaker. It was odd; it was one of those few times when I got a little self-conscious and was making some terrible flubs on the guitar on songs that I have played hundreds of times and have been practicing even recently. It’s so odd to me when those rare occasions nervousness come in. I suppose I really wanted to impress Jyoti and his friends and got self-conscious.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had another beautiful night’s sleep with the gentle cool breeze blowing the curtains all night long in a very comfortable guest room, a real Indian bath at about 5 AM, meaning pouring the hot water over myself from a barrel that sits on a wood fire, so hot that you have to cool it down with cold water from another barrel. A little more conversation over breakfast and an exchange of movie and book recommendations with a promise to stay in touch. It was only then, at breakfast, that Jane asked me something about my opinion on liturgical music and I launched forth into a bit of a diatribe about the voice and the Word and the real meaning and purpose of chant, and Psallite, etc. etc., that was, luckily for them, cut short by the arrival of my taxi to the airport. All in all a fabulous memorable visit.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjw_bnGH7agQjlnEIvB4hV3dctQwb5QbCIVPdCQFVh3rP8LFM55gX9OI_tb0x6XTC2JZSaGb1ti0qSC7KN3nZ-L0v3UthX-veKGzzC5TDN4GJDlrfJXVWTgvrnesXdRzLCJ3QheQMEZ0IKmve4gUcIz7BWs7kHhaEVieziQoaKk8JM67BKTte-ditaTbcE4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjw_bnGH7agQjlnEIvB4hV3dctQwb5QbCIVPdCQFVh3rP8LFM55gX9OI_tb0x6XTC2JZSaGb1ti0qSC7KN3nZ-L0v3UthX-veKGzzC5TDN4GJDlrfJXVWTgvrnesXdRzLCJ3QheQMEZ0IKmve4gUcIz7BWs7kHhaEVieziQoaKk8JM67BKTte-ditaTbcE4=w204-h272" width="204" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The offending pyx...</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One funny thing happened in the airport in Bengaluru. Rather confusingly, the security had me drop my guitar at one spot, where baby carriages and full dressed women are checked, and sent me to another line. I was waiting for my backpack while watching across the way for my guitar. After a few minutes I rushed over to grab my guitar but was stopped by the man there who wanted to take away––and did––my favorite little tool, a string winder that is also a string cutter and confiscated. Though the cutter, as Grama Lucy used to say, was so dull “it couldn’t cut water,” it was deemed contraband. I rushed back over to find my backpack had also been sequestered. The suspect object there was, of all things, the round pyx I carry, with the Pie Pelicane on it, with a few consecrated hosts. The guy pulled it out, then opened it and said, “What is this?” I was trying to explain––it wasn’t clear how much English he spoke––“Catholic? Communion? Mass?” I made an eating motion, the sign of the cross. At some point he seemed to understand and waved me off and then suddenly a look of recognition crossed his face, and his eyes got big and he said, “You’re a priest?!” I nodded yes, and he seemed quite pleased, maybe just that he had figured it out. I would love to hear him tell his family that one tonight. A white priest with a knapsack, a guitar, and Holy Communion. (Mom, Isaiah, and Paul Ford, if you are reading, I thought you would enjoy that episode.)</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After that an uneventful flight up to Delhi, with four Tibetan Buddhist monks, one elder, one middle aged and to younger, seated near me, the older of whom were very funny to watch, especially the middle-aged guy bugging the attendants for hot water for his instant ramen, in some language that none of the attendants knew. A long taxi ride again to my hotel for the night. I feel somewhat embarrassed by how nice a room I have. My friend Devin is here with the students from Mount Madonna, and we were to travel together to Haridwar tomorrow. So it was convenient, and the only room they had left was an deluxe suite of sorts, but it’s not a bad price in American dollars and it’s nice to treat myself to a little creature comfort before I head back into ashram life, this time up north, starting tomorrow. As it turns out, Devin cannot accompany me to Haridwar tomorrow after all, but I just spent some time with him now, and we talked about upcoming projects as well as about his upcoming wedding at the end of March, here in India. I remember why I don’t like Delhi: I usually feel trapped here. This neighborhood, for instance, there is nothing within walking distance. Even the man at the front desk, when I asked for direction to a nearby market, warned me not to try to walk it. And I just don’t feel like negotiating with the autorickshaw drivers tonight, so I am staying home, will treat myself to the buffet, repack and get ready for the next leg, blessing you all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-48412113565854577462024-02-28T01:31:00.000-08:002024-02-28T01:36:07.526-08:00walk in beauty<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">28 feb 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The sixth chakra, on which people are most often advised to concentrate during meditation or the recitation of mantras, is situated between the eyes, at the root of the nose. There too is located the “third eye” of Shiva, his spiritual eye which looks within and sees everything with perfect truth in the light which alone shines inwardly––the light of the <i>guha</i> … (<i>Prayer, </i>102)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They are doing a lectio continua of Abhishiktananda’s book <i>Prayer</i> here at midday prayer each day, which is great––the book itself and the fact that that is what they are reading. In the past it has been the often-lugubrious readings from the Liturgy of the Hours which were practically incomprehensible to some of the guys with English as a second (or third of fourth) language. This is much more practical as well as accessible and totally fitting the context. Reflecting back on my musings about Śiva, I don’t remember Abhishiktananda being so bold in mentioning Śiva in that book! Hence the above quotation among other places.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipUpOBPcMtYSg897pLOpDNaxgBGChxswsgfvPeHbMbqYoENE9XMM9OJC0tPencOjNWwqYiFZrydFAAL0mRFA5YLUzyYEF8SVKfDHhpLmKe_0_W9LCiTGnPVVxA5hSXI6qWdYGp5yIBTxtnaVGcG_m-mb7hirX7oFCZMj91O7advHeZrhv_c-HuyXYvVhsp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipUpOBPcMtYSg897pLOpDNaxgBGChxswsgfvPeHbMbqYoENE9XMM9OJC0tPencOjNWwqYiFZrydFAAL0mRFA5YLUzyYEF8SVKfDHhpLmKe_0_W9LCiTGnPVVxA5hSXI6qWdYGp5yIBTxtnaVGcG_m-mb7hirX7oFCZMj91O7advHeZrhv_c-HuyXYvVhsp=w242-h323" width="242" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The groups here come and go. Several of the guys have mentioned how they feel like their hospitality (the main source of income) is still in recovery from Covid. There was quite a crowd here through the weekend, mostly Europeans, from England, France, Italy, Poland, Germany, more than Americans. The biggest part of them left last week––poor Fr. Martin, guest master, was wiped out––but a group of about a dozen, still very international remains for a week-long yoga retreat led by Dorathick. He came to us as a trained yogi already in his twenties, with also a good knowledge of Ayurveda. I pleased to see him still be able to offer things like this as well as keep up his own practice and study. He reminded me yesterday that it is part of the charter of Shantivanam to promote the practice of yoga and meditation. And it is a serious schedule. (I’ll attach a photo of it) starting with asana at 5:30 AM, two teaching sessions a day, and a session each on pranayama and yoga nidra, besides time for discussion and the regular liturgies of the ashram. Again, a very international crowd.</span><div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A friend of mine has a distinction that I had never heard of before (he thinks it comes from Czesław Miłosz), between the desert religions and the delta religions––not enough water and too much water, the former being what we would normally think of as the Judeo-Christian-Muslim monotheists as compared to the Asian traditions (or the prophetic traditions versus the mystical ones). He thinks that the religion itself is shaped by the landscape in which it was birthed. I was reflecting on that yesterday when again the day was swelteringly hot and the air was dusty. I wrote to him and said that in the same way I don’t think you can really understand Hinduism and the traditions that come out of India until you have experienced a day like that, or a lot of days like that. Somehow in the midst of that, not in spite of that, this great revelation occurs to the human psyche that there is a silent power within all that that is also the foundation of real human life, “the bliss of the consciousness of being.” And we are set free not because of comfortable conditions conducive to such enlightenment but by enduring the vicissitudes of a harsh landscape and seeing behind and before them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Yesterday I got a tour of a beautiful little campus just down the road from us. It’s called the Swami Bede Dayanand Trust, and it contains an elder day care center, a kindergarten, a typing school and a tailoring school. It is all run efficiently by a little firecracker of a religious sister named Rosa. She came from another congregation but is now officially Camaldolese as well. I had remembered visiting an old folks’ home and tailoring center before. The former is still going, but these facilities have replaced the others. I was taken right away by how clean and organized everything is. (Gotta leave it to the women. It can be done, guys! Not that I am any shining example…) Sr. Rosa has been doing this since 1998 and has managed to get lots of foreign sponsorship. The buildings themselves are very sturdy and freshly painted, with the normal beautiful plat life all around. All that in the midst of real squalor in the village nearby. I went there with our Bro. Martin, and two other Camaldolese sisters from Andhra Pradesh, Rose and Lucy, who are down here visiting. I had half an idea to go and see their place too, somewhat near Indore about halfway between here and Delhi, but I decided not to complicate my trip anymore. Our Indian friends love to do that kind of thing, put us in chairs in front of a group of people and say something or do something–– or example they had me pass out cake to the old folks. Another one of those roles I feel uncomfortable in. I wouldn’t mind helping with the dishes, but being a visiting dignitary of some sort feels out of place for a monk in a backpack.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6HUtSDtVgCylvHJ1G2IoYZ1gJj3EbIWvrgmoerTzvkguTZYzr1tTftQTFLu2lyGFSUbq05PwNd5n8CAPWHKTw6kBvfrNgJ2zUGw0BDI-9BeWkxgymmAQXs9Xh7evWz7_3egX919sm5SRLua6vU1zV41_Ki0p6Ey9iXRkv5z2gyp8KId-lPqfT70OkFhhL" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6HUtSDtVgCylvHJ1G2IoYZ1gJj3EbIWvrgmoerTzvkguTZYzr1tTftQTFLu2lyGFSUbq05PwNd5n8CAPWHKTw6kBvfrNgJ2zUGw0BDI-9BeWkxgymmAQXs9Xh7evWz7_3egX919sm5SRLua6vU1zV41_Ki0p6Ey9iXRkv5z2gyp8KId-lPqfT70OkFhhL=w229-h305" width="229" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Rosa then had us all over at her house for lunch, and it was quite a feast. She had asked me the say before what I wanted for lunch, and I simply agreed to certain things without suggesting anything. So she made pasta (in addition to rice) and made me plain fish cooked with banana and curry leaves (besides making fish curry), plus three side dishes of vegetables, a sweet and sour soup, fruit salad custard and payasam, a tasty sweet made with jaggery (unrefined sugar) and some kind of cooling tisane plus buttermilk. She had worked very hard to prepare all that and we were all very appreciative. I for my part felt terribly overfed, though I kept my intake as low as I could without being offensive. Bro. Martin and I walked back home to burn off some calories and I slept the sleep of the overfed. That was when I was thinking about my friend’s idea of how landscapes effect our spiritualities. He’s convinced that we who have lived in the Santa Lucia Mountains on the central coast of California have a certain gift we bring. I was noticing of the other hand how I sleep so deeply after lunch here and wake up so groggy just as the real heat of the day is coming on. It takes even more discipline to get off my bed, face the sweltering heat and at least pretend to be reading, praying, or meditating.</span><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">This is actually my last day here in the Forest of Peace. I had my last English class with Arvind this morning and spent the rest of the day cleaning my room and re-packing my things. Tonight I have an overnight train to Bangalore, which could be an adventure, and then an elaborate plan of meeting someone who will give me breakfast (and maybe let me take a shower) and me wait until Jyoti Sahi comes to fetch me, the real goal of my side trip there. More on that and him later...</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">I’ve been working on two songs since I got to India. The first one is still kind of unformed, but this lyric has turned out nice and I keep strolling back over to my guitar to play it again, which is always a good sign. It’s a combination of the famous Navajo prayer, “Walk in beauty” that I have been carrying around for months wanting to set to music for John Pennington and my new collection that we hope to do in the spring, and a poem that I ran into recently by the English poet Charles Causley (husband of Sylvia Plath), and the two just seemed to go together. Here's a taste of it. I feel like I am so far on this sabbatical doing just that––“walking in beauty.” And ready for the next step.</span></div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">today I will walk and<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">darkness will leave me<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I will be as before<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">over my body <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">cool breeze is blowing<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">nothing can hinder me <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am the song that <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">sings the bird the<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">leaf that grows the land<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am the tide that <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">moves the moon the<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">stream that halts the sand.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">beauty before me<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">beauty behind me<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">beauty beauty below<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">beauty above me<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">and all around, my <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">words will be beautiful<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am the cloud that<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">dries the storm the<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">earth that lights the sun<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am the clay that<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">shapes the hand the<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">fire that strikes the stone<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">wandering on a <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">trail of beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">lively lively I walk, in <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">old age on a <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">trail of beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">living living again<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in beauty…<o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-90181500095964673122024-02-22T20:45:00.000-08:002024-02-22T20:45:29.705-08:00holy language<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">21 February, 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The feast of Saint Peter Damian, I believe Fr. Thomas Matus’ 83<sup>rd</sup> birthday and the third anniversary of my dear father’s death. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had some hesitation about my original plan and thought about maybe simply extending my time here at Shantivanam until I need to fly up to Delhi and catch my flight back to Singapore, but in the end it felt right to stick to the original plan. So next week I will take an overnight train to Bengaluru, where I will get to meet the artist and old friend of Bede Jyothi Sahi for the first time. (More on that to come.) From there I will fly to Delhi, meet up with my intrepid right hand mad Devin, who is here with the Mount Madonna students and will be staying on to prepare for the Indian version of his upcoming wedding. We will travel together to Haridwar and then he will put me in a taxi to take me to my yoga retreat at an ashram outside of Rishikesh. Where I will hopefully meet up with Br. Axel who is doing an extended time at another branch of the same ashram, and has been several times, being trained in their school of yoga.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I mentioned the other day how I finally understood why I had appreciated the Upanishads so much, because they invite you into the experience more than explain it to you beforehand. And the same holds true for the yoga tradition in general. I’ve got my copy of <i>How to Know God</i> with me, Swami Prabhavananda’s commentary on the Yoga Sutras with Christopher Isherwood (how many times have I recommended or given away a copy of that?!). It’s such great practical advice, not only on asana and meditation, but on living an ethical life in general. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I preached this morning. In the gospel today (I’ve got our antiphon in mind: <i>‘… this evil generation is asking for a sign, none will be given but the sign of Jonah.’</i>) tells his hearers that the Queen of the South will rise up and judge this generation. It gave me a chance to use this bit I got from Jean Cardinal Danielou’s book <i>The Holy Pagans of the Old Testament</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Both Matthew and Luke record Jesus saying something rather remarkable concerning the Queen a Sheba (or the “queen of the South” as she is called in the gospels), who sought out Solomon because she recognized Solomon’s wisdom.* The Qur’an mentions this story as well, though there she is referred to as Bilqis, and Cardinal Danielou, in his famous book <i>Holy Pagans of the Old Testament</i>, says that the fact that she belongs both to the gospel and the Qur’an “may be a hidden link that gives reason to hope.” The Qur’an portrays her as an idolater, a sun worshipper,** though there is nothing in the Hebrew scriptures to tell us that. Danielou instead says that she was actually “already worshipping the true God through the medium of [God’s] revelation in the world and in her conscience.” In other words, she was already worshipping the true God through the Second Person of the Trinity, Wisdom. Even though she pays tribute to a more perfect revelation in Solomon, she stays “at the level of revelation which was hers.” Not only is she a “mystical anticipation of the entry of the Gentiles into the Church,” Jesus goes on to say that <i>she will rise up at the judgment with this generation and condemn it</i>. In other words, she is shown in the future, on the day of Resurrection, sharing the glory of the saints! And Cardinal Danielou concludes that through this Jesus himself “testifies to the fact that the pagans who have sought God in sincerity of heart belong to his Church, by what theology calls the baptism of desire, and form part of the elect,”*** through the Wisdom of the Second Person of the Trinity. One can only imagine what a stir those words might have caused in the Catholic Church in 1956, in the decades before Vatican II, <i>Nostra Aetate</i> and the Declaration on Religious Liberty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I concluded by saying I’d rather be a holy pagan than an unregenerate believer.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">23 February 2024<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4jYo_AEa7wg9uE9gyJroOuk-4zEHlSryqTiEv7a3S6ryMFWCTOXIfRTlMAPFRKqFTudGZMDmkm0X949OqwGZN4ZbNcgAwQBkptmAheqcGEZC2cWF65vgngVj8lHveg4X50VffB3S31ej--D8nQjaOlqXIktOnMOAm7F5mxEakKYhB3m3MBWSqk5JISXo1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="500" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4jYo_AEa7wg9uE9gyJroOuk-4zEHlSryqTiEv7a3S6ryMFWCTOXIfRTlMAPFRKqFTudGZMDmkm0X949OqwGZN4ZbNcgAwQBkptmAheqcGEZC2cWF65vgngVj8lHveg4X50VffB3S31ej--D8nQjaOlqXIktOnMOAm7F5mxEakKYhB3m3MBWSqk5JISXo1=w281-h337" width="281" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knew?</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s hard to believe I am already preparing for my departure from here. Suddenly a bunch of little community requests have come up, everyone else also feeling the imminence of it––this one wants a guitar lesson, another Mass and/or breakfast with the sisters, a walk and talk with that one. I’ve been jealously guarding my time since I’ve been on a real nice roll with everything, yoga, writing, practicing the guitar. In addition, as I have done in the past, I’ve been teaching young Arvind English lessons each day. Of all the guys I’ve tutored in English he has been the most challenging because he knows so little. Very eager to learn, but looks at me confused and often mumbles almost inaudibly, “I don’ know…” I am realizing again what a weird language English is to pronounce. What’s the difference between “heart” and “hear”? And he can’t hear the difference between “air” “hair” and “here.” He cannot say “f” or “v” or “sh” or “r”––and I wish I had a film of me trying to show him every day how to use his teeth and/or tongue to form certain sounds. We’ve both gotten past the shyness of looking silly, at least, and both of us wind up laughing.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The thing that keeps coming back to me from my time in 2002 teaching for a month at the old Formation House, was what a holy exercise teaching English feels like to me since the common language here is English (between them they come from five different language groups now), and of course all the prayers and the Bible readings are in English (except on Sunday). It’s kind of like me doing my lectio in Italian. It’s not just a foreign language to me––it’s a sacred language because it carries our history and tradition. Tamil is given some pride of place since that is where the ashram is located––the third psalm is always sung in Tamil and the gorgeous poems of the Tamil saints are read each evening for the Universal Wisdom. Just like I used to end each class with the guys by reading the psalms, so Arvind and I spend the end of class reading the first reading for Mass of the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqz68qOtgPta7aRHrdG8OOaEmfb_3J_qFxE6V2l5mud9W8B1QrV_rTe7MMIW1Uq2WGis9VIhCiWf7u1T8F3BW-wiJl5qGMH3hJof939wkKoNIYut5PxjE-7u0m-UKi2caiy0b_tRJUVexrsVRnMDUB9xOA-qz4iefWNRSBDPT89fJ0ZFtuvMKGWj6uxYUc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqz68qOtgPta7aRHrdG8OOaEmfb_3J_qFxE6V2l5mud9W8B1QrV_rTe7MMIW1Uq2WGis9VIhCiWf7u1T8F3BW-wiJl5qGMH3hJof939wkKoNIYut5PxjE-7u0m-UKi2caiy0b_tRJUVexrsVRnMDUB9xOA-qz4iefWNRSBDPT89fJ0ZFtuvMKGWj6uxYUc=w245-h327" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's English lesson...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have thought often that a monastery, especially a hermitage (or ashram, for that matter) is not a good place to learn a new language. There’s simply not enough talking. So the other day we took a walk around the garden and I was surprised how many common words he did not know yet so we named everything we could see. We had a little argument about whether one plant was a bush or a tree, but I let him win. Then we did body parts yesterday, which was again hysterical. I again remember the guys back in 2002 were so appreciative for that. Today we are going to do adjectives.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It is good to see that Shantivanam still has so many visitors coming from the States and, especially, from Europe. It was slow for a few days but then a small group came from Italy, another from France, a group from Germany, and then the other day a large group from Poland arrived. You can see that that is the main purpose of this place––aside from allowing a place for monks themselves to cultivate the inner life, which I must admit, as is the danger in a lot of places, can sometimes get short shrift: welcoming guests. And right now it is all-hands-on-deck. Everyone seems to know his part and Dorathick glides among the guests easily, making himself available and accessible. That would be hard on me, and I absent myself from breakfast and/or dinner most days and avoid the tea circle, with impunity, I think. Old Cristudas says that Dorathick is a cross between Fr. Bede and the late Amaldas, the great yogi who died very young. Fr Paul and I have had several very nice conversations and he says they suffer here from the same thing that we suffer from in Big Sur, though he didn’t have the word for it and appreciated hearing it: frequent visitors start to get a sense of <i>entitlement</i>. Not realizing that the place goes on without them, expecting that they can have everything the way they want it, ordering the staff around, even sometimes ordering the monks around. The guys are very gracious about it, but I have come to recognize that certain polite smile they offer in moments like that. Anyway, I’ve lost uninterrupted exclusive use of the meditation hall next door now so have had to adjust and/or keep to my cell for guitar time and asana.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I posted photos on Facebook of the new chapel across the street at Ananda. As I explained in that post, Sr. Mary Louise, before she died, left instructions of where she wanted it built and that it ought to be an octagon. The rest she left up to Sr. Neethi, who she passed on the mantle of leadership to pretty much as soon as Neethi got here. She did a marvelous job with the help of Fr Pinto from the ashram here. The money came from a bequest of Sr. Maria Luisa, the Spanish Camaldolese nun who died suddenly at Sant’Antonio in Rome at the Easter Vigil back in 2017, three months after Mary Louise. Ignatius told me the story and Dorathick said he was standing right next to her when it happened. A beautiful poetry to the fact that she had the same name as Mary Louise. Both of their photos are enshrined in the entryway. It is more in the “western” style, as one monk told me, but very specifically in the Indian style of the Western style as far as I can see: a little hard, lots of stone and metal and sharp edges. It was fun to be with them again, and great fun getting to know Neethi, who is a fountain of anecdotes and advice. And of course way too much food, including, they were proud to tell me, real french fries, an omelette, and vegetables cooked plain, no curry. I promised to come one more time, this time for breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">*1 Kgs 10; Mt 12:42, Lk 11:31.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div id="ftn2"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">** Qur’an Sura An-Nami, 27:22-44.</p><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">***<span style="font-size: 10pt;"> Jean Danielou, “Holy Pagans of the Old Testament” (Baltimore: Helion Press, 1957), 122-125.</span></p></div><div id="ftn3"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p></div></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-23714507594793376122024-02-19T07:43:00.000-08:002024-02-19T18:48:54.569-08:00Śiva: form, formless form and formless<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ve been reflecting on Dorathick’s simple explanation that Śiva can be experienced in form, in a formless form, or formless. I did a bit of research on it both from some books in the library here and also referring back to a chapter I wrote on Tantra for</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Spirit Soul Body</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">(one of the chapters that wound up on the cutting room floor, as it turns out).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhriQiBCOc3Cx3iY_0s7ZiKTNmi-X1y2IQxsi6J6QQFhh8ogy8yKbRhuZLTGmqfoDrEmoRNKz59z-jVrF4ftOMA8xQnNjNr9froc2JXqC3mG2O8CvY959Wsa-p2LyHoErKLB4E3ST5M5GJDectfyXv4slgb90HQjOCkf79lLSOJTm-E4U5O3Syqt-xt_e-E" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="202" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhriQiBCOc3Cx3iY_0s7ZiKTNmi-X1y2IQxsi6J6QQFhh8ogy8yKbRhuZLTGmqfoDrEmoRNKz59z-jVrF4ftOMA8xQnNjNr9froc2JXqC3mG2O8CvY959Wsa-p2LyHoErKLB4E3ST5M5GJDectfyXv4slgb90HQjOCkf79lLSOJTm-E4U5O3Syqt-xt_e-E" width="195" /></a></div>As for in <i>form,</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> at the level of poplar devotion Śiva is worshipped as one of the <i>trimurti, </i>the trinity of Hindu gods, along with Brahma and Vishnu. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The typical iconography of Śiva has a good deal of primitivism about it, which scholars say gives evidence of its pre-Aryan origin among the tribes of southern (Dravidian) India. (</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Aryans migrated to the subcontinent of India around 2000 BCE, perhaps by way of the Khyber Pass. They fused with the indigenous peoples of that region who already had a thousand-year-old civilization that was thriving in technology and trade.) In this version Śiva is often shown wearing or sitting on a tiger skin holding a trident with snakes coiled around his neck and arms. So many of these elements, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">including his matted hair, his ornaments of skulls and snakes, and the wild dance that will be associated with him, recall the costume and practice of tribal shamans. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He is often also represented as a yogi. There is some conjecture that the Yogic tradition in general probably derived from the pre-Aryan culture as well. Many sources, for instance, point to a pre-Aryan “proto-Shiva” statue of a man in lotus position.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s the image of the “Dancing Śiva” that is the form that’s best known in the West and the modern world, though it did not become known there until the beginning of the 20<sup>th</sup> century. I found this paragraph in the book <i>The dance </i>(sic)<i> of Śiva*</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">How and when Śiva, the pre-Aryan deity who is associated with such savage rites and sacrifices among the primitive tribes and devil-fearing castes of South India, became the mystic dancer, the ultimate embodiment of rhythm in the visible universe of created things and in the invisible universe of the human soul, we have no means of knowing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The image dates back to at least the 5<sup>th</sup> century CE. First evidence of the version specifically called “King Dancer”–<i>Natarāja</i> comes from the 10<sup>th</sup> century. The dance itself is called <i>ānandatāndava</i>–“the dance of bliss.” It is danced in an arch of flames, with the right foot supported by a crouching figure and the left foot raised elegantly. Like the typical image, this Śiva too has four arms: one swings downward pointing to the raised foot, one with the palm up, signaling “Do not fear,” and the other hands hold a drum and a flame, with a cobra around the left forearm. The river Gangā is flowing from his hair.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Natarāja</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> is meant to be the Lord of the universe, and the dance represents the state of bliss he enjoys and embodies. Here is the Ananda Coomaraswamy’s famous description:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxGKHmic4bkqfvXgGvf5_t8EeXb0r7Q8lGew3J9QDQ9ijLi6YBGvdRczfNIJlfUGgUA8J7p9TISJ_g0pD-xfLIAEPpPQyeXEE-azMMsBgrlOo2Bv-H6v5xIEILhaO-eTi0o7lMLOshwaJFWu5XeTA0E62JRXBCnKLXD_JMIobnQlNtNwF41HaA9Q5qb-nk" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxGKHmic4bkqfvXgGvf5_t8EeXb0r7Q8lGew3J9QDQ9ijLi6YBGvdRczfNIJlfUGgUA8J7p9TISJ_g0pD-xfLIAEPpPQyeXEE-azMMsBgrlOo2Bv-H6v5xIEILhaO-eTi0o7lMLOshwaJFWu5XeTA0E62JRXBCnKLXD_JMIobnQlNtNwF41HaA9Q5qb-nk" width="180" /></a></div><br />Nature is inert and cannot dance until Śiva wills it. He rises from His rapture, and dancing sends through inert matter pulsing waves of awakening sound, and lo! Matter also dances appearing as a glory round about Him. Dancing, He sustains its manifold phenomena. In the fullness of time, still dancing, he destroys all forms and names by fire and gives new rest.**<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Fritjof Capra shows how modern physics has caught up with this, writing that “The dance of Śiva <i>is the dancing universe</i>, the cease flow of energy going through an infinite variety of patterns that melt into one another.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Note from the quote above that the Dancing Śiva is not only “the ultimate embodiment of rhythm in the visible universe of created things”; he is also in “the invisible universe of the human soul.”<i> </i>To some extent this plays out in all Hindu symbolism, more explicitly in some than others: Natarāja is not only at the heart of the universe; he is to be found in every human heart, as the consciousness found in every human being. That will tie in with the third meaning, the formless, below.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The temple that Dorathick and Jeremias visited last week, Cidambaram, is about 244 km south of Chennai, and is legendarily the place where the dance was first performed. (Now after all this research, I wish I had gone with them, discomfort aside.) It has been the center of worship of Dancing Śiva since the 7<sup>th</sup> century and is considered to be the most important of all Śiva temples, some will even say that it is “the heart of the world.” The shrine in which Natarāja is housed there is within a hall known as Cit Sabhā–the “Hall of Consciousness”–in Tamil <i>tirucirrambalam, </i>the “holy little hall.” (The second half of that Tamil term––<i>cirrambalam––</i>gets Sanskritized and shortened into the “modern” name Cidambaram.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The <i>formless form</i> on the other hand is the <i>lingam</i>. It is typically just a kind of upright cylindrical object, phallic in nature. Originally the Sanskrit word <i>lingam</i> meant simply “sign.” In the Śvetaśvatara Upanishad, for instance, it says that “Śiva, the Supreme Lord, has no <i>liūga</i>,” meaning the Divine is beyond all name and form. The <i>lingam</i> is considered to be an outward symbol of the formless reality that Śiva is in essence, “the form of the formless,” as Dorathick would say. The lingam is a non-iconic representation of Śiva. Typically, it is the primary <i>murti</i>–image in temples devoted to Śiva, and it is recognized in natural objects such as Mount Arunachala in Tiruvanamalai. In Tantra and Shaivism it represents both generative and destructive power.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2DK_AoFpLKOpkIVJqVecZEfcOt4qipNCSdxi9-IEHcdpZhRfVSdZA67DqvgGVxfZ-rnnlIkGjE5G9GsBJlqG1V1W0r9KDViInNuXQiw6b83N3g8Bu2rb6dUTf0pyQyAFhOA6yEjLY8EHZhrAEM6PieXb4zeOSv4GmUrqF1xBoNbvNtiiJxXDFp4TrHzbB" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2DK_AoFpLKOpkIVJqVecZEfcOt4qipNCSdxi9-IEHcdpZhRfVSdZA67DqvgGVxfZ-rnnlIkGjE5G9GsBJlqG1V1W0r9KDViInNuXQiw6b83N3g8Bu2rb6dUTf0pyQyAFhOA6yEjLY8EHZhrAEM6PieXb4zeOSv4GmUrqF1xBoNbvNtiiJxXDFp4TrHzbB" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There are some anatomically realistic versions of the lingam as a phallus, such as the Gudimallam Lingam. But the masculine aspect of it is only one side of the story. It is usually inside of a <i>yoni</i>, a horizontal disc-shaped platform designed to allow liquid offerings to drain away. And <i>yoni </i>literally means “womb/vagina” or “abode/source,” either way definitely a feminine image. The <i>lingam</i> and the <i>yoni</i> together represent, obviously, the union of masculine and feminine, as well as the merging of the microcosm and the macrocosm. In Samkhya and yoga terms, this is the symbolization of <i>prakrti–</i>primordial matter with <i>puruśa–</i>pure consciousness. Of course, this is all related to the <i>yin-yang</i> of Taoism, though in that case they both represent half of consciousness; and the Tibetan pestle and bell, the <i>dorge </i>and <i>dril-bu</i>. An additional feminine note is that the shrine room in which the lingam is housed in a temple is called a <i>garbhagriha</i> a term made up of the Sanskrit roots <i>garbha</i>–womb and <i>griha</i>–house, the “womb house.” (Other deities might also be enshrined instead in a temple’s <i>garbhgriha</i>. At one temple in Bhuvaneshvara the <i>garbhagriha</i> is empty, which leads to...)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And finally, the <i>formless</i>. The deeper understanding is that Śiva is simply a name for the all-pervasive supreme reality who manifests in functions, qualities and principles but that/who is actually beyond all name and form or “in the form of bliss consciousness.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Here, for example, are the first and last verses of the famous hymn of Shiva attributed to Shankara, the great 8<sup>th</sup> century sage of <i>advaita-Vedanta</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am not mind, intellect, ego and the memory.<br />I am not the sense organs.<br />I am not the five elements. <br /><i style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Chidhaanandha roopah shivoham shivoham</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am Shiva in the form of bliss consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am formless and devoid of all dualities.<br />I exist everywhere and pervade all senses.<br />Always I am the same,<br />I am neither free nor bonded.<br />I am Shiva in the form of bliss consciousness.</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One might be tempted to think that the experience of the Divine beyond name and form is so iconoclastic as to be impersonal, as if God were just a nameless force of some sort, or solely the Ground of Being (<i>brahman</i>) and/or the Ground of Consciousness (<i>atman</i>). (I worry about this for myself at times.) The opposite is true for some Hindus, as it was for our Abhishiktananda: the encounter with this Ground <i>anamarupa</i>–beyond all name and form, can spark a whole new strain of devotion, of <i>bhakti</i>––devotion to this Ground of Being who is </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">formless and devoid of all dualities</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">. One can become a lover of this fathomless abyss of the godhead. There is a beautiful compound word in Sanskrit that describes this well––<i>bhakti-rūpāpanna-jñāna</i>: not just love of God, but knowledge that has become a form of devotion. Abhishiktananda himself entered into this apophatic experience––the God beyond all name and form––and came out of it a lover of God in a whole new way, writing poems and prayers to this formless Śiva, who is here no longer one of the <i>trimurti</i> of Hindu gods, but another name for the 1<sup>st</sup> Person of the Trinity, the “Silence of the Father,” perhaps.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That’s where I go with that… I see Śiva as one way of understanding the 1<sup>st</sup> Person of the Trinity, particularly in that formless understanding. I also am very attracted to the lingam with the yoni, as a first elaboration of the 1<sup>st</sup> Person manifesting, the first aspects that can be discerned, the female and male, "our Father in heaven" and "the Great Mother." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I also like the image of <i>Natarāja</i> a lot and I keep singing “The Lord of the Dance” in my head. And of course, the English songwriter Sydney Carter was writing about Jesus when he wrote that text, but he was also inspired by the <i>Natarāja </i>statue on his desk. He wrote about it:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #202122;">I see Christ as the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. By Christ I mean not only Jesus; in other times and places, other planets, there may be other Lords of the Dance. But Jesus is the one I know of first and best. I sing of the dancing pattern in the life and words of Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="color: #202122;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202122;">Again, at the risk of being argumentative and contrarian––and knowing that we cannot separate the Persons of the Trinity, especially by their function––while I can see Dancing Śiva as a Christ figure, a personification of the 2nd Person of the Trinity, Word-Tao-Consciousness I see the Dancing Śiva as an image of the 1<sup>st </sup>Person of the Trinity more, the Creator and Destroyer. I keep thinking too of the line we sing from the Canticle in 1 Samuel (2:6): <i>The Lord puts to death and gives life; casts to the nether world and raises back up.</i> We don’t like facing this fierce aspect of Absolute Reality, but death is what brings new life. Even what looks like decay, like a fallen tree, can from another angle be seen as new life, a thriving ecosystem for insects and moss.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I hope I haven't offended or shocked anyone with this. Remember: this is </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">speculative theology</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In my original blog about this a few days ago, I was putting this in the context of the evolution of consciousness. (This is basically the argument I was making in <i>Rediscovering the Divine.</i>) I’ve realized that one of the things that originally enticed me about the Upanishads was that they did not talk for the most part in archaic-magical-mythical language, but in the language of phenomenon and direct experience. I believe Wilber would call that <i>injunctive</i> language, language that says, “This is how you experience That.” It’s very hard to extricate the archaic-magical-mythical language in Christianity from the phenomenological without being accused of heresy of some sort, especially the deeper you get into Christians taking every word of the Bible––Old and New Testaments––to be literally, historically, scientifically true. (Are there really “gates of heaven”? Does God have a “mighty arm”?) Hence, though it is fascinating from an anthropological even psychological point of view, my hesitation to dive too deeply into Hindu archaic-magical-mythical iconography. I would rather stay as close as possible to the formless. And maybe start all over again from there, “from the ground up” (the original title of <i>Rediscovering the Divine</i>), the ground of Being and Consciousness who is God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;"><i>*The dance of Śiva: Religion, are and poetry in South India</i>, David Smith,1998, 3.<i><o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">* Ibid., 2.</p></div></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-61733984358989093822024-02-19T07:20:00.000-08:002024-02-19T07:20:24.854-08:00yoga for mediation––and ananda<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">16 February 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One day some years ago I was at the Rec Center in Durango, Colorado where my musical collaborator John Pennington lived and where we played the Animas Festival every year for over ten years. And as I was leaving, I saw a sign that advertised a class they offered called “Yoga for Meditation.” Now looking back, it seems so obvious: “Well, of course yoga for meditation! That’s like saying ‘Cooking for Eating.’” But it’s not and I guess it wasn’t even as obvious to me as it should have been. The whole point of the practice of the asanas is to be able to sit longer in meditation. There is also a teaching that every pose itself is a meditation pose that the yogis found themselves in (“What, this? I was just meditating and suddenly my foot was behind my head!”) but the former works well for me and became a standard part of my spiritual practice early on.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That has come storming back to me here: I have to stretch in the morning if I am to sit in my normal meditation posture for hours on end here as well as eat sitting on the floor, sleeping on a hard bed with little mattress (which I am admittedly used to and prefer), sitting out on my veranda reading, and trying to find a comfortable seated posture at my desk where I am spending long hours these days. Better today but the last few days my body is aching in places I had forgotten about––my lower back, my ankles, the trapezius. I was even struggling to find a good posture to play the guitar yesterday. Some of it might just be pride, I don’t want to my Indian confreres to think of this pale American as being too soft. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My room is on the second floor of one of the three little new duplexes they have built on the property, very nicely built. Each on could house two people in that there are two rooms each with its own bed, but only one bath. It’s well protected from insects, having a solid roof not a thatched one, thanks God. My building is right next to old meditation hall, named aptly the “large meditation hall.” There are now three of them so there is a need to distinguish. I suddenly had the inspiration to use it since it is not being used by anyone else right now. I think they reserve it for large group retreats. It’s nice to do yoga and practice the guitar in my cell too, as I am used to, but what a treat to take that space over for both. Something about the psychological effect of having all that space. There are only a handful of guests here right now and several of the monks are gone. Even if there weren’t so few of us here, I decided that I did not really need to make myself available for socializing even at the tea circle, so outside of two meals a day and the two meditations and three prayer times I have long hours to myself––at least four hours in the morning and four again in the afternoon––and am lapping it up. (And only every now and then feeling a tinge of guilt that I should be so relaxed and happy when the brothers in Big Sur are once again trapped by blocked roads and facing another wave of storms.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">19 February 2024<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I got a little sick yesterday and spent most of the day in bed, sleeping and sweating. It seems to have passed already, thanks be to God, and luckily I was well enough to finally get across the street to Ananda Ashram and have lunch with the sisters. The nuns and monks do not have as much interaction as they used to. They only come over here for Mass. They have built their own chapel over there now. Currently there are three living there: Neethi, a former sister of the contemplative branch of the Missionaries of Charity, Mercy, who I met already 20 years ago, and Sanjeevani, an older sister who has come moved from the Camaldolese nuns’ community in the north of India. It was quite a spread, including chocolate ice cream drumsticks and real coffee out of a moka pot (with cream and sugar!). Neethi is quite a ball of energy and does most of the talking for the group and we had a great time getting to know each other. They offered for me to come back when I feel better and I promised I would. I also want to get some photos of the chapel for those of you have know the place and haven’t seen it yet. (I'll post photos of the rest on my Facebook page.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Being there, I really missed Mary Louise for the first time. How many hours I spent on the porch with her and others, eating banana cremes and singing (on orders!), talking and laughing, and getting spoiled, as is their trademark. I actually stayed there two or three times as well, and I have fond memories of Michael Christian and I meditating in the upper prayer hall, which I christened the Abhishiktananda chapel, after I would spend an hour or so in there practicing the guitar (bathed in sweat). It was there we also celebrated Mass from time to time. I was able to see Mary Louise’ grave yesterday for the first time as well. She is buried facing Shantivanam, as per her <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">wishes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the meantime, I also did a bunch of research on and thinking about Śiva. I sparked some interesting remarks from folks with my last post. (I sincerely meant no disrespect and I am sorry if it came across that way, as one person thought it did.) In a separate entry I’ll post my meandering thoughts on the topic.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">(Please forgive me if I don't answer all the comments on Facebook. I have limited time on the internet.)</span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-34984758483166327622024-02-14T20:10:00.000-08:002024-02-17T15:51:35.536-08:00sources of discomfort<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Thursday, February 15, 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tuesday, we had a visit to a nearby Hindu temple, </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Rathnahereeswarar</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">. I must admit from the outset, I do not know as much about the Hindu religion––the gods and goddesses and rites––as I do about the underlying philosophy. There was the fine teaching of Huston Smith that has influenced my approach right along: every religion can be approached from its <b>devotional</b> aspect (even Taoism, which is where I first ran into Smith’s distinction), from its <b>philosophical</b> aspect, or from its <b>practice</b>, its “yoga” if you will. The latter two interest me a lot. As for the first, the devotional aspect, while the ritual has some anthropological (and musical interest) with my background in liturgy (which Bruno said was my saving grace in approaching comparative religion), my main response is usually that I’ve been struggling for years to get behind my own mythological language to the phenomenological truths behind it. So it does not behoove me to add another layer of mythology and iconography on top of it. Just another mythical language that I would need to get past.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ve been having a series of intense conversations with a friend who lives in Europe about a wide range of topics––from classic rock n’ roll to mysticism, my two great loves––and his insights into the world situation are really good for my narrow perspective. He is not a Christian, but he asks me, not in a challenging way, a lot of things about Christianity and my own response to things as a monk-priest. It’s also good for me to clarify my own thoughts on things trying to explain myself. I had to confess to him that I could speak for orthodox Christianity or I could express my own opinions, which I am not sure always coincide with orthodox Christianity’s expression of some fundamental truths. Please notice how carefully I phrased that. Even when I “disagree” with my own tradition, I usually say something like “I am not sure I understand that, but this is what orthodox Christianity teaches,” or “I have a different way of describing that.” I think this is what I have been attempting to do in all four books I have written so far, along with speak both to the absolute unbeliever and to the orthodox believer, as I am always trying to do in homilies. One time one of our monks referred to what I was teaching the community as “speculative theology,” which I found interesting. Not sure I am to be taken seriously as a “real” theologian, but there it is, speculative theology. <i>Va bene</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">At any rate… I digress as usual. Toward the end of my idyllic Santa Cruz years, I was describing my ministry, my apostolate, if you will, as the evolution of consciousness, trying to evolve my own and encouraging others to evolve too. Very affected by Ken Wilber’s work obviously. Thomas Keating was somewhat there as well. One of the two books he encouraged me to read in 2017 (and I still haven’t finished my homework!) was Wilber’s <i>The Religion of Tomorrow.</i> And I go back to this quote of his often:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="yiv1187761836msonormal" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The primary issue for the human family at its present level of evolutionary development is to become fully human. But that means discovering our connectedness to God, which was repressed somewhere in early childhood.*<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had breakfast in Santa Cruz with two friends, who are both educators, just before I left for Asia. One of them was describing how in ancient myths characters are often named after their purpose. I speculated out loud that my name might be “Consciousness Evolver,” to which one of my interlocutors immediately responded, “A little pretentious, but okay.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">All that to say two things. First: in my conversations with my European friend I keep coming to the conclusion, thus far kind of inchoate in my own mind, that not only is that the mission I want to take up again (I even brought it up at my meeting in Singapore with the Tanglin folks), but it’s more urgent than ever given that among the children of Abraham, between extreme Zionist Israelis justifying their oppression and now slaughter of Palestinians on biblical grounds, conservative Christians supporting Donald Trump (who I consider to be the embodiment of evil, maybe even the Anti-Christ, at least anti-Christ) as if he were the Cyrus come to save Israel (and destroying the environment on the side, or at least fighting any attempt to protect it), and radical Islamists, it’s that magical/mythical mindset that is going to be the downfall of the human race. We’ve got to get a better understanding of the Divine, including we Christians who still have not caught up with the God of Jesus (the real subject of <i>The God Who Gave You Birth</i>). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And secondly: I am finally reading Wilber’s <i>The Spectrum of Consciousness. </i>What I already know about the book I have gleaned from his later writings, but I never have been able to make my way through it. But I ran into it here in the library at Shantivanam and, knowing the Bede thought very highly of it, I might just be reading his own copy.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Here are a few lines that got me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The avowed aim of most Western approaches is variously stated as strengthening the ego, integrating the self, correcting one’s self-image, building self confidence, the establishing of realistic goals, and so on. …<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> … the central aim of most Eastern approaches is not to strengthen the ego but to completely and totally transcend it, to attain <i>moksha</i> (liberation), <i>te</i> (virtue of the Absolute), <i>satori</i> (enlightenment). These approaches claim to tap a level of consciousness that offers total freedom and complete release from the root cause of all suffering, that outs to rest our most puzzling questions about the nature of Reality… (22)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">He is suggesting of course, with the image of the spectrum, that these are not opposing approaches but rather different areas of the spectrum, like various wavelengths. He would stress and I would agree, both are needed! A lot of my own pastoral approach has been the first, the remedial work needed by so many people, including myself, to build up a healthy sense of self that can face and function in the world without limping and hiding because of our wounds. But the second approach (so-called Eastern) is very much in keeping what I understand the contemplative path to be and very much in keeping with the spiritualty of Jesus. (Hence, again, <i>The God Who Gave You Birth</i>.) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We need to have an ego to get beyond the ego. You are marvelous. Now get over yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZ3Nqvkm9kuR7QlPHR2iXV42_e--MCsZ4YiJ043WAzxmXfWu4cDjKaklNLDkPd_kCj0pBMevjbpH8PGDuH8A1nLbxxA7rd-fiskY3rQALLYKS6XSfQJW9nHEt5WwiFeoEFnl9T5ihn0Z1kAIu84Yd0z-KHyvNsydodZJ3HzbTlL9-b40DDz5OciEZhx4u" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZ3Nqvkm9kuR7QlPHR2iXV42_e--MCsZ4YiJ043WAzxmXfWu4cDjKaklNLDkPd_kCj0pBMevjbpH8PGDuH8A1nLbxxA7rd-fiskY3rQALLYKS6XSfQJW9nHEt5WwiFeoEFnl9T5ihn0Z1kAIu84Yd0z-KHyvNsydodZJ3HzbTlL9-b40DDz5OciEZhx4u=w265-h354" width="265" /></a></div>All that to say… that’s one of the reasons I don’t really enjoy visiting Hindu temples––I’m only tangentially interested in the very complicated iconography and pantheon of Hinduism. Another reason added to that is that I am always very careful not to take part in temple rituals unless I am constricted to. I would never want to be perceived as worshipping other gods. (<i>Their drink offerings I will not pour out nor take their name upon my lips, </i>as the psalm says.) A third reason is that, for all my time in front of people as a performer and teacher/preacher, I do not like to stick out in a crowd. And particularly deep in the south of India in the small cities where we are there are not a lot of white people. I don’t stick out as much as some––imagine being here with a 6’4” blond Pole named Roman who didn’t speak a word of English my first trip here in 2000. German Jeremias, on the other hand, is probably more conspicuous than I, tall and thin and he was wearing the kavi dhoti with his shawl wrapped around his head (as he had learned to do in the Holy Land). But when we were at the temple, he was stopping at every shrine along the way to meditate and pray and take pictures, heedless of the glances and comments about a white guy dressed as a swami in a Hindu temple. (I had opted to wear civvies, for the same above reasons.) <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then two other things added to my discomfort. O</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ne was the monkeys were very aggressive. They are known to steal anything you are carrying in hope to find food or to hold your possession ransom until you exchange it for food, including iPhones. They were particularly after our plastic water bottles which Dorathick had bought at a stand on the way in. He, like a good shepherd, wound up finding a large branch which he wielded to shoo them off when shouting at them didn’t work. He told us that they can bite and scratch, and if you are bit you have to immediately go to the doctor and get rabies shots. I had had run-ins with monkeys before in Malaysia while out jogging. I was told not to look them in the eye. I remember my skin crawling as I passed a whole family of them once watching this hairless ape with blue jogging shorts prance by. And the last thing is, I do not find the statues and images in Hindu temples at all consoling or edifying. Maybe fascinating but some of them strike me as terrifying and very primitive, wrapped in cloth with garlands around them and various marking on their foreheads.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a climb of 1100 steps and we were fortunate to have gone in the morning because it was already swelteringly hot. There were various shrines along the way. What made it somewhat easier was listening to Dorathick explain various aspects and symbols along the way. He is very knowledgeable about the Hindu tradition and especially seems rather proud of the particularly South Indian version of it. One of the things he reminded me of was that Shiva is acknowledged in three ways: with form, in a formless form, and formless, the latter aspect being the one that passes into the Tantric tradition of Kashmir Shaivism, the aspect that Abhishiktananda was particularly fascinated with and in honor of whom he wrote poems and prayers. It’s that latter aspect that also interests me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We passed the place where people wrap colored cloths around a tree to pray for pregnancy; we passed the effigies of the seven virgins who dedicated their lives to praising Lord Shiva; we passed a wall that contained 1000-year-old Tamil script that even Dorathick had trouble reading. And finally, we were at the top. The whole place was generally not well kept––I am spoiled from pristine Ramanashram at Tiruvanamalai; there was garbage all over the place. And it wasn’t much better in the actual temple at the top: lots of broken equipment laying around besides garbage, and it was dank and there was a bad smell of old ghee and rotting flowers. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It being a temple of course there were Brahmin priests there, but they were just coming on duty so the shrine was not open to visitors yet . (The monkeys were there too, climbing straight up the sheer walls and trying to sneak into the inner shrine. The priests were just as aggressive trying to keep them out.) The holy of holies houses a rendering of the second way in which Shiva is acknowledged, the formless form of the lingam, basically unapologetically phallic in nature. This particular temple houses a famous broken lingam, that had been damaged by someone with a sword and had reportedly bled. Jeremias was entranced with this story (I suppose the broken phallus would have some resonance with a lot of men.) When they finally opened the shrine, we were treated like visiting dignitaries which, again, I do not enjoy. They urged us to go in first, they offered us garlands that we in turn gave to the priest who in turn placed it on the lingam for us. Our two garlands fell off almost immediately which I was told was actually a good augur, for some reason. We then toured the rest of the adjoining shrine rooms. There was one beautiful <i>Nataraja</i>––King Dancer, which I loved, but some of the other images I found very jarring. They were coming to my mind still in meditation this morning.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I couldn’t wait to get out of there, though I think I succeeded in hiding my discomfort from the others. Jeremias was meanwhile stopping at every possible shrine and meditating or praying and expressing his admiration. I am not sure what I feel about that, to be honest, but God bless his fearlessness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As we headed back down, young Arvind, from Orissa, and I were way ahead of Dorathick and Jeremias, who both have a tendency to stop and talk which they were living up to. (Another quirk of mine: I do not like to stop and talk when I am walking. I either walk and talk or I sit down and talk.) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That’s when two of my discomforts came together. A monkey got very aggressive with me as I was now carrying the water bottle. I just shooed him a way, then yelled a little more loudly and waved my hands at him. But he would not go away and was hissing and reaching out his arms for my pant leg. A woman seated on the ground was speaking to me in Tamil and gesturing what I assumed to mean that I should give the monkey my water bottle. I did not want to let him win and so I kept up my shooing, but the monkey got more aggressive yet. She sort of yelled at me then and made a gesture like “Just give him the bottle!” And so I dropped the bottle on the ground. The monkey grabbed it, unscrewed the top (!) with his nimble little fingers and lifted it up just like a human would, drank, and then threw it on the ground so that the rest of the water spilled out and several other monkeys came to join in for the open bar. At that point, still trying to look nonchalant, and I think pulling it off pretty well, I realized that my legs were literally shaking, something I have never experienced before. Arvind did not look too pleased with the whole situation either and so we made it the rest of the way down and found a nice little shaded place to sit and wait for our confreres. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Unfortunately, that’s when I started drawing all kinds of attention. People passing by kept staring at me and asking me (I suppose) in Tamil, where I was from. Arvind doesn’t really speak Tamil since he is from Orissa, but he knew enough to say to them (I assume), “He doesn’t speak Tamil.” And then they would ask him something else and he would say (I assume), “I don't speak Tamil either.” And then I heard him say several times, “Shantivanam,” which seemed to be a satisfying explanation, and then, pointing to himself, say “Orissa” and pointing to me, “California USA” which folks found fascinating. Totally uninhibited to stop right in front of me and look at me, point at me and say things, including a group of young guys who I thought were about to make trouble for us, but didn’t. Finally, two women stopped who would not leave, and stayed all the way until Dorathick arrived first, and then Jeremias, who was in the meantime filming a procession on his iPhone. Dorathick explained everything to them in full. They then wanted to take a picture with us and even offered to take us out for tea. (Dorathick turned them down for that.) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGDjqktPGPiI_ybDOAEyvlu-6WeRY6B4G1BG2enY1R89p9eCGrcML5EBSFNqPYfLHCr5b3PIG6wRYhwH57IYbn28dNwvqX2csqQkEl5iEICTna9F1aclimi6LDLRXQ65FRaQ4F1FC0u-5VnJQyxvLXWkI3dpXMFkOxFQwRKTIzVshxigpYVT7YuT8xqzT2" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGDjqktPGPiI_ybDOAEyvlu-6WeRY6B4G1BG2enY1R89p9eCGrcML5EBSFNqPYfLHCr5b3PIG6wRYhwH57IYbn28dNwvqX2csqQkEl5iEICTna9F1aclimi6LDLRXQ65FRaQ4F1FC0u-5VnJQyxvLXWkI3dpXMFkOxFQwRKTIzVshxigpYVT7YuT8xqzT2=w428-h321" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Arvind, and Jeremias flanked by our two curious lady friends.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was glad to be back in the car and back at Shantivanam. It really does feel like a little paradise in the midst of all this. The surrounding land is not at all beautiful. It’s dry and dusty and full of garbage everywhere, worse than in years past. The river is a mess from the excavating of sand and the construction of yet another bore well to take water from the river and send it to even drier places. The images of Bede taking his daily walks along the Cauvery are a thing of the past. I have just about given up taking walks in the afternoon. And of course, there seems to be hardly any place in this area where you don’t run into another little town, every one of which seems to bustle in the same way. This Forest of Peace on the other hand, now with high walls and guarded gates, seems more than ever like an oasis.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Jeremias was going to leave on Sunday but he decided that he wanted to see one more temple near Chennai. So, he and Dorathick, with Pinto driving, left at 4 AM to visit the temple and then drop Jeremias in Chennai where he will stay for a few nights before flying out. The other two may stay the night out as well since there is someone else they need to pick up in the morning from Trichy. I considered going with them and if it hadn’t been for the 4 AM departure, the thought of spending over eight hours in the car again and a night away, I might have gone, just to spend time with them. But I have happily opted to stay home, help shore up the community at prayer (there’s hardly anyone here!) and continue my Lenten retreat. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And try to deal with Lord Shiva who keeps creeping into my consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0in;">*Thomas Keating, <i>Invitation to Love </i>in <i>Foundations for Centering Prayer and the Christian Contemplative Life, </i>164.<o:p></o:p></p></div></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-56792221363707703682024-02-12T18:56:00.000-08:002024-02-12T18:56:45.283-08:00a clash of cultures<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">11 feb 24, Sunday</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The ordination yesterday was of course a joyous occasion for the community as well as for the ordinand, Rippon. It was also a bit of a clash of cultures. The local bishop, Savarimurthu Arokiaraj, even though he himself retreated here years ago and knew Fr. Bede, has made it known that he did not approve of sitting on the ground, I suppose both for the assembly as well as for the presider, as we do here at the ashram. So a special altar was erected just for the day and a load of red and blue plastic chairs were brought in. And then I started seeing one at a time many of our monks show up not wearing the kavi robes but the white Camaldolese habit instead. Of course, our Prior General Matteo and Marino, his assistant, were here too and up to this point they had been wearing comfortable street clothes for prayers, both of them hesitant to take the risk on wearing a dhoti (I recounted to Marino that I understood this fear: the first time I was here I tied mine up with a belt), though Matteo did wear a kavi shirt. But now they too of course were in full habit and cowl, with a chasuble to be put on over that. I was feeling somewhat underdressed. Not only do I not have any of the habit with me (not even the cowl––I wasn’t expecting to need it here), but the kavi dhoti I have has got stains in it and little holes from wear and tear, and my jippa is a little too small for me. So I was feeling like a bit of a ragamuffin. Jeremias was also in kavi, but he always looks sharp.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As Jeremias and I were sitting in the chapel waiting for the service to begin, we were approached by one of the young monks and told very sternly that we had to go and vest up with a chasuble and stole because “this bishop wants all priests to be vested.” Now, that seemed to me to be kind of absurd––putting an ornate (Indian style) silky chasuble over a beat up dhoti. Still we dutifully went out to try to obey, but after a moment we both decided not to vest after all, especially as we saw a few other monks clothed only in kavi come in and sit in the back. There’s the weird clash: some of Indian Catholics do not like or are suspicious of the adaptation to Indian (which they see as “Hindu”) customs. So Dorathick did his best to adapt everything to what he thought the bishop would approve of for this ordination.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The procession began with our young guys belting out a popular Tamil hymn, every one of them with their own microphone (in that little church!) accompanied by a simply professed named Johnson on a keyboard complete with its own drum machine. It was very loud. There was a whole line of priests, vested properly, followed by the bishop who, as he came in, was slowly blessing everyone to his left and right as he made his way to the temporary altar. High church bishop meets “popular” music meets monks in kavi robes meets plastic chairs. I was wondering what Matteo was making of all this, he who is such a fine liturgist, so much so that he arranges liturgies for the Vatican. And I wondered how often something like that plays out around the world. At New Camaldoli ordinations have not been so hard to accommodate to our style of liturgy, just the Roman Rite stripped down to its basics, but I have to believe with an open-minded bishop the same could have been done here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The whole liturgy lasted almost two and a half hours, including the photo-taking at the end. One of the guys from Kerala told me that there ordinations take at least four hours, but of course that’s a different rite. I sang one song with the guitar during the laying on of hands, oddly enough something I wrote years ago and have never sung anywhere before, a setting of Psalm 110––“You are a priest forever.” I had to scrape my memory to come up with the verses and wrote them down on a scrap of paper that I balanced on my knee. And then I led a bhajan at communion time as well, which everyone joined in on. But I was feeling a little conspicuous by this time, as if I were a Westerner “going native.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The other little clash I was thinking of was Bede and Abhishiktananda’s vision of Christian monasticism/<i>sannyasa</i> as compared with institutional monasticism. (The abbot of Asirvanam was there as well.) They really did want to get back to “monk as renunciate,” and Bede was clear, as we Camaldolese are very clear, that priesthood is a different vocation than monk. If anything, they saw the sannyasi as going beyond ritual. They both still participated ‘til the end but in a much stripped-down sort of way. I found a copy of Jesu Rajan’s book <i>Bede Griffiths and Sannyasi</i> in the library and went immediately to one section on that, part of the long interview with Bede in the appendix.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For a priest his primary duty is his ministry and service. Once you become a <i>sannyāsin </i>your primary call is for prayer, meditation and seeking God alone and everything else is secondary. Everything else has to flow from that. Even in Hinduism the priest is not a <i>sannyasin</i>. They are quite different. … If we mix up the priesthood with <i>sannyasa</i> we lose the contemplative dimension which is the essence of <i>sannyasa</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Sorry if that sounds too critical––I’m trying to be objective. I know that there are few who have the skill set or background to hold all these things together. Again I was remembering an experience at Tiruvanamalai years ago, with the Brahmin priests performing their rituals and chanting the Vedas and very conspicuous in the distinctive dhotis, bodily markings and jewelry, and then the kavi clad sannyasis sitting in the back, watching, silently.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">At any rate we had a wonderful lunch celebration afterward. The women in the kitchen had been working since the wee hours of the morning to prepare for it. There was a serving line and it seemed like it was all-hands-on-deck with the staff feeding all the invited guests. Rippon had quite a few members of his family, young and old, staying here––they had traveled three days on the train! And of course there was the whole retinue of local priests and some of Rippon’s faculty and classmates. All in all, it was probably a more subdued affair than usual ordinations, but Rippon left with his family now for more celebrations in his hometown.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a bit of a letdown already by evening prayer and the evening meal that night, so many had already left. But this morning it was quite a crash: the young guys left to go back to school early this morning and the Italians left last night to go home on the redeye via Dubai, and several monks were missing for various reasons. By midday prayer and lunch, we were so few that we had lunch self-service.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Again, I am here with nothing to do, so now I will switch into retreat mode––whatever that will look like––for the next few weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday 12 feb<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m reading a 700 plus page novel called <i>The Covenant of Water</i>, by Abraham Verghese (I read his <i>Cutting for Stone</i> some years ago and really enjoyed it). It takes place in South India. I just read a passage about a Causcasian doctor named Digby who has been transferred to Tamil Nadu. This paragraph (page 105) suited me perfectly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">If Digby had anyone at home to write to, he might catalog these morning sights, described the small framed handsome Tamils with their sharp Roman features, bright glittering eyes, and ready smiles. Next to them he feels pale, blotchy, and much too vulnerable to the sun.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I laughed out loud. Not to mention stiff and mushy! I’m in generally pretty good shape, thanks be to God and regular exercise and yoga. But, as I always say, I find that India is tough on the body, at least life in the ashram. I’m used to sitting on the floor a lot at home, but <i>not this much</i>! Two hours of meditation, once in the morning and once in the evening, plus the prayer and all the meals. And on hard hard granite or cement floors, not my cushy <i>zabutan</i> or the faux-Persian rug in my cell. That in addition to the many hours on the plane and in cars the last week, I feel as stiff as a board. So <i>per forza</i> I need to stretch first thing every morning before I head to chapel for morning meditation. I was reminded of one of those early foundational lessons I learned studying yoga and that I always try to pass on, especially to skeptical Christians: we do these <i>asanas</i> so that we can sit in meditation longer, pure and simple. They are not ends nor even goals; they’re a means to that goal and the end is realizing the indwelling Divine for which we must be very, very still. “God always speaks his word in eternal silence and in silence it must be heard.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I don’t remember it being emphasized as a communal practice to much in past visits, but Dorathick faithfully observes the 5:30-6:30 PM meditation, beginning with <i>nama japa</i> and the evening one from 6 to 7 PM. Few other monks come for it except for the formation guys, but Jeremias and I have been going whenever possible. There truly is something powerful about the commitment to a common practice like that, instead of relying on my own personal practice for which it’s too easy to cut corners. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It's Monday now, almost Lent. It will be interesting to make this my Lenten retreat here in this desert. I do not think there will be any Mardi Gras festivities tomorrow. Dorathick, at Jeremias’ request (insistence), is taking us to a Hindu temple today where we are to climb over 1000 steps. Sounds more like the beginning of a Lenten penitential practice than a Fat Tuesday party. I’ve already stated that I am not going to attempt it wearing a dhoti…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-38425018651393167432024-02-10T20:57:00.000-08:002024-02-10T20:57:14.785-08:00<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">9 Feb 2024, from Shantivanam</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As I sat down on the granite floor in the eating hall at Sri Ramana Ashram, unfolded my banana leaf and washed it down with a few drops of water from the little metal cup, I was surprised by how familiar it all was to me yet, even my body somehow knew what to do, in spite of not having been in India for 12 years now. I noticed that my ankles don’t bother me as much as they used to when I sit directly on the unforgivingly hard floor. I had already been in the country for 24 hours but when I tasted the biryani that was slopped on to my “plate” from the bucket with the sambhar and a little bit of pickle it was one of those perfect culinary moments. Maybe I was just extra hungry, but though it was no doubt nothing special it tasted like the most delicious Indian food I had ever tasted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After wandering Arab Street on my own looking for breakfast (wound up very Western with a raisin scone and cappuccino) and packing up, Mark picked me up, and brought me to Changi good and early. They have marvelous food courts there and we enjoyed a delicious vegetable udon in a Japanese restaurant and one last long conversation before I went through security and waited out my flight to Delhi. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I didn’t know exactly what my plans were going to be for my time in India and so, with the thought that I might go north for a bit, I booked my arrival through Delhi. And also with the thought that I might stay with Michael Christian at Sri Ramana Ashram in Tiruvanamalai, as I did many time in the past before going down to Shantivanam, I then got a quick flight down to Chennai where he, as always, arranged a car for me. As it turns out, our brother monk Jeremias from Germany was also there at Tiru on retreat at the ashram where he goes once a year, and he and MC both wanted to go down to Shantivanam by yesterday in time for an ordination which will take place today. All that to say, it would have been a lot easier to fly directly to Trichy from Singapore and I would have been here two days ago instead of an extra flight, a three-hour drive from Chennai to Tiru, one night there and then another four-hour drive down here yesterday. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The flight into Delhi was uneventful and I easily (with Devin’s fine instructions) got myself a pre-paid taxi (though I figured out later I paid twice as much as I should have) that took me to my hotel, the Hotel Shanti Palace, near the airport (again with Devin’s help; I had gone through two other failed bookings already). It was not quite as nice as it appeared on Expedia, but it was cleaner and quieter than I expected. So I got a good night’s sleep, headed back to the airport and flew down the Chennai, where I met my driver, Ramesh, who carted me east to the ashram at Tiruvanamalai. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This time it struck me more than ever the contrast as we headed inland from Chennai. I was feeling rather under-dressed at the airports in Delhi and Chennai, both of which places all very sophisticated and modernized. I was struck by the variety of cars as well. When I first started coming to India there was only one model of car in the road, the 1958 model Ambassador left behind by the British, always white in color. And a few assorted SUV-truck type vehicles. Now there are cars of every shape and color and brand, and many with air-conditioning. (I only found out much later that car services charge more if you use the AC.) All evidence of the burgeoning, or burgeoned, middle class. But as we drove east into Tamil Nadu, the garb became more traditional, lungis and saris, and the poverty was more and more evident. The roads, on the other hand, are vastly improved almost everywhere, smooth and wide.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJvVhh0eaAS_0Mb5WHyNqIYk0X3vwS0GJ3g693TDCKybzWtcapi2wgAmPal5fF5Hy23xa_tiBsVj2brab5atAMRqbDyg8RJWeLWjTMgeQClB4QtJxIkwacPgqQIfkODfDDR2F1PD6MrNHLMcAHq3QjqDzBTgQeePgh7DhL8x24qVuJlDU_atR3sQLGcU6T" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJvVhh0eaAS_0Mb5WHyNqIYk0X3vwS0GJ3g693TDCKybzWtcapi2wgAmPal5fF5Hy23xa_tiBsVj2brab5atAMRqbDyg8RJWeLWjTMgeQClB4QtJxIkwacPgqQIfkODfDDR2F1PD6MrNHLMcAHq3QjqDzBTgQeePgh7DhL8x24qVuJlDU_atR3sQLGcU6T=w216-h288" width="216" /></a></div><br />Tiruvanamalai was as chaotic as ever, dusty and loud and churning with activity. As we got closer to the ashram there were more and more non-Indians since the ashram is a destination spot for many spiritual tourists.<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For those reading who don’t have the context, Tiruvnamalai is the home of one of the four great Hindu temples in south India, the Arunachaleswarer Annamalaiyar Temple which is built at the foot of the holy mountain Arunachala, and which is considered to be a symbol of Shiva. The great saint Ramana Maharshi, after his enlightenment experience at the age of 16, traveled and settled there in the early 20<sup>th</sup> century, first to the temple, then in a cave on the mountain, then in a small ashram halfway up the mountain, and gradually a large ashram was built at the foot of the mountain where he spent most of his life, and where countless people came through the years to receive his darshan. The ashram also now houses a large Brahmin community and a training ground for young Brahmin priests. Our Abhishiktananda spent a considerable amount of time there in the 1950s, in the presence of Ramana himself, but also living in a cave on the mountain for a time, and then with his own guru, Gnanananda, at another nearby ashram. Bede Griffiths also visited there, though it didn’t have the significance for him that it did for Abhishiktananda. Because of all that it is a well-known place for our lineage of monks in India, a significant part of our history. I had been there many times, I think every time I came to India, and had also done some work with JP, a Lutheran pastor who runs an interfaith center called Quo Vadis, and through him met the Danish Lutheran group, Danmission, there as well, who then brought me to Denmark, Lebanon and Syria. I did what I think of as a “famous” concert there in 2006, the first time I had performed in India, at an outdoor theatre, also the first time I worked with a tabla player, the young Theophilus Gnananavaram. But I have written about all the before––now years ago!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was a little sad that I had so little time at Arunachala. But I did get to do almost everything that I was longing to do. I got up early and first sat in the meditation hall and then in the large samadhi hall. But most of all I got to climb up the mountain to my two favorite spots, which is something I did pretty much every single day that I had been there in the past. The first spot was Skanda Ashram, that first little place that was built for Ramana before the ashram below was built. I had forgotten how long a climb it was to get up there, so it was great exercise too. And then from there one descends down to Virupaksa Cave. That is a place that remains in my mind, along with the Western Wall in Jerusalem, as the most powerful energetic place I have experienced on earth. Especially in 2005 I spent hours in that cave until I was dripping with sweat. I was reminiscing about a Japanese sadhu named Nyogi that I met there that year and spent hours with, particularly at Virupaksha cave and looked back at my travelogues from that time. Here's one paragraph.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I headed back up to the cave for the rest of the afternoon. After a false start or two I wound up beginning up the mountain just as Nyogi was going and so we walked up, pretty much silently, together. At Skanda ashram Nyogi turned up to climb to the top of Arunachala to see Shiva’s footprint, and I headed down to the cave. It is my favorite place here. … Meditating in a cave in the heart of a mountain that is supposed to be Shiva himself; meditating on the cave of my own heart to hear the OM that sounds there like a shruti. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In the back half of the cave there is a wide shelf built up, in the middle of which is a reproduction of the mountain done in clay or cement, covered with khavi cloth and topped with two garlands. At one point shortly after I got there a young devotee came in, hopped up there and sat perfectly upright immediately next to and facing the mountain reproduction, and stayed there for as long as I was there, so attentive and yet so serene in meditation. I was thinking yet again about the purpose of yoga, to train the senses and still the mind so that the real <i>yukta</i>(union) can take place, the union with the Atman, the union of indwelling Spirit with our own spirit. To predispose the body to be a place of encounter with the divine, a temple of the Holy Spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjanNM5Yp8TlsnLTRrpM6RN28fUiQRn4Uxnu5YDJJyt8nRXH7loRHDr7L_1_1T6qRz5uXh6itybpfrHJitwtba5LY1wbtjBT3GGoAm25d6xhI180ShIdUHgw--KeQujxZMcpKUf14XgqzitvwHF8RuPnY3cup1Y72nRQzTRdXGSJxlTx26MdVXuFBQpNlKD" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjanNM5Yp8TlsnLTRrpM6RN28fUiQRn4Uxnu5YDJJyt8nRXH7loRHDr7L_1_1T6qRz5uXh6itybpfrHJitwtba5LY1wbtjBT3GGoAm25d6xhI180ShIdUHgw--KeQujxZMcpKUf14XgqzitvwHF8RuPnY3cup1Y72nRQzTRdXGSJxlTx26MdVXuFBQpNlKD" width="180" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Unfortunately, I was wearing my hiking shorts that morning and when I got to the cave there was a sign clearly warning that entering the cave in shorts was a sign of disrespect. So I sat out in the courtyard for a bit of time and headed back down the mountain to shower, pack, and then lunch and the drive here. My plans for the second half of this stay in India are a little fluid at present and as we drove off, I kept thinking that perhaps I’ll go back to Tiru before I leave for Singapore for some more time on and in the mountain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-26405901804034976522024-02-06T15:55:00.000-08:002024-02-06T15:57:28.521-08:00a series of meals and conversations<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">5 february 2024</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF4v0-4c1kubKX7CTxTw6khIy-sVPB5rp01LKgXJXZOk_0EgbdE4xzOuVujpKEZo4sWZnPuVfxI6dricE6oBgbUm2a5s8YngmekHTONvj52nxt0bEcHVQgBFPFF_XHTOWJtHCea3PguK81-59UVQ0NvP7k21b9u9K6dHaJVmjGQQdSW1gdO1fsvi4IUkuY" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF4v0-4c1kubKX7CTxTw6khIy-sVPB5rp01LKgXJXZOk_0EgbdE4xzOuVujpKEZo4sWZnPuVfxI6dricE6oBgbUm2a5s8YngmekHTONvj52nxt0bEcHVQgBFPFF_XHTOWJtHCea3PguK81-59UVQ0NvP7k21b9u9K6dHaJVmjGQQdSW1gdO1fsvi4IUkuY=w245-h327" width="245" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Early morning yoga on the terrace off the second floor. </span><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Just before dawn, muffled roard of air conditioning compressors<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">already a little buzz of traffic. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Gently wafting up from below in the street <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">the smell of incense from one of the food stalls.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m imagining a vendor doing his morning offering before beginning work.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then a few minutes later the smell of grease on the skillet <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">and the slapping sound, shaping of some chappati or pratas to be fried.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then the faint smell of cardamom as the chai is prepared.<br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It has been such an unusual trip to Singapore for me this time. First of all because I have had no “work” to do, no retreat to lead or concert to perform or interreligious dialogue event to attend. And secondly because I am staying in a hotel in a part of town I have never stayed in before. I have always stayed with the friars at St. Mary of the Angels, except for one quick trip when I stayed with Leonard Ong. This time, as I mentioned, I am staying smack dab in the middle of a neighborhood proudly known as Little India, and it could for all the world be India except for the fact that there are Chinese and Malay Muslim (as well as Vietnamese and Japanese) shops scattered throughout the neighborhood as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have pretty much had the mornings to myself. And the rest of the day I have spent doing what the main purpose of this stopover was from the beginning, not just an acclimatization to Asia but some time to visit with a number of folks in this area and a chance to be in a place that I had grown quite fond of in the years of intense traveling and have genuinely missed. One time in the middle of the traveling years I said to John Wong, OFM, I feel like I should get a room here I’m here so much. And he said to me, without missing a beat, “Cyprian, you <i>have</i> a room here,” meaning there with the friars.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My main contact here from the very beginning, 2006, was first of all the above mentioned Leonard Ong, who at the time was the representative for the World Community for Christian Meditation. I had had a layover at Changi Airport in 2005. I was exhausted from the flight and thought that it was the most beautiful comfortable airport I had ever seen. And as we were flying out over the island a few hours later I also thought that Singapore was the most luscious place I had ever seen. I wrote to Laurence Freeman, asking him if we knew anyone in Singapore. I admit I was just looking for somewhere to crash for a few nights. The next thing I knew I got an email asking me if I would give a concert next time through. And the rest is history. I did a lot of work for the WCCM here, and also in Malaysia mainly with Dr. Pat Por, and then into Indonesia and East Malaysia. Leonard and I also hung out a lot with John Wong, OFM, to the extent that they would at times kidnap me and whisk me off for a few days holiday somewhere. (John is now stationed in Rome for the Order. As a matter of fact, I had lunch with him when I was there in October.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, besides Leonard, I have also had a long friendship with Aaron Maniam, with whom I did several interreligious events back in the day, who consequently fell in love with the Hermitage, became a regular retreatant (and a super spreader, always bringing new folks to experience the place), then an oblate (our first Muslim oblate; I received his oblation at the Harmony Center/mosque here in 2016), and a facilitator of future planning sessions for the community. The guys loved him, by the way. He in turn introduced me to Keith Toh, entrepreneur and all-around genius, who has become a good friend. At the time Keith was living in San Francisco. James, our former monk, and I sang for his wedding in Sausalito, which was quite a memorable occasion. There is a photo of the four of us––Keith, Aaron, James, and I––dressed to the nines that is one of my favorite photos of all time. Keith has served for a few years now on the Financial Advisory Board for the Hermitage and is getting me involved in something with the Tanglin Institute, which I will be able to inform more about later. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There is also here Mark Hansen, who has been the one mostly responsible for taking care of me on this trip. Mark is a long-time friend the Camaldolese, first of all close to Sr. Donald and the nuns in Windsor, New York, then the monks at Incarnation in Berkeley, and last but not least of us as well, and also has served faithful on the Financial Advisory Board. I can honestly say that I received some of the best supportive advice from him during my term as prior. It is he who arranged for me to stay here at the Wanderlust and has been arranging/organizing us all to get together. Actually tonight is the first time we will most of us be together. Keith was in India and just got back yesterday but he hurt his back and will not be able to attend. But Aaron, who is now teaching at Oxford, happened to have an engagement back here this week, so he arrived just yesterday morning. We will be celebrating his birthday tonight, two days belated, at Leonard’s. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">What is wonderful is that all of them have become pretty good friends to each other as well. In addition, we have another young man who became a Camaldolese oblate, Brian. He and his wife are becoming part of the circle as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU4LzUq4rgFB0aHgQP6mAa8daDjgIVRcO-DW5LYoegbJ9MDtGSrAZO8ybD57kuQchlthBS1p7sDBM9sz3ULW64viVYy66DZz_KpGew8dhbGUGCugzcaXbcX6Lex3_89UbEGlhblJEjKMAfGgfiVyxzHtQ4IH_eMalD1CpyS5pCg-8NveEnzVNjOj0L4sn3" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU4LzUq4rgFB0aHgQP6mAa8daDjgIVRcO-DW5LYoegbJ9MDtGSrAZO8ybD57kuQchlthBS1p7sDBM9sz3ULW64viVYy66DZz_KpGew8dhbGUGCugzcaXbcX6Lex3_89UbEGlhblJEjKMAfGgfiVyxzHtQ4IH_eMalD1CpyS5pCg-8NveEnzVNjOj0L4sn3=w406-h305" width="406" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark, Dianne, me, Brian, Cynthia, Leonard</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Pat Por introduced me to her son Geoff, a journalist for the Straits Times, who used to take me running back in the day. I met him and his wife and children for lunch yesterday. And Pat and her husband Joe, with whom I drove up and down the Malaysia peninsula several times, are coming in tomorrow for Chinese New Year. We are meeting for dinner tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The other connection here in Singapore is Jeff Plein and his son Luke. Young Luke wanted to have a monastic experience as part of his school curriculum but he was a bit young for us to accept for an extended stay. So his Dad, Jeff, came with him. They pitched camp in the Ranch House, Jeff burned the midnight oil online as manager of several branches of Citibank here in southeast Asia (he is now </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Chief Operating Officer for the Asia-Pacific Region of <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">a leading global professional services firm called </span>Aon)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">, while Luke immersed himself in our “daily round and common task.” They both had a great experience and Luke especially, now a freshman at Yale, has kept up a frequent correspondence with several of the monks. Jeff wanted to get together and introduce me to his wife and daughter, so that will probably happen Wednesday morning before I fly to Delhi that afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, as you see, this is really a social visit––yes, a bit of time to acclimatize to Asia and get ready for India, but even more to spend time with wonderful people that I am so blessed to have in my life, “here, there, and everywhere.” I can be nothing but grateful for the way I have been surrounded by such care and fine company.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wednesday 7 Feb<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Yesterday was my fullest day but it turned out not to be as crowded as I feared. I started out meeting Keith for breakfast at a fabulous restaurant overlooking the city. We had a half an hour or so to catch up and then we were joined by a gentleman named Abhra Bhattachearjee who is the Development Director and Head of Foundation for the Tanglin Trust School, the main activity of the day. The Tanglin Trust School is </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">is an international school in Singapore that also runs as a non-profit organization. It was established in 1925, to provide British-based learning with an international perspective for students aged 3–18, almost exclusively ex-pats. They have about 3,500 students. (</span>https://www.tts.edu.sg.)<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Keith’s own sons go there and he really wanted me to do something for them and also somehow get involved in a retreat center they are establishing in Gipsland, Australia.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhitIp2CFiMyapuH1Fg3jm90YcJsR355q4f92R7GhoJ7RZN3km5ikQJbino17F-mysQGnstPQrxUGoewymuWYFsvXQMX_5eS5KT5dvf2HepUNjTxyhNa0qK3TCh83CJH_9O7V3HWs1zEAZQ73rtL1DB4ia-X3jqakql1JNcQwdQh-8skym18B4JFABEslym" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="407" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhitIp2CFiMyapuH1Fg3jm90YcJsR355q4f92R7GhoJ7RZN3km5ikQJbino17F-mysQGnstPQrxUGoewymuWYFsvXQMX_5eS5KT5dvf2HepUNjTxyhNa0qK3TCh83CJH_9O7V3HWs1zEAZQ73rtL1DB4ia-X3jqakql1JNcQwdQh-8skym18B4JFABEslym=w305-h407" width="305" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Abhra and I had met already over Zoom with Keith from Big Sur, planning this meeting. He’s a jolly guy with a broad background already in education in Australia, India, and Kenya. We immediately gave us each other permission to nerd out and began a wonderful stimulating conversation that carried on from breakfast to the taxi to the school and really for the rest of the morning meeting with several other members of the faculty and staff. We met with a religion teacher and a philosophy teacher as well as the director of programs. Keith and Abhra both wanted me to do something for the school when I comeback through, but our mission was to figure out what. I got a full tour of the incredible facility––not a huge footprint but 11 stories high, typical of Singapore, the music building the athletic facilities as well as the classrooms, and it is very impressive. You can just feel the energy and creativity of the place. Can you imagine a 16 year-old girl who wants to go into music as a career deciding to do, as her year-end project, a piece of music inspired by Kierkegaard’s existentialism? That’s what we’re talking about there. If I understand it correctly the school also now wants to have more and more dialogue with surrounding culture and society, interacting both to learn and to contribute, and of course encourage social involvement on the part of the students. I felt a little out of my depth surrounded by all that competence, I must say, but they seem really excited for me to interact with the community there. It was decided that I will spend on hour with the combined world religions and philosophy classes at midday on March 18, and in the late afternoon offer a program open to students, faculty and parents, part of a series that they do, entitled “Universal Wisdom: the Words That We Share.” Basically sitting on a chair, telling stories and singing songs. I think it will be fun. That will be the day before I fly back to CA in March. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I then had lunch with Claire Tan, who was formerly married to Leonard and is a very successful lawyer in for an international software company, and as always sparkling with positive energy and life. And then that evening I met Pat and Joe Por for dinner along with the son Geoff again, and their daughter Lisa. We ate at a little Malay restaurant around the corner from the hotel and then went for dessert at a place that specialized in the typically Chinese style sweets, with bean soups and all kinds of fruits I do not recognize and one I do––durian, whose smell gently filled the place. I stuck with something that had a lot of mangoes instead. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWTKe1cAWII32TpqyAR1DEcPyCw1Ytk-zG1Zrq5B27vbq67ttsRkyX0yVfl2ktL0RMxBuqu4x7ckukXxgUTpubQc77lDq0vPvyNYHluBLsQntdn4KSbvs_D5GhlTdemxtAN0_kkWZk5ry723X49weB6bqV5j15kXmRTTIMqR5znj_tL8GYIPconOpPo3X2" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1231" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjWTKe1cAWII32TpqyAR1DEcPyCw1Ytk-zG1Zrq5B27vbq67ttsRkyX0yVfl2ktL0RMxBuqu4x7ckukXxgUTpubQc77lDq0vPvyNYHluBLsQntdn4KSbvs_D5GhlTdemxtAN0_kkWZk5ry723X49weB6bqV5j15kXmRTTIMqR5znj_tL8GYIPconOpPo3X2" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Keith and Claire.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This stay feels as if it has been mostly like a series of meals and conversations––and what fun is that! Such wonderful company. I was right: I did miss this place but most of all I am very fond of this little group of friends here and I have felt more at home than ever, especially given that staying at this hotel I have had the opportunity to explore more of the city on my own on foot.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This hotel offers a free washing machine (with automatic soap!) and dryer, right across the hall from my room. So that’s all done. I will be leaving a few things behind already. And I fly to Delhi this afternoon. Another phase of the journey begins, and I am ready!<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">(with apologies for the formatting issues... dunno what to do...)</span></p></div>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-41108067902135570682024-02-02T20:08:00.000-08:002024-02-03T16:14:12.559-08:00singapore<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">3 feb (or 2 feb, depending on where you are in reference to the International Date line)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was 16.5 hours on the plane, the second longest trip I’ve ever made. (The longest was 17 hours from Italy to New Zealand in 2016.) It seems like a good thing to get a direct flight but wow, that is hard on the body. And I still have a hard time believing that a machine (in this case a plane) can do that kind of activity for 16/5 hours without a break. For as much as I have flown, I still am by nature a nervous flyer, though I’ve gotten better over the years. There were two pretty good batches of turbulence and it was only once I arrived here that Mark Hansen reminded me that we were flying over the atmospheric rivers that were on their way to California this weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheLPaNQouQ2EnzxtVcKqYgtsXXTeQQiwKmKQibdUs_6iXNKmcQRcMeOIgKAA5sMO07EpgsBOU5u1Pi02j6hOuCllcgpDoEsT7zCb1RqLtp5JYhfwazFtUbp-PaL7noWxux3fZU6rgtm8XhOZhyRubQK-lI4hmtcjkVCfLTVP1ftrsXSXeBPDapkXfS5ltn" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheLPaNQouQ2EnzxtVcKqYgtsXXTeQQiwKmKQibdUs_6iXNKmcQRcMeOIgKAA5sMO07EpgsBOU5u1Pi02j6hOuCllcgpDoEsT7zCb1RqLtp5JYhfwazFtUbp-PaL7noWxux3fZU6rgtm8XhOZhyRubQK-lI4hmtcjkVCfLTVP1ftrsXSXeBPDapkXfS5ltn" width="180" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The border control and customs here in Singapore has been streamlined incredibly well, most of it done online beforehand, so I was off the plane and out at the meeting point in 15 minutes. I loved popping out of customs and catching the perfume of the air. Immediately I caught the smell of Asia, a sweetness and a heaviness to the humid air, so few white faces right away, tea and fried noodles. It was because of falling in love with Changi Airport that I first came to Singapore back in 2006 and it has just gotten bigger and more beautiful. Mark and Leonard met me and ushered me right to a new huge attraction smack dab in the middle of the airport, huge waterfall with a light show and bleachers all around surrounded by a shopping mall and food court. Quite a destination spot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Every other time I have been here I have stayed with the Franciscan friars at Queen of the Angels. This time Mark insisted on getting me a hotel room in honor of my ten plus years of service as prior just ended. It’s a very interesting little place in the middle of what is known as Little India and aptly named (so I have been told) for the peripatetic ex-prior, the Wanderlust.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijAWM7r7kA6Slhu4ZZvCi-F4OjrAScoMjczCaE7MS1S2Zc_CEpCVPoknkwPlFZmol8fl71DBqUCp8aLtUVkTG4zgWpQoTc3e_YeESjNObByw62OzS3uOMyIB9DvX3nfgZIWlQlG8ppnuZR8FTHai5h1SzrEkqd2mmWlbBmtbbgNcnekTagyI6DH8s9ua4g" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijAWM7r7kA6Slhu4ZZvCi-F4OjrAScoMjczCaE7MS1S2Zc_CEpCVPoknkwPlFZmol8fl71DBqUCp8aLtUVkTG4zgWpQoTc3e_YeESjNObByw62OzS3uOMyIB9DvX3nfgZIWlQlG8ppnuZR8FTHai5h1SzrEkqd2mmWlbBmtbbgNcnekTagyI6DH8s9ua4g" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A tiny room really. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The bed takes up almost the whole space, with a small corridor and a nice sized bathroom.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjitfVAF5KRwDl6fHs7kREj0TYqYsS9scf-DFc-ieaiQUF4d1SFWco-Eg7Xs0a0l4xmaQwbNQ7AinQsYni1Lr4B7XdIiiTqCNoa0yInFJYSf4AqpGQDBNPfUywzzidod0wR9nFU-eoyIdnbAkQ1fptO2-iNhgM43fc1VH4FBk1NZ6AurJMMS0_c6pk4-bt7" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjitfVAF5KRwDl6fHs7kREj0TYqYsS9scf-DFc-ieaiQUF4d1SFWco-Eg7Xs0a0l4xmaQwbNQ7AinQsYni1Lr4B7XdIiiTqCNoa0yInFJYSf4AqpGQDBNPfUywzzidod0wR9nFU-eoyIdnbAkQ1fptO2-iNhgM43fc1VH4FBk1NZ6AurJMMS0_c6pk4-bt7" width="180" /></a><br /></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s an outdoor terrace with a “dipping pool” (hot tub). Perfect place for morning yoga.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhglGE9VaUObIhIeG0SH2PIm366Aj0c4jNGl6M6e7CuptljZERkmqkXncOtrcn4oXotnmHwAhuJZtZZNpWLwyESbfI2RkvTVCAR1ehaMUhUmrjqjxpWmxrzbH9Imi2toEnRwamzjHC9LzpszovqJ8kDvLiR5TcHNux9wfDMTD0lR1a85mEWqaa3Np79F4Gf" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhglGE9VaUObIhIeG0SH2PIm366Aj0c4jNGl6M6e7CuptljZERkmqkXncOtrcn4oXotnmHwAhuJZtZZNpWLwyESbfI2RkvTVCAR1ehaMUhUmrjqjxpWmxrzbH9Imi2toEnRwamzjHC9LzpszovqJ8kDvLiR5TcHNux9wfDMTD0lR1a85mEWqaa3Np79F4Gf" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdRwJy-EsTK8_SRhgspKQqHpN3GNet5ql10zBNAWJwsg-HplJ2rDyZ6hhHWCEoausEa8KwQeZXs1Tn0WnYA1pjqWLBaU9dYhaDq0Gk2ayOhki175kKIZ3WFMqDHqLG_59ezHoWK5wlqyvIoaURDvk3smpjv1FT4qdOafGzPG6N0PMJ5-cgS5aQVleKfHPZ" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdRwJy-EsTK8_SRhgspKQqHpN3GNet5ql10zBNAWJwsg-HplJ2rDyZ6hhHWCEoausEa8KwQeZXs1Tn0WnYA1pjqWLBaU9dYhaDq0Gk2ayOhki175kKIZ3WFMqDHqLG_59ezHoWK5wlqyvIoaURDvk3smpjv1FT4qdOafGzPG6N0PMJ5-cgS5aQVleKfHPZ" width="180" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The hotel is smack dabble in the middle of dozens of restaurants and shops, mostly Indian but with a smattering of Chinese and Vietnamese folks as well. The food is that Singaporean-Malayisan mixture of Indian (north and south), halal and Chinese. Though, given the choice, I picked a little Japanese restaurant, run by folks from Burma, for a snack last night, where they assembled and cooked a beautiful soufflé (really more like an omelet) right a grill in the middle of the table. I got a decent night’s sleep and set out looking for some kind of simple breakfast this morning––not an easy thing to find. There are several hawker stands around, (for which Singapore is well known), but they don’t have the kind of thing I usually eat for breakfast. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There are lots of idly and dosa, lots of fried noodles. I found myself strangely shy to ask and order, just not used to the environment again yet. And I am having a hard time understanding most people’s accents! And they mine, I’m sure. I wound up with a nice “butterfly bun” covered with sesame seeds and two big pieces of cooked sweet potato, only to realize once I started eating them that they were basically fried as well. Delicious though. I have been known to love what is called</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">te tarik</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">(“pulled tea”) here until I found out that it is loaded with fat and sugar due to being made with condensed milk. I tried to get a plain old black tea with plain old milk yesterday at a stand at the airport, only to cause general confusion and wound up with a nice strong cup of tea with powdered milk. I didn’t bother this morning (not wanting to resort to Starbucks or one of the other Western franchises here) and got a nice flat white instead. I took quite a tour of the surrounding neighborhood, something I’ve rarely done (or been allowed to do) in the past especially in this area of Singapore. I’ve found a gym about a half mile away that allows three day passes for tourists, but I had to apply online and now must wait for them to get back to me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">All in all, I am so happy to be back here and have these days with my friends here before I head to India next week. Singapore is always a nice transition spot to India. One of our friends, Keith Toh, who lives here and also serves on New Camaldoli’s Financial Advisory Board, put together a spread sheet of my time so as to be able to make sure I get to spend time with everyone who wants to. I’m trying to get the mornings to myself, as I do today all the way until 3 PM actually. When Mark will pick me up and we will go to Leonard’s for Mass and then dinner.</span></p></div></div> <p></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-63458355513391519192024-01-25T15:47:00.000-08:002024-01-25T15:47:18.529-08:00the itinerary<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have felt something like an obligation to write (I usually journal every afternoon) but virtually no energy for it. Maybe today. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So, for a first installment, here’s my itinerary––and let me stop you right there: if you are tempted to scold me for being what you think of as “too busy” or for “traveling too much,” your admonition will be wasted on me, and I might even resent you for it. I have dreamt of this sabbatical year probably for the past ten years, ever since I took on the role of prior. I joke sometimes that it was the only reason I accepted it at all, so that I could earn a sabbatical year. Short of that, it certainly has been a carrot on the end of the stick that gave me something to look forward to. And I think I have laid it out well with a nice proportion of retreat time and creative work, the things that make me really come alive.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am currently in Hillsborough, a beautiful affluent neighborhood just south of San Francisco, guests of Bob and Ellen Peck. Bob was only recently received as an oblate of New Camaldoli but has slowly become a friend to several of us monks and has also served on my Financial Advisory Board (FAB), offering us his expertise especially in investments. He and Ellen extended the invitation for a stay during my sabbatical, and I thought it would be an ideal place to decompress before I begin the year in earnest. And it has been so far. More on that in a moment.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">From here I will go to Singapore which used to be my regular stop on the way to India. We have a handful of oblates there and I have several good friends with whom I have stayed in contact since my wandering days of interreligious events. Two other members of my FAB live there and they have put together a spread sheet (seriously) of my time there so I can both get plenty of time to relax but still spend quality time with them all. From there I will go to India, the main destination of course being Shantivanam, our ashram in Tamil Nadu. There may be a few little side trips during my stay there, but the closer I get to going the less I am excited about doing anything but sitting there with my brother and sister monks and nuns. I haven’t been there for 12 years, and I am looking forward to seeing how things are in the Forest of Peace, especially under the care of their new young shepherd/prior Dorathick.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I will be back in California by Holy Week and will celebrate the Triduum back at the Hermitage. Just four days. In exchange, the brothers are going to lend me a car for two months. I then have an entire month booked in an apartment at the Jesuit retreat house in Los Altos, the same apartment I had when I made a wonderful eight-day retreat in 2022. That’s April. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">May I want to dedicate to recording, but that’s going to be a little here and there. As in many cases I have accepted work to do that gets me somewhere I want to be. <i>Furbo!</i> I will travel to Tucson, Arizona to help for a few days with a musicians’ songwriters’ workshop and then record with John Pennington, who will also be there, at Tom Booth studio there in Tucson. Then I will see my family in Phoenix. I am then offering a retreat for the monks of St Martin’s Abbey in Lacey, Washington, which will get me to the northwest where I will plan to record some more with my Portland friends. That’s May.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">June I am offering three retreats in Minnesota, and that will get me to the Midwest, where I will spend time with family in Wisconsin at the cabin on the lake and then drop down into Illinois and see old friends that I have not seen in a long long time, some of whom are getting close to the end of their journey. I plan on being back in California by mid-July (for Devin and Prabha’s wedding on the 14<sup>th</sup>, for sure!). Not exactly sure where I’ll be staying then, maybe couch surfing in Santa Cruz?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I hope to be back in Italy by August 1, and plan on spending as much time as possible for the following six weeks at the Sacro Eremo. I have events then in Poland, Germany, back in Italy and then in England from mid-September through October. The one condition I have asked my sponsors is that I can travel by train. So much more relaxed and I can see the countryside.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">November I am in Australia, mainly to offer a retreat in Melbourne for our large community of oblates there. Maybe a few other events, musical or speaking, but after that my main goal is to find some place to retreat. A few spots have been offered and it will be summer there so I hope to be by the sea. And then one more stop back in India “on my way home” for a final meeting in Kerala for a project that Dorathick and I have worked on with our friend Petra Atweiler, a German sociologist. There is actually very little for me to do for the meeting, but I am delighted to sort of begin and end the sabbatical in India. And from there head home to Big Sur for Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">At least that's the plan. I feel very open to whatever the universe and the Spirit have in store.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-19232010282124246442023-11-03T08:43:00.002-07:002023-11-03T08:43:48.932-07:00last days in Rome, short stay at the thin place, La Verna<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nov 1, 2023.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Oh my goodness, I have been so lazy in terms of writing and correspondence. Sorry about that, though I doubt anyone has grown dependent on my musings. I’m on the train now, heading northeast from Rome to Arezzo. Emanuele, from Camaldoli, is going to meet me and give me a ride to La Verna, the famous Franciscan convento at the spot where il Poverello received the stigmata. Dan Riley, OFM, from Mount Irenaeus/Saint Bonaventure is here with a group of pilgrims, and I hope to celebrate Eucharist with them for the feast of <i>Tutti Santi</i>, which is, of course, a national holiday here in Italy. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Looking back, the month with the nuns in Rome just flew by and I was kind of sad to leave behind my little cell in the <i>foresteria</i>. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Our last day singing altogether was actually Friday. It was a little unclear when and how things were going to wrap up until the last minute. But we were told after Mass and Terce, our normal duties, on Friday that there would be no morning Mass nor Terce the next day and we were done! Thomas, Emanuele, Fabian and Federico went for the closing session on Saturday evening, which consisted in nothing more than a Taizé piece, a refrain for intercessory prayers and the</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Sub Tuum Presidium</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">to conclude, but in the meantime they had to sit through hours of voting on every paragraph of the final document that came out of the Synod, which took longer than anyone thought it would have, and the closing remarks of the Holy Father, which were mercifully concise and brief. I actually had to teach that night online (my seemingly never-ending once-a-month series for the Episcopal House of Prayer in Collegeville), so I missed that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Before the guys went off to sing that day, though, we did something really cool. These guys just love this old Scottish-English Anglican hymn “Abide With Me,” the best known version of it set to the music of William Henry Monk. And they, mainly Emanuele and Thomas, decided that we five should sing it and record it while we were together. The best day for that was Saturday afternoon after <i>pranzo</i>. So, the three of us tramped over to San Gregorio where Federico, who is quite adept at these things, had already set up a couple of microphones in the side chapel of the church there, a place with a gorgeous, not uncontrollable acoustic. Thomas and Emanuele sang bass together as thick as chocolate, Fabio has a very pure tenor voice, Federico at first tried singing the melody in countertenor but got disabused of that, not unkindly but forcefully, almost right away and just sang melody in the tenor range, and I got to sing the alto voice in the rock n roll tenor range. We did about five takes and it sounded really good. I propped up my iPhone and filmed it as well but it’s too large a file to send (though I did post it on Facebook). We were all quite pleased and I am sure that would be a big hit on Facebook (especially in our dress whites) if we did a series of those.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But we all got to go to the closing Mass the next day. Thankfully it was in the basilica and not outside, but we lined up in that same magnificent hallway the runs to the grand staircase the leads to the Apostolic Palace, though this time we were in reverse order for our procession. I decided to vest up (“concelebrate”) this time, just to say I did it once. I got to speak with several bishops and a cardinal or two while we were all searching for stoles and chasubles (I wonder who is in charge of the hundreds of matching vestments that St. Peter’s must own?!). I hung out mostly with a priest from Bolivia that I had met at Camaldoli, Mauricio. He is part of the <i>Collegio Capranica</i> in Rome, which is mostly a residence for seminarians and priests studying there, usually at the Gregorianum or the Biblicum. More on that later. I am not one for high church things, but I must say it was quite impressive to process into the basilica together, with the Vatican choir again providing the pristine music, mostly Gregorian, with participation for refrains and polyphony for soloistic parts. And the long line of the lay delegates followed by us humble “just” ordained, then the bishops and then the cardinals. At the back part of the narthex there were wooden barriers put up on either side of the center aisle and throngs of people amassed on either side like a big parade, greeting us, some wanting to shake hands or bump fists. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Holy Father appeared in his wheelchair from out of nowhere on the right side and led prayers and preached seated in the presidential chair, but did not go up to the high altar. Cardinal Grech, the president of the Synod did all the honors there. Pope Francis’ homily was simple and to the point: to love God and love your neighbor means to adore (God) and serve (your neighbor). With all the folderol, let’s not forget that: it comes down to two simple things, like breathing in and breathing out: love and adore God, love and serve each other. Period.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we carted back to Sant’Antonio for one final <i>pranzo </i>with the nuns in their refectory, and immediately afterward Thomas headed for the train station to go and see his family up in Padua, and Emanuele jumped in the car with Matteo to return to Camaldoli. Well done, faithful servant, Matteo! He, as master of ceremonies, was everywhere, and in almost every photo with the pope. There was even a story on the evening news that had him with the Holy Father during the prayer service for peace in the Holy Land. I teased him later that people were starting to ask, “Who is that other guy in white, the one sitting next to Matteo?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">My friend and financial advisor Keith Toh was in Rome with his wife and children last week. He had lived there from age 6 to 16 when his father was the UN ambassador to Italy and loves to bring everyone back each year. I had met them for lunch on Friday in a neighborhood I had never seen before, around the American Embassy and the grand hotels. (That was a theme for this trip; I was in so many neighborhoods this time that I had never been in before.) Keith sent me a message the next day, on his way back to Singapore, about a restaurant that had gone to for dinner that he insisted I go to, not far from the Spanish Steps. So much insisted that he had already reserved a table for me for Sunday night, as well as ordered for me and sent money for me to take whoever I wanted. Talk about an offer you can’t refuse… Since they do not serve an evening meal Sunday night at Sant’Antonio it worked out perfectly. But I was like the guy who couldn’t fill the wedding banquet: I couldn’t find anyone to go with me! I tried six different people and in the end I was tempted to walked down Via del Corso and just invite anyone. But I wound up going alone. It was an amazing meal: fried anchovies, spaghetti with lobster and a coconut milk tomato sauce, and <i>bronzino</i> (sea bass) with crispy skin (<i>pelle croccante</i>). I topped it off with a Sicilian dessert whose name I cannot remember, but it was exquisite, and the wait staff was very kind. It was really fun walking through the streets of Rome that evening, and I could not believe how crowded it was with tourists and others. I also, rather shamed-facedly, realized that everywhere I went or wanted to go was well within walking distance of the Aventine, nothing much farther than a mile and a half away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday, I had all day to my blessed self, telling Sr. Michelina, our main host, that I really needed some hermit time (and not having to speak to anyone in Italian for a day). But Tuesday I wound up having a series of wonderful encounters (all over food, of course). This same Padre Mauricio had invited me to <i>pranzo</i> at the Capranica, which was an amazing place not far from the Gregorianum, where he is doing his doctorate. I can’t remember the entire history, but it goes back to the 16<sup>th</sup> century when this well-placed cardinal named Capranica (who was supposed to become pope but got poisoned before the election…) gave his family palazzo over to men in formation for the priesthood. I found out later that if the NAC (North American College) is a “bishop factory” this place is a <i>fabbrica dei papi</i>–a pope factory. The place is peppered with portraits and statues and plaques of men who lived and studied there and went on to be elevated to the papacy. When we arrived Mauricio put me in an elegant Italian <i>salone</i> that had velvet chairs and couches and a baby grand piano, the walls lined with portraits of every pope from Leo XII through Benedict, with a huge portrait of Pio XII at the center. (I will assume Francis’ was missing only because he’s still alive.) There was a really nice spirit about the place, at least in the refectory. Because several of these guys had been at Camaldoli for the same week that Mauricio had been there, I was already somewhat of a known quantity and I had several very nice conversations, some with guys who had spent time in America, one with a newly arrived seminarian from Kerala, and another with a young deacon in the diocese where our Roberto was just ordained bishop. Then Mauricio took me to the famous Tazzo D’oro for un café and I headed to my next stop.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was to meet Fr. James Martin, SJ, at the Jesuit Curia, a very imposing place on Borgo Santa Spirito a stone’s throw from the colonnades of Piazza San Pietro. Having had the experience of several well-endowed comfortable Jesuit communities, it was quite a contrast to see how very spartan this place was. Jim showed me his room which was also very simple and small. There weren’t even <i>ensuite</i> bathrooms, but communal ones down the hall. He explained that this was the old classic austere Jesuit way, and the Father General (the “black Pope”) prefers to keep it that way. He and I then went down the street to a BAR and had tea, appetizers, and a really nice long visit. We kept running into each other at the Synod and found out that we had several mutual friends and acquaintances, so it was like talking to an old classmate. I suspect we will keep in touch.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWrQLJwK3d0Gt9udk4j9wX0OZ7xyttatmUIPlwiiaJfVi4zRcTiO_zZ_MLswWfS21212fuBEd-MG7ShAhV50BaF5Wia6kp2T6fT4QGNstnLA_uJXBpv-rVQZGPDnIIt15j07znL6Q7lEq5POtzwMHUYR-0OmXbghI-skzAi36KoPHJopKEJAQZNUhAhCsz" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="739" data-original-width="1600" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWrQLJwK3d0Gt9udk4j9wX0OZ7xyttatmUIPlwiiaJfVi4zRcTiO_zZ_MLswWfS21212fuBEd-MG7ShAhV50BaF5Wia6kp2T6fT4QGNstnLA_uJXBpv-rVQZGPDnIIt15j07znL6Q7lEq5POtzwMHUYR-0OmXbghI-skzAi36KoPHJopKEJAQZNUhAhCsz" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rooftop of the Jesuit Curia c/o AMERICAN magazine.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then I headed over the San Gregorio for Vespers and dinner, and to say goodbye to the gang there. There is a really nice spirit there too with such a diverse crowd. Stephen had arrived that afternoon from the US and I was glad to be there to introduce him to everyone. And then that night I had a Financial Advisory Board meeting via Zoom starting at 10 PM, my payback for making Mark and Keith in Singapore usually get up at 4 AM. I only lasted ‘til midnight, hit the hay, and got to Termini good and early to make sure I got on my train for Arezzo, with due respect for my capacity for goofing up departure times.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">What an honor it was to be a part of the Synod in that way, and what a real treat it was to finally get to know Rome a lot better. I must admit I grudgingly really like her more than I ever have, now that I have expanded my knowledge outside of my normal walks around Circus Maximus and the Roman Forum up Via Cavour to Roma Termini, and down by San Giovanni in Laterano. Though the constant din of traffic and floods of people all day every day did get a little tiring. I’m looking forward to this short stay at La Verna.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nov 2</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m at the <i>Santuario </i>of La Verna now with no internet or phone signal so I might as well add a note.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Giuseppe Cicchi, novice master and acting vice-prior at Camaldoli, kindly arranged for me to stay two nights here. The proximate reason was that my friend Dan Riley, OFM and his group of pilgrims were to be here, coming in from Assisi, yesterday as part of their Franciscan tour and I was to join them for Mass. The only problem was going to be transportation, given that it’s not easy to get from Arezzo to La Verna on a good day let alone on a national holiday. Hence the gracious offer of a ride from Emanuele who, however, couldn’t make it ‘til around 2:30. So I left my backpack and guitar at the <i>deposito bagagli</i> in the train station and happily headed up into the beautiful historic <i>centro</i> of Arezzo for a few hours. I scoped out all the eating places, decided on one, and then spent some time in the exquisite ancient church of San Francesco with its Piero della Francesca frescoes. I always find it somewhat annoying, shall we say, that churches have to lock up during lunch hour, and I always seem to want to be in a church during that closing time. In other words, myself and a couple got whisked and shooed out of the place after what seemed like only a few minutes. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I settled into a lovely</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">osteria</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">and yes, Raniero, I finally had my</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">pici</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">, with an anchovy sauce, olives, capers, and small pieces of potatoes. The wait staff was very kind and let me sit there and journal and re-charge my phone until it was time to meet Emanuele back at the</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">stazione</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhafrll2PLxlhGI0Vi-oVkIwRhr9cJoHpFz835svwNoYBy4oagaHsG7eUB3DhAnAypPcrgCKQKxib-_hY_-74z4hXhvVah_eGhtdIDajvF77CUsmFSvXqwnaqZUs3_dc9FGS2Wig2lXmuGPuRGC_bHTv3bw-PWAgxkk_hzhyZcvDIsPZuQG5u2XAgaihLL2" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhafrll2PLxlhGI0Vi-oVkIwRhr9cJoHpFz835svwNoYBy4oagaHsG7eUB3DhAnAypPcrgCKQKxib-_hY_-74z4hXhvVah_eGhtdIDajvF77CUsmFSvXqwnaqZUs3_dc9FGS2Wig2lXmuGPuRGC_bHTv3bw-PWAgxkk_hzhyZcvDIsPZuQG5u2XAgaihLL2" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pici acciugatti.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I have been here at La Verna at least two times in the past but have <span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 34);">never stayed the night</span>. As the Irish would say, it feels like a thin place to me, up a mountain densely forested with beech trees. The weather is much cooler than Rome and the skies are what I remember the most from this part of Tuscany at this time of year, grey and cloudy, threatening rain (or snow!). I went first to the reception area at the </span><i style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">foresteria</i><span style="color: #202122; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> to get my room. The gentleman at the desk seemed somewhat out of place, earrings and piercings and tattoos all over (not that there is anything wrong with that…), for all the world more a bass player from a punk band than a receptionist for a Franciscan shrine. He had special instructions for me, that I was to eat with the friars, and I was </span><i style="color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">gentilemente</i><span style="color: #202122; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> urged to be punctual for meals. This is the second time I had been told this; the guardian who wrote me about my room also had urged me </span></span><i style="font-family: Palatino;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">l'importante è la puntualità ai pasti in refettorio</span></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">. When I got to my room there was another notice exhorting me to <i>puntualità nel refettorio</i>, so by now I was starting to get the hint that punctuality at meals was of inestimable importance here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I caught up with the Americans, had a quick cup of tea with them and then we headed to Mass, which was held in the chapel of the stigmata. I forgot to mention, of all the things to say about this amazing place, it’s where Francis received the stigmata. It was a beautiful little chapel, lined with choir stalls and della Robbia <i>bas reliefs</i>, and of course a gorgeous acoustic. Mass was very informal, and I led them in some easy participative songs. We ended Mass with my <i>Bismillah</i>, the song in honor of Francis’ pilgrimage to the sultan, that combines the famous phrase from the Qur’an with Francis’ litany of praise. I had sung it once with them before in Rome, but that first time we did it very soft and slow, carrying a lot of grief for the slaughter (of innocents) in the Holy Land and especially now in the Gaza Strip. This time we sang it out in full force as was fitting the feast. It was interesting singing it without Gitanjali belting out the lead vocals and/or John on percussion, with just my little travel Taylor, but it really worked, and the folks loved it. Just as we finished Sr. Margaret Carney, who was the main presenter on this pilgrimage, came up to me excitedly and said, “Did you know the Francis wrote that litany here at La Verna?!” As a matter of fact, there is a facsimile of the parchment on which he wrote it, with a note to Brother Leo on the other side, framed and hanging on the wall outside of that same chapel. I’ll get a photo of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfpPf4nt6qDDrTU8-tHZ8NTSb-OdDeYvBkUOtxhe45mAAnk9HG8eAOLjmEawEoi6_C-sMdhAKoIDFM6sUwrx1X80Wr0_oSGbPfmGFWOiajgIjMpfoOdd-5AOsLj3H24X2M_0OYZgnuRJWZx-fGPdai2JHztwiOs8DVbA3WNWqkrSYuByFx7rPCShNogUxb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfpPf4nt6qDDrTU8-tHZ8NTSb-OdDeYvBkUOtxhe45mAAnk9HG8eAOLjmEawEoi6_C-sMdhAKoIDFM6sUwrx1X80Wr0_oSGbPfmGFWOiajgIjMpfoOdd-5AOsLj3H24X2M_0OYZgnuRJWZx-fGPdai2JHztwiOs8DVbA3WNWqkrSYuByFx7rPCShNogUxb" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facsimile of St. Francis' writing the litany of Praise.</td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I said goodbye to the group after Mass, took a little nap and went to try to find where I was supposed to punctually eat dinner with the friars. The tattooed pierced guy had told me to find a friar and ask him how to get to the refectory, but I had yet to see a friar. The nice lady who worked at the bar showed me the way to the kitchen and pointed me to a friar and left me there. I approached said friar and explained that I was a Camaldolese monk, and I was supposed to eat with them. He looked at me suspiciously and asked me, <i>Come vi chiamate?</i> which is the second person plural, an antiquated extremely polite way of asking “Who the heck are <i>you</i> (plural)?” I was about to say <i>Noi ci chiamiamo Camaldolesi</i>–“We are Camaldolese” just to be funny, but it didn’t seem the opportune moment. At that point several other friars showed up and were hustling about, and he told me to wait there. I did so for about five minutes, in the entryway to the kitchen, as several other staff came in and were carting food out to the guest refectory, I assume, trying to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. Then the tattooed guy came back and told me to follow him. He led me to another closed corridor and told me to put myself in front of a certain door and wait. It was now 7:40, and I was ten minutes late for dinner––but it was totally not my fault! I waited another five minutes or so in deafening silence in this dark corridor and was thinking to myself, “Well, this is awkward.” Then I had the thought that this was like Francis’ “perfect joy” and I imagined myself pathetically, but resignedly, crawling back to my room hungry and cold. Suddenly a large warm friar named Davide burst out of nowhere and apologized profusely, in English. It being a feast day, they had a special party going on in another space and he led me there. <br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It was a very comfortable room, like a calefactory, I assume, where there were about 30 friars of all ages gathered. This place is the regional novitiate as well as the sanctuary and this was the night that the novices were cooking meat <i>alla braccia</i>, basically grilled beef, hamburgers and sausages, and there were bottles of beer on all the tables. They were a little disappointed to hear that I didn’t eat meat nor drink alcohol but there was a nice salad and, as often happens in Italy when they find out you are vegetarian, I was brought cheese. They were all very warm and welcoming. I sat with three friars and had a nice conversation. They have young guys here also from Egypt, Syria, Albania, and Lithuania. I got someone to lead me back to my room after an hour or so and I shall join them for prayer this morning. It may be another awkward moment. I thought I understood from the guardian that I was going to join them in choir, but now I am not sure. So, I’ll show up in my dress whites and see what happens.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was remembering years ago in Lebanon, staying at San Maron, the monastery of Charbel Marklouf, outside of Beirut, after an exhausting two weeks of touring and a serious viral stomach infection, how I was supposed to find the one monk who spoke English and he was to lead me to the monastic refectory to eat. But I never found him (and he never came in search of me) and so I spent the next two days blissfully on my own, taking the one meal that they served in the morning in the guesthouse and munching on snacks (I remember especially Pringles) from the souvenir shop for the rest of the day, really not wanting to interact with anyone. That would have been fine with me here too. I slept so deeply last night as I did there in Lebanon, and had some very intense dream about St. Francis, the litany of praise and apophatic prayer, the details of which I do not remember. We shall see what the day brings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigGR49NExEBDWVz0rtqVlCZqMYKGpvaY9O64WHCEhJEnTfnN00PqugvGZPjkaAdHtU7gtpe1Iqj_SzVkCC5bfck9WEHt6ThP5bqlzCQ1ohLXlcQfcqh27FrnPrR_s-ClZFNNgBxP98gwMslkVWg6hFksmI3QCCWh4flPxPkmbzXPtXYBScQe_4GVc9EShK" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigGR49NExEBDWVz0rtqVlCZqMYKGpvaY9O64WHCEhJEnTfnN00PqugvGZPjkaAdHtU7gtpe1Iqj_SzVkCC5bfck9WEHt6ThP5bqlzCQ1ohLXlcQfcqh27FrnPrR_s-ClZFNNgBxP98gwMslkVWg6hFksmI3QCCWh4flPxPkmbzXPtXYBScQe_4GVc9EShK" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chapel of the stigmata.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">November 3, waiting for Axel to come and fetch me from Camaldoli.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The weather has been brutal! Strong winds––I would guess 50-60 mph––whipping around the sanctuary, clouds, intermittent rain and in the low 40s. Thanks God Emanuele, good brother, loaned me his raincoat. So this place really is a shrine (I just figured out that’s what <i>santuario</i> means in Italian, not sanctuary) because it’s the site of Francis’ stigmata. There is a constant stream of devotees, pilgrims, and lay Franciscans through here, and everything revolves around that. They had vigils in the basilica, followed almost immediately morning prayer. The Bishops Conference here in Italy has put out a very nice simplified breviary and there are stacks of them available for all. Many of the folks also had their Liturgy of the Hours with them and knew what they were doing. The friars sing and chant very lustily (if I may use the word) and there are various devotional prayers mixed in. The Angelus is prayed here regularly, which, if I remember correctly, should be no surprise. I learned that Francis was so impressed with the Muslim practice of doing the <i>salat </i>five times a day when he went to meet the Sultan that he encouraged a type of prayer that anyone could do with the ringing of the Angelus bells his version of the call to prayer. Also the prayer “We adore you here and in all your churches throughout the world…” is prayed quite often too. My one little lament is that there is nowhere for the guests to get hot water, coffee or tea until after Lauds. I was trying to translate “cruel and unusual punishment” into Italian. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t get up so darned early. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The morning was free, so I got in a good walk down the main road towards town. I joined the friars in their huge ancient refectory for <i>pranzo</i>. There was also a Jesuit and two Cistercians there as guests. A very friendly atmosphere and several guys wanted to make conversation. On my right there was a young man from Ghana and on my left a novice from Egypt. Later at dinner I sat with a gentleman from Angola and spoke with another from Syria. Most of these just mentioned are actually in formation for the custody of the Holy Land. (The Franciscans have all the major Christian shrines there.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Every day at 3:00 (punctually!) there is <i>l’ora media</i> in the ancient choir behind the main altar and then a long procession to the chapel of the stigmata led by a cross and accompanied by a Latin hymn on the way there and a litany to Our Lady on the way back. It being All Souls Day there was then Eucharist at 4. My first host, Davide, winds up having an exceptional voice and he led the singing all acapella. I complimented him profusely later both on his voice and on the selection of songs they sang. I actually wanted to get copies of two of them for future use here in Italy if the need were to arise. Then there was an hour of Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, other hymns and prayers at 6 immediately followed by Vespers ending with the Divine Praises. All in all a pretty full liturgical life. As Davide explained to me, they tend to be the most monastic of the houses, which is especially good for the novices to get a full immersion. And something they will not get out in the pastoral or mission field. And of course that serves the pilgrims well. The guys have just been lovely, and after Guido, the guardian, announced I was leaving in the morning many of them, even some I had not spoken with, came up and introduced themselves and said goodbye. It would have been fun to stay longer and have more interaction with the community.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">On my way to Camaldoli now for the duration and the beginning of the last leg of this <i>soggiorno</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-77085325853187243422023-10-21T08:13:00.004-07:002023-10-21T08:13:49.608-07:00the inside story...<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: medium;">Saturday 21 October.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It has been an interesting week, that’s for sure. We’ve been doing our morning singing every day, of course. We’ve been trying out more musical variations as much to keep ourselves interested as anything, importing different music for Mass, chanting more with the zither and guitar. We have gotten lots of comments from folks about how nice it is to start the day with chanting and prayer. Matteo passed on an article in Italian, from the Avvenire<a href="applewebdata://F996AE48-91B3-4F38-9D7E-4D4223C704BF#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: #202122; font-size: 12pt;">[1]</span></span></span></a> that starts out saying that here at the Synod “the liturgy has a Benedictine soul. The voices make the psalms more vivacious, and the instruments give harmony.”</span><i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The author especially likes the use of the zither (<i>cetra</i>) that Sr Miriam plays, comparing it to the <i>salterio</i> in the psalter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday I met an acquaintance of mine at the Pontifical Institute of the Holy Cross––<i>Santa Croce</i>. His name is Brian Humphrey, a not-long ordained priest of the Archdiocese of LA. I know him through Paul Ford in Camarillo and from some work I did there some years ago, but he and I also have several musical friends in common. He is here in Rome now doing his doctorate at the invitation of Archbishop Gomez at the Opus Dei university. I had the guys drop me off after singing on the Lungotevere and prepared myself for a long walk to find Santa Croce. But thanks to the GPS on my phone, I made it very quickly into a very dense little neighborhood where I had never been before. I have figured out by now that Rome is made up of one dense little neighborhood after another. Brian met me, gave me a tour of the school, and treated me to a coffee at a local bar. He thought we would only have an hour together because he had a meeting to get to at 11, but we were enjoying our conversation so much that he thought he might be able to get out of his meeting quickly, which he did. And so, we were able to spend the next three hours together, with him giving me a tour of his favorite spots in the area. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We began to walk from Santa Croce to where he is lodging, at the Casa Santa Maria. That place has the fame of being the original North American College, gifted to the Yanks by Pius IX. Along the way we stopped at the Basilica of Sant’Agostino where Saint Monica is buried. In that church there is Caravaggio’s painting of Madonna dei Pelligrini and a well-known fresco of the Prophet Isaiah done by the noted Renaissance painter and architect Raffaello. Then onto Santa Maria sopra Minerva that houses the body of Saint Catherine of Siena––and you can go right up to the tomb and lean on it!––as well as Michelangelo’s statue of Christ the Redeemer. And finally, to the Church of Saint Louis (Luigi dei Francesi) where there is a triptych of Caravaggio paintings of Saint Matthew in the Capella Contarelli. You could hardly get a headier mix of religion and art culture. And then we had lunch at a little local joint called <i>Abruzzi</i>, which was just delightful, but not as delightful as the conversation. Brian is very well-read and very interested in so many things, particularly Aquinas and Augustine and the Cappadocian fathers, as well as in contemplative prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Of course, we were also in the neighborhood of the Gregorian, the Biblicum, the Gesù, the Panthenon, not far from Piazza Navona, and we even passed Sant’Eustachio, thinking of Raniero as I went by.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wednesday there was a big Mass for the whole synod for which we did not have to sing, but Thomas, Emanuele and I had kind of a busman’s holiday and went in for it anyway. As I have mentioned, one of our monks, Federico, is doing his degree at the Pontifical Institute of Sacred Music and the choir from there was singing for this particular Mass. As opposed to our humble Masses at 7:30 AM, for this one, at 8:45, the Holy Spirit Chapel was full. The whole presbytery was filled with cardinals and bishops, about 12 pews on the right side to the chapel were filled with bishops and the whole other side filled with non-ordained. And the music was pristine traditional Catholic high church, a stunning organist making the place nearly shudder with is solo pieces, the choir moving back and forth between Gregorian chant and polyphony, all in Latin. You could tell that it was just this kind of thing that the PIMS trains these folks for. There were definitely concessions made for the assembly to sing as well; there was a nice worship aid and the music laid out for when we alternated with the choir. We were all surprised that with what must have been 500 people there, not counting the choir, the whole Mass only took just over an hour, very well organized and executed, with our Matteo like the drum major for the whole thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was sitting just a few pews behind Bishop Barron, who I had already seen a few times in the Synod Hall. Afterward as we were standing around waiting to leave, I had a chance to meet and talk with him. I introduced myself and where I was from, and he remembered two things about New Camaldoli: the stars at night and Bruno’s book, <i>The Good Wine.</i> He is taller than I had imagined and a very nice guy. There were a few other things I wanted to talk to him about, but the crowd was thick, and it didn’t seem an opportune moment. I did tell him as we were walking out that there were only two times I was tempted to steal a book, and one of those times was in England when somebody loaned me a copy of his <i>And Now I See</i>, which I’ve consequently foisted on a number of unsuspecting postulants and observers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One funny thing happened on the way into Mass. We were not in our habits that day and had taken the Metro in instead of driving. But we still had our badges and Matteo had urged us to go in the same way we had been coming in for the Synod and skip the lines, which we did. So now we were wandering around the back of the basilica without much to do, and suddenly I look over to my right and there was the Holy Father in his popemobile with a couple of his security people getting ready to be driven into the square for the Wednesday audience. It was like being backstage at a play, seeing him relax and chat with the gentlemen who no doubt take very good daily care of him. I was also surprised at how little security there was, as I have been this whole week in Paul VI Hall.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">By the way, Pope Francis’ Wednesday talk was superb, on Charles de Foucald. I watched it later online.<a href="applewebdata://F996AE48-91B3-4F38-9D7E-4D4223C704BF#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: #202122; font-size: 12pt;">[2]</span></span></span></a> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And here are a couple of delicious quotes from it, typically Francis.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Let us not forget that God’s style is summarized in three words: proximity, compassion and tenderness. God is always near, he is always compassionate, he is always tender. And Christian witness must take this road: of proximity, compassion and tenderness.</span>”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">“Yes, but how is this done? Like Mary in the mystery of the Visitation: ‘in silence, by example, by life’. By life, because ‘our whole existence’, writes Brother Charles, ‘must cry out the Gospel’. And very often our existence calls out worldliness, it calls out many stupid things, strange things, and he says: ‘No, all our existence must shout out the Gospel’.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This is a recent sub-theme of the pope’s: worldliness. He brought it up in his opening address on October 4 too; he thinks the church is too worldly and he has a new little book out on that called <i>Santi, non mondani</i>––“Saints, Not Worldly.”<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Another notable happening that same day was that I met Sr. Maria Cimperman for lunch. Maria is a sister of the congregation Religious of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, on the faculty of Chicago Theological Union, a well-known author and speaker on consecrated life, now working part time also in Rome, and also one of the facilitators at the Synod. She was also our much-appreciated retreat leader two years ago at the Hermitage. It was a bit of comedy trying to meet up just outside of St. Peter’s Square with the throngs of people all rushing to find lunch, but through a series of text messages we did find each other and sat at a restaurant I had scoped out on my way in, somewhat off the beaten path. We sat there for the better part of three hours talking about the future (and the present) of religious life. She told me what she could about the process inside the synod hall itself without revealing any of the sharing itself and of course, as always, was a great resource for official documents. She is also working for the International Union of Superiors General and shared with me its contribution as well. I was especially moved by a document called “The Spiritual Conversation,” that she says they are following for every module of the synod in their small groups around tables (<i>circhi minori</i>) which includes active listening and speaking from the heart. How about these rules for group therapy?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Listen actively and attentively <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Listen to others without judgment <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Pay attention not only to the words, but also to the tone and feelings of the one who is speaking <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Avoid the temptation of using the time to prepare what you will say instead of listening<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Speak intentionally <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Express your experiences, thoughts, and feelings as clearly as you can <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Listen actively to yourself, mindful of your own thoughts and feelings as you speak <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: AvenirLTStd, serif;">Monitor possible tendencies to be self-centred when speaking. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then there is a two-hour process that includes periods of silence. I think this is just brilliant and kudos to whoever put it together. I do not believe there has ever been anything like this in the history of the church, especially with lay people and women involved. We just found out that there is going to be a letter addressed to the world issued in the name of the entire synod at the end of this year’s session.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Thursday was kind of a highlight day for me. Matteo had several times mentioned that he wanted to use the guitar for some things and Sr. Miriam who plays the cetra had as well, but I wasn’t sure how to work it in when the decisions were being made. I did accompany the woman singing <i>Nada Te Turbe</i> one day, and then accompanied a psalm another day, but Thursday I was tapped to play for the musical meditation after the reading, usually played on the cetra or else the organ. I don’t tell people often: I could sing in front of anyone without any problem but I am actually very nervous playing solo pieces on the guitar and do so rarely in public, though I practice pretty much every day. Well, this was not a time to be nervous, in front of 300+ cardinals, bishops and others, on live television being filmed to YouTube––and then the Pope shows up! My palms were sweaty, but I took a deep breath, and it came off flawlessly. With my little travel guitar that I have grown to love so much. To watch it later on YouTube and see the Holy Father with his eyes, closed listening was very moving. I was thinking of when I wrote that particular song when I was 19 years old sitting at a kitchen table of a rectory in Illinois, then turning it into an instrumental for an album I did in my cabin in Santa Cruz, and then practicing in the little kitchen in cell 20––and now here I was playing for the pope. As Bede always says, “It’s the little things.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And by the way, make sure Br Benedict hears this: Matteo told me this morning that the bishop of Naples said to tell the monk who played the guitar that he liked it a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But then we got an unexpected treat, which I cannot adequately describe. The sisters who we have been singing with, of the Congregation known as the Pie Discepole del Divin Maestro––The Pious Disciples of the Divine Master (that’s in the feminine, by the way––not <i>pii</i> <i>discepoli</i>) actually run the souvenir shop and BAR on the roof of St. Peter’s! (I know, right?) So after we were done singing, one of the sisters whisked us right past all the crowds, up an elevator to the first level inside Michelangelo’s dome, walking along the mosaics that line the walls. Looking up there are still more, and I was trying to imagine the amount of work it would take to install them! And then up to the roof of the basilica, at the level of the huge statues of the apostles. It’s very large up there, as you can imagine, and a lot going on! And we went into this long building that houses the bar and gift shop, past the storage room full of icons, rosaries, and papal knickknacks, to a little kitchen that they keep there for themselves and their workers. It was too cute. They pulled out all these treats and made us coffee and served us juices. And then of course, Miriam led us inside the cupola itself and up the long winding “corkscrew” staircase (320 stairs claims the website), in parts with a rope to hang on to, in the space between the inside of the cupola and the shell around it––not for claustrophobics!––to the very top where there is an observation deck with a breathtaking view. We all agreed it was an extraordinary experience. I didn’t have my phone, but I’ll try to get some pictures. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Once we got back down, we were on our own again, but our Synod badges (and our white habits, probably) gave us the ability to cut all the lines again through the throngs of people in the basilica and easily make our way back to our car. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Not much else… There is no dinner served here on Friday or Sunday night, so last night Emanule and I went for Vespers at Santa Cecilia’s, which is also a Benedictine monastery and had Vespers with the good ladies there, not knowing that it was the feast of the <i>ritrovamento del corpo di Santa Cecilia––</i>“the re-finding of the body of St. Cecilia” so the good ladies were all in procession and sang their hearts out. Then we found a wonderful little seafood restaurant in Trastevere. My room here at Sant’Antonio is actually only twice as wide as the bed, and only a few feet longer, with a skinny closet and one of these little tiny bathrooms the Italians are famous for with the shower over the toilet to conserve space. But I am enjoying it a lot and getting my treasured afternoon time for silence, reading and writing. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And practicing the guitar for the pope.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We actually have Monday and Tuesday off. I was thinking of taking little side trip to Florence, but I am loving the semi-stability of this time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Blessings on you all!<o:p></o:p></span></p><div><br clear="all" /><hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://F996AE48-91B3-4F38-9D7E-4D4223C704BF#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">[1]</span></span></span></a> <span style="background-color: white;"><a href="https://www.avvenire.it/chiesa/pagine/cartolina-dal-sinodo-strumenti-bibbia-preghiera-musica">https://www.avvenire.it/chiesa/pagine/cartolina-dal-sinodo-strumenti-bibbia-preghiera-musica</a></span><o:p></o:p></p></div><div id="ftn2"><p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="applewebdata://F996AE48-91B3-4F38-9D7E-4D4223C704BF#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">[2]</span></span></span></a><a href="https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/audiences/2023/documents/20231018-udienza-generale.html">https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/audiences/2023/documents/20231018-udienza-generale.html</a>.<o:p></o:p></p></div></div><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-28932642083894702152023-10-14T03:20:00.009-07:002023-10-14T03:24:45.722-07:00second week in Rome, the synod in full swing<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">13 october 23</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Back in Rome. As of today, it’s a month already since I arrived in Italy. Thanks be to God this has been a much more relaxed week than the first three! I didn’t even realize how tired I was until we had a day off on Monday. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There was one more notable happenstance before I left the Casentino to come down here. Each year the Italian Catholic magazine <i>Il Regno</i> holds a meeting at Camaldoli. This particular magazine was founded by the Congregation of the Priests of the Sacred Heart in 1956 as a source of thought and information about Christian inspired culture. It often deals with political issues and usually invites a prominent figure in church and/or politics. This year the guest was none other than the Vatican’s Secretary of State, Cardinal Pietro Parolin, who was to speak on “Europe as a Horizon of Peace.” I was doing my last conference at Poppi during his actual talk on Sunday, but he was also presiding at Mass and I really wanted to hear him speak, so Sr. Deborah drove me over to Camaldoli when I finished. He did indeed preside but Alessandro offered the homily, so I did not actually get to hear him speak, alas. I was sitting in choir with the other monks, basically right next to the good cardinal and couldn’t help but notice that throughout the liturgy he looked very tired or distant or detached––I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. He obviously would have a lot on his mind with the attack on Israel having just occurred. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Afterward we had lunch in the refectory of the monastery, with all the monks from the Sacro Eremo in attendance too. The first two tables had been pushed together, covered with a tablecloth, and set up very fancily for the Prior General and the guests of honor, cloth napkins, flowers, etc. I sat way in the back with the young guys from the Eremo. We were supposed to leave for Rome at exactly 1:30 so I had to slip out a little early. As I was trying to sneak by the head table Giuseppe was serving the after-dinner <i>vin santo</i> and he grabbed me by the arm wanting to introduce me to the cardinal––<i>il priore di New Camaldoli nella California</i>. As opposed to his demeanor at Mass he got up and was quite animated, wanted to talk about California and the music for the Synod. I was taken off guard a little. The only thing that threw me was he kept using the formal <i>lei</i> with me which I was supposed to use, of course, for him as well, but I kept slipping and using the <i>tu</i>, unaccustomed as I am. But he did not seem to mind. We Camaldolese are certainly brushing up against the top of the hierarchy these days.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday we had the day off so I kind of crawled into my shell and only came out to eat. Actually, that evening I went over to San Gregorio to say hello to the brothers there and have Mass and dinner with them. It’s quite a crowd there now with all the students back for the start of the school year, quite near the largest community in the congregation, and very international. Besides the Italians from Camaldoli, the three young Tanzanians who I met in 2021 are there now, John, Sylvester and Onesforo. I was surprised at how happy they were to see me, or that they remembered me at all. Then there is Adaikalam from India who has now begun his studies in Hebrew and Greek for this specialty in Scripture, and Fabian from Hildesheim. I think they are 13 monks plus three long-term guests––a young man from Spain who works as a tour guide and two other young Italian student, non-monastics––living with them. It was a fun evening seeing them all together.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Aside from that we have fallen into a nice pattern. Fabio from San Gregorio picks us up here at Sant’Antonio at 6:45 AM each day and we whisk (and I mean whisk; I hang on for dear life) through the streets of Rome and inside the Vatican walls, waving our Synod badges (<i>animazione liturgica</i>) past two different sets of security guards, and have a parking place right between the basilica and Paul VI audience hall. There is a surprising amount of activity back there, a real little city––and even there they drive very fast! Matteo meets us and we walk into the sacristy building which is attached to the basilica by a set of staircases and a long hall, through the sacristy itself (actually sacristies: cardinals have a separate one marked off for them), and into the basilica. It is not unusual for there to be several Masses going on or being prepared at the same time. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /><i>Caveat lector</i>: I’m about to write some disappointing things about St. Peter’s Basilica… <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The place really does feel like a giant museum. Not that I have the absolute best antennae for these things, but I get a sense of awe and splendor and might there, but rarely any sense of holiness or recollection. There is one huge statue after the other (and, as I keep pointing out to my younger brothers, not one with even the hint of a smile), one monument to great men after another, blocks and waves of marble everywhere, everything made large to make you feel small, and constant people milling about, custodians ever-present dusting or riding floor buffing machinery, picking up plastic bottles, barriers all over the place forbidding entrance here or there. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And the liturgies themselves have been very pedestrian, shall we say. First of all, these are supposed to be Masses for the Synod delegates, but very few show up, most days between about 25 and 40, some days a lot less, and we are in the Holy Spirit Chapel which could easily accommodate 500. There is the usual procession of priests, bishops and cardinals who sit a quarter mile away in the presbytery and every day a different cardinal presides (I think they have all been cardinals), sometimes in various languages or a mix of languages. (We’ve had French, English and Spanish besides Italian.) Our friends, four sisters from the congregation of <i>Pie Discepole</i>, are in charge of the music. Sr. Miriam, who also plays the <i>cetra </i>(zither) at the Synod prayers and who I had met when she was living at Poppi two years ago, put it all together in a booklet. I don’t know much of it, but I intuit that it’s stuff that would be used in a parish––or would have been used some time ago. We get there about 7 AM and spend the next half hour deciding what to do. Usually one of us monks sings or improvises the responsorial psalm from the ambo and Emanuele or Fabio play the organ All a little <i>a casaccio</i> for my sensibility. Often when the language is other than Italian there is nothing provided for people to join in so there is little or no response on the part of the assembly. And then all the clergy go processing out to some triumphal piece of organ music. It feels like a weird drama. That being said, some of the homilies have been good, I must say. Cardinal Tagle from the Philippines for instance was really wonderful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One day, Wednesday, was especially memorable. There was another, obviously more important, Mass going on somewhere else in the basilica and we were told that we could not use the organ until it was done. There was hardly anybody at our Mass anyway. Luckily, I had brought my guitar with me, and we were going to sing Bob Hurd’s “As the Deer Longs.” Well, apparently someone had seen me walk through the sacristy carrying my guitar over my shoulder and sent Matteo to tell me that playing the guitar was not allowed in the basilica. Though it should not be such a big deal, I have rarely felt so offended. I got over it (kind of) and we sang the first half of the Mass acapella, even the ostinato of “As the Deer Longs,” the Italian refrain with English verses over the top. Halfway through the Mass we got a thumbs up that we could use the organ, so we still got to end with a triumphal processional for the little line of priests, bishops, and cardinals. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There is no word in Italian for “underwhelming.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The prayers in the synod hall instead have gone wel</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">l and are much appreciated. Most days it’s just a hymn and three psalms, but Matteo has been asking us to add some other music here and there. Thursday was especially touching: a woman read the gospel in Arabic as the reading and then another woman sang the Taize</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Nada te Turbe</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">first in Spanish and then in Arabic. I accompanied her on the guitar. This week when all the attention has been focused on outrage, and rightly so, for the Hamas attacks on Israel, there is obviously also grave concern for the innocent people in the Gaza Strip being killed, wounded and displaced by the retaliation. (As I write, Israel has issued its evacuation warning for the north of Gaza, an impossible feat, and everyone is on tinter hooks waiting for the ground invasion which will simply wipe out the entire region.) The Holy Father called the pastor of the parish in Gaza and the patriarch of Jerusalem has tried to be a voice of reason, and we are all praying for the improbable––a measured response on the part of Israel.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Not that it makes it any worse or better, but often people forget how many Palestinian or just plain Arabic Christians there are. As a matter of fact, I stop often at a little <i>fruttivendolo</i> on my way home from the gym run by a guy from Egypt. There was Arabic chant playing in the background and I said how beautiful it was, assuming it was the Qur’an and it being Friday. He told me it was the Mass! I thought there might be some complaint that too much sympathy was being shown to the Palestinians, but no. I was disappointed to hear that someone complained, not that the Gospel had been read in Arabic but that it had been read by a woman. Sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have been surprised and touched by how many people are tuning in to the live stream from the States (I don’t know the link) and/or watching each day later on YouTube. That I know you can see via Vatican News. It was the first time we had used the guitar in the audience hall and unfortunately the sound guy did not do a good job of it and it was kind of boomy. Maybe it will be banned there too now…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I don’t think you can watch any of it on EWTN. I ran into a program the other day on YouTube, hosted by Raymond Arroyo, lead anchor for the network and also a Fox News contributor, just trashing the whole Synod in no uncertain terms. He had Cardinal Burke on as one of his guests. At one point one of the guests suggested that it was not a problem to be questioning the pope on this because it is like your mother is being attacked and you have a moral obligation to defend your mother, the Church. Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I spoke with Cardinal O’Malley again the other day. He came over and greeted me. I was delighted he remembered my name. He doesn’t think the Church is under attack. I also got to speak with Fr. James Martin, SJ yesterday. None of them reveal anything of what is actually said in the synod hall, but he did say that the conversations have been very deep and filled with disagreements. I say, “At least they are talking!” Trying to make the Church as pastorally inclusive as possible does seem to me to be a wonderful thing. Let’s ask the questions: “What if?” and “What about?” If we don’t get the answers we wanted, fine, but at least we have talked about it. Mr. Arroyo was complaining that conservatives were not invited. It is simply not true. There are ample conservative (orthodox, traditional) voices among the delegates who are speaking their mind very clearly, and every bishop’s conference got to vote for their representatives. Our American delegation is made up of at least two bishops who are known not to be favorable to Pope Francis. And Bishop Barron is here, and I am told has been very articulate. Bravo for Francis for not being afraid of the conversation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I just always worry about the people who feel un-invited, not welcome, or indeed pushed out of our churches. Who will feed them? Who will minister to them? Because “they are like sheep without a shepherd.” We can’t always be so self-referential. At times the only thing we can do is go out to them and do whatever we can for them where they are at. “You give them something to eat!” Jesus said. The Holy Father used a great image in his homily opening day. Jesus is always knocking at the door (the image from Revelation), but sometimes he is knocking from the inside, from inside of our churches, wanting to get out and be near the poor, the lost and the lonely.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Enough of my harangue. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Anyway, after we sing in the morning, we are pretty much free for the day. We make our way through a huge traffic jam back to Sant’Antonio. Emanuele is working on his dissertation up at the library at Sant’Anselmo each day. I have been getting to the gym every day this week and getting lots of time to read and write. I’m also arranging meetings with several people who are here in Rome: my old friend John Wong, OFM, who is the definitor for all of Asia for the order and travels extensively, is stationed here (We went for Indian food, which was quite a culture shock, meeting with my Malaysian friend from Singapore in Rome, eating Indian food); our friend and oblate Nate Bacon is here; Monday I am meeting a young priest from LA who is here studying at the Opus Dei seminary. Sr Maria Cimperman is here, as is Sr. Carol Marie Hemish who I know through the Composers’ Forum. They both want to meet for coffee, and Jim Martin too offered me a tour of the Jesuit Curia (!). I did go up to Sant’Anselmo the other day to see if I could greet Abbot Gregory Polan, an acquaintance and good friend of the community, but he was out of town. It’s fascinating: this time more than ever I feel like Rome really is a meeting place for the world, at least the Catholic one.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Our Federico is studying at PIMS––the <i>Pontificio Instituto di Musica Sacra, </i>and he wanted us to attend a concert there with him on Thursday, which Emanuele and I did. It was really wonderful, a young (27-year-old) Sardinian prodigy. That got us home pretty late that night. And then one last adventure on Friday: As I said, I had met our friend and oblate Nate Bacon the other day for coffee. He is part of the missionary group called Interchange that works with troubled youth. Currently he lives in Guatemala, where his wife is from and where Zacc visited and stayed for a few months in 2020. Nate did a sabbatical year here a few years back and is in Rome again right now translating for another missionary congregation. We had a wonderful visit and conversation and then he was expecting a friend to join him after we met. She showed up while I was still there, and we struck up a stimulating conversation too. Her name is Shaza, she is from Syria and work for the FAO––the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations whose building is within sight of San Gregorio. (As a matter of fact, every now and then the monks host one of their staff as a long-term guest.) She also has an organization here in Rome called “Hummus Town,” which is a catering business that aids Syrian refugees and gives them work. She invited Nate and I to a fund-raising event for Hummus Town last night. It was in a neighborhood somewhere south of here on the <i>terrazza</i>-roof of an apartment building. It was quit interesting. The most prominent language spoken was English but there was some Italian of course and lots of Arabic. The young people (teenagers and younger) all spoke what sounded to me like perfect American-accented English. Being a part of the UN, many of them go to American schools here, and Shaza’s kids all speak all three languages fluently. Nate had to take a Zoom meeting during the dinner and Shaza was busy hosting, so I was rather awkwardly left on my own for a bit of time. But Shaza came to the rescue and ensconced me with a very nice older Italian couple with whom I had a great conversation. I was afraid we were going to have trouble finding a taxi home, but they offered to drive Nate and I all the way back to the Aventino. But that was two late nights in a row still having to drive off to the Vatican at 6:45. So that’s enough excitement for the time being. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We’re all going to lunch at San Gregorio today and we’ll see what Sunday and next week brings.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Best to all. Tuesday the patriarch of Jerusalem has asked be a day of fasting and prayer for the Holy Land. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Let’s join it and never never never lose hope for peace––with justice.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi32ysykcTdGVEVoGVoMm2Fs5v0uAdf8pO6z56Ua0mCpF0lhPMmJ1-nItD57am60wru3P_EMtwn1jhuvJnFo9_exsHZtBomjtQT_MVOI93iajzodhKVc8eBdizy7LllqZmzC1bu8lPEj88QiVZ5aymu_mvURobLEVYoZtpWfV35LGcDLqOUlVhFLJsc5pxz" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1917" data-original-width="1438" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi32ysykcTdGVEVoGVoMm2Fs5v0uAdf8pO6z56Ua0mCpF0lhPMmJ1-nItD57am60wru3P_EMtwn1jhuvJnFo9_exsHZtBomjtQT_MVOI93iajzodhKVc8eBdizy7LllqZmzC1bu8lPEj88QiVZ5aymu_mvURobLEVYoZtpWfV35LGcDLqOUlVhFLJsc5pxz=w247-h329" width="247" /></a><br /><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The coro camaldolese in the Holy Spirit Chapel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5-K8ytyEgkkTs4_OQ4MeHrYUjfGbr_RpvS3zZqioDF1x1EQmpa7fcyJJRXnnmzg5HEVq1VRCNeAVsKDXCm610JTogBEymdXZ6xd3nuxIA_UKTq3qrvuTQvHgtV8de6UTQxQkr_ZTcrWb3_qtEcnb0cEErjzSrHOp3H9CED6m2rvg0JgpAWXqGqZMg5YoH" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5-K8ytyEgkkTs4_OQ4MeHrYUjfGbr_RpvS3zZqioDF1x1EQmpa7fcyJJRXnnmzg5HEVq1VRCNeAVsKDXCm610JTogBEymdXZ6xd3nuxIA_UKTq3qrvuTQvHgtV8de6UTQxQkr_ZTcrWb3_qtEcnb0cEErjzSrHOp3H9CED6m2rvg0JgpAWXqGqZMg5YoH=w232-h309" width="232" /></a></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /><br /></span><p></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-52331748752395517162023-10-07T09:02:00.006-07:002023-10-07T09:02:41.837-07:00the opening of the synod on synodality and mad dashes across rome<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Saturday, 7 oct 23</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Oh, my goodness. I don’t even know where to begin. What an eventful week it has been! Bro. Emanuele and I traveled down to Rome by train on Sunday afternoon. I do love that train trip, and I have really enjoyed getting to know Emanuele, who speaks decent English (and is fluent in French) but has been a very patient tutor along the way as well as a good travel companion. He and I and Thomas Mazzocco are all staying at Sant’Antonio with our nuns since there was no room for us with the monks at San Gregorio. It’s just as well. We have a little more liberty to come and go and it’s very comfortable. And of course the nuns are always eager to pour out a little TLC. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I took Monday as a day to myself. Following my instincts, I got up in the cool of the early morning, tucked my holy books in my backpack and headed out on a walk well before sunrise. The smell of coffee and fresh bakery was everywhere but I abstained for a good couple of hours. I walked along the Tiber, through Trastevere and made it all the way to St. Peter’s Square, looking resplendent in the early morning light, and already beginning to fill up with pilgrims cueing for a tour, and the vendors in the various trailers and stalls setting up for the day selling tchotchkes and postcards, food and drinks. I was looking for a nice church to sit in and do my morning readings and meditation but finding one that was either open or quiet proved difficult. I finally stopped at a little restaurant on the <i>Lungo Tevere</i> that wasn’t too crowded (though there was a radio squawking a not quite tuned in correctly to the station in the background) and treated myself to a pot of tea, a fresh squeezed orange juice and a <i>sfoglia</i> (a kind of turnover) with fruit filling. At 14 Euro, I won’t be doing that very often, but it gave me a chance to sit and read and write if not meditate. From there I found my way back up to Santa Sabina on the Aventine near the nuns, one of my few favorite places in Rome. Somewhere I learned that it is the oldest extant church in Rome, 4<sup>th</sup>-5<sup>th</sup>, century, set up in the oldest basilica style at a time when the church had just taken over that style from the empire (Empire!), with the “choir” in the middle. It’s very plain inside, unusual for Rome, though indications were that at one time it was covered with mosaics. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After a brief stop at home, I headed back out and took care of a bunch of errands I needed to accomplish to set myself up for the month I will be spending there, including getting a pass for the <i>metropolitano</i>, re-finding the gym I used during my sabbatical, and picking up supplies. Believe it or not I found almost everything I needed at Roma Termini––oat milk, honey, a new plug for my phone, my favorite magazine (<i>Internazionale</i>), and even glue for my fake fingernail (for playing the guitar) at a <i>profumeria</i>. That evening we ate with the nuns, and Thomas arrived from California, a wonderful reunion.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tuesday there was not much to do except that the three of us, with the addition of Bro. Fabio, who is living and studying at San Gregorio, had a rehearsal of our music for the next day. After a few weeks of feeling a little inadequate at Italian it was kind of a relief to be singing a few things in English and listen to them struggle a little with the pronunciation, though they do pretty well. The “th” is impossible for Italians, and how do you explain the difference between “breath” and “breathe”?! They totally impressed me with their knowledge of the old hymn “Abide With Me” which they sang for me in three-part harmony.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We were all quite nervous-excited about the next day, and decided to meet for breakfast at 6 AM and leave for the Vatican at 6:30. Since there were four of us we decided to splurge on a taxi just this once, since we knew that traffic was going to be impossible and Matteo wanted us there promptly at 7:30. All gussied up in our dress whites and ready to go, we got to the Via della Conciliazione by 7 and we were glad we did because getting inside the inner circle proved a little harder than we thought. Matteo was already inside and kept sending us text messages, but the guards were stalwart in spite of our badges that read “<i>animazione liturgica</i>” with our not-very-flattering photos. By this time we were joined by another of our confreres, Fabian, a young monk from Hildesheim who has just returned to Rome for another year of study. He somehow slipped through the barrier and was taunting us with his complacency from the other side. We finally made it in after walking all the way around the back of the basilica and entering near the Holy Office, where we met Matteo who promptly ushered us into the grand hall that leads to <i>la Scala Reale</i>, the royal staircase that I was told goes to the papal apartments.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">At the upper part of the hall were laid out table after table with stoles and chasubles for the priests, bishops and maybe a cardinal or two who were vesting for Mass. At the bottom of the hall were all of the delegates who were not vesting for Mass, which included of course lay people, women and non-Catholics. There was a lot of hubbub and a lot of people greeting each other, and a few well-known faces. My Italian brothers knew a lot of the people there, professors from France or Germany. Thomas’ new rector of JST in Berkeley was there. I kept looking for the Americans and I finally spotted one, Sr. Maria Cimperman, CSJ, who had given our retreat last year and was chosen as a facilitator for the Synod. She was delighted to see me and meet the brothers. Such a spark of optimism and joy! We were there for a good hour and then suddenly the summons came, and we were led in procession by about a dozen Franciscan acolytes and cross and candle bearers (it being the feast of St. Francis) out into St. Peter’s Square, where there was a huge crowd gathered, then down the main aisle and up onto the raised areas around the altar.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And suddenly the Holy Father appeared, pushed up a ramp on the far side in his wheelchair, and the Mass began. I must say, when the pope said the presidential prayers I noticed right away how weak and tired his voice sounded. But when he began to preach it took on life and energy. “The welcoming gaze of Jesus invites us too to be a hospitable Church, not with the doors closed. … The Church must be ‘an easy yoke’ that doesn’t impose weights and that repeats to everyone, ‘Come you who are tired and oppressed, come you who have lost the way or feel yourself far away, come you who have closed the door to hope.”’ He was referencing the gospel of the day, again in honor of St. Francis, Mt 11:25-30. “The Church is for you,” he said. “The Church with doors open to everyone, everyone, everyone.” That was the highlight, when he repeated that three times: <i>a tutti, tutti, tutti</i>, everyone, everyone, everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was surprised by how quickly the Mass went. At the end someone wheeled Pope Francis to the front of the cement platform and the crowd went wild with applause. I still get goosebumps remembering that. Afterward the crowd of us on the platform just kind of broke up rather unceremoniously.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We had some time to kill, so Fabian led us to the German seminary (and ancient fabled German cemetery) right there on the Vatican grounds, within sight of the walls of the basilica, a place that Pope Benedict like to slip over to every now and then. Fabian had a friend-schoolmate there, one Lennart Luhmann, a Protestant chap working on his doctorate at San Anselmo. Lennart treated us to cold drinks, coffee and fruit. He spoke Italian hesitatingly, so it was an interesting conversation, switching back and forth between German, English and Italian, something not at all uncommon at the Vatican I came to find out. We then headed over to the other side of the Vatican again where Matteo was lodging and waiting for us.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I should say a word about Matteo. He’s a monk of Camaldoli, the guestmaster, as a matter of fact. He’s also a friend of Mario Grech, </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">the Maltese cardinal who used to be the Pro-Secretary General of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> Synod of Bishops and then became </span>the Secretary General of this Synod. Cardinal Grech asked Matteo to plan and guide all the liturgies for the Synod. It was he who recruited me to supply the English psalms and hymns, and the rest of us to come and sing each day, as well as recruiting the sisters of the Congregation of <i>Pie Discepoli</i> to animate the music for Eucharist each day (which we may or may not help with) at St. Peter’s in the Holy Spirit chapel behind the main altar. Matteo seems to know everybody and be doing everything, including helping the pope find the right page in his book and acting as MC for almost everything, quietly behind the scenes, running here and there. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Matteo was staying at the <i>Domus Romana Sacerdotalis</i> (you can look it up online) just a block or so away from the Vatican itself. He had made reservations for all of us for <i>pranzo</i> that day, and that was a fascinating experience. In the foyer, in the <i>sala da pranzo</i> itself, swarming with priests, bishops, cardinals, all in a very relaxed state. (I did see one Sister, most likely a lunch guest.) While at the lunch we got approached a number of times, as we did on the street, by people asking us what order we were, not recognizing the habit. (The cincture on the outside throws everyone off.) Some thought we were canons regular. A very friendly German-speaking man approached and wanted to talk and talk with me. I found out he was a Franciscan from Austria and knows David Steindl-Rast very well. Another theologian, a Fr. Giles from Ottawa Canada asked to sit with us since we had a space open at the table. They both spoke fine English but kept switching back to Italian, which I found interesting. Fr. Giles is in Rome as a theological consultant and had some very interesting insights into the intellectual background of the Synod. He also knows Bishop Barron quite well, having lived with him in Paris when they were both students there. We had not yet caught sight of Barron, though he was there in Rome somewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we headed over to the Paul VI audience hall for our major contribution of the day, the real opening event of the Synod. We had a good long time to wait yet, and had all the usual problems with sound technicians and placement, etc. I walked around looking at all the names at the tables set up throughout the hall, which were on little computer tablets pads attached to a bank of headphones, I assume for instant translation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But the surprising thing was that about a half an hour before we began, when there was hardly anyone in the hall, suddenly the pope got wheeled in and was being pushed around the hall, as if he was checking on all the preparations and greeting all the organizers. Of course, a line formed to greet him. I would have left him to his peace but the others wanted to greet him and so we did. He didn’t seem overimpressed with us, but at least I can say I have shaken his hand twice now.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then came the opening prayer, which we led musically––the <i>Veni Creator Spiritus</i>, “Let the Word Make a Home in Your Heart” to introduce a liturgy of the Word, a psalm in Italian between the readings, and a closing hymn. There was some trouble with the microphones at first (there is no acoustic whatsoever in that hall), so the first verse of “Let the Word” was a little muffled, but it picked up after that, and it was very moving to sing it and to hear it being sung back by the Holy Father and the rest of the assembly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The other guys left after the service, but Emanuele and I stayed on because Matteo wanted Emanuele to play the organ for the closing Marian antiphon. That was the only time we will be allowed into the assembly after we sing, and we heard them begin their work. They were addressed first by the Holy Father himself. He was sitting at the head table with five others. He had three quotes from Maximus the Confessor printed up and had had them passed out to everyone. Other than that, he certainly seemed to be speaking without notes, very spontaneously, about what he hoped for from this synod. We then heard from Cardinal Grech, then from another rather jolly German Jesuit bishop, giving some marching orders. The latter mentioned the elephant in the room when he said that the bishops who had not taken part in the synodal process thus far in their own dioceses (and there were undoubtably a few in the room) might have a hard time with the process in the next days, the process of listening with open minds and hearts, without preconceived responses. We then heard from a Polish bishop about his experience with the synodal process in his diocese, and then, interestingly enough, from an Indian lay man, a catechist, I believe, from the small community of Catholics in the United Arab Emirates. What a unique voice to hear!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There was a break between the opening prayer and the general assembly, during which time I met several people, including our Austrian Franciscan friend again. That’s when I discovered he was actually the archbishop of Salzburg. I also took the liberty of introducing myself to Cardinal Wilton Gregory with the excuse being that we know people in common, our Br. Hugh, OCSO, and Sr. Barbara Long, OP, about both of whom he was delighted to hear. (Sr. Barbara had been his seventh and eighth grade teacher.) I was walking back from the bathroom at one point right behind Cardinal Sean O’Malley, who I admire greatly, and I took the liberty of speaking to him too. I wasn’t sure how to call out to him, so I just said, “Fr. Sean!” And he turned around and we had a really nice conversation. He’s taller than I thought, and he has very intense kindly eyes with which he is not afraid to hold your gaze in the silence. He was in his cardinal-red finery that day, but he showed up the next morning back in his Franciscan habit.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">What else can I tell you? After the event broke up for the night, Emanuele and I made a mad dash across the piazza to the Metro station at Ottaviani a few blocks away to catch the train home. Running through the streets of Rome and riding on the super-crowded subway in full white habit may not be the most unusual sight there, but it was kind of madcap funny anyway. The nuns had put something aside for us for dinner and then it was time to pack up and get ready for the next day. All in all, though I was soaked in sweat and pretty tired, it had been a glorious day and I feel so honored to have been a part of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The next day, Thursday, the four of us packed into a car this time and assisted as we could at the early Mass in the Holy Spirit Chapel at St. Peter’s. Kind of an underwhelming affair, not many were there, a long line of bishops and cardinals far far away from the assembly in the presbytery, music from another Mass resounding through the cavernous building. Matteo again had led us through to a parking place right by Paul VI hall and then through the labyrinthine halls of the sacristy building and out into the church itself. (He told us he had been there in the basilica early that morning all by himself! That must have been an interesting experience.) And then we led the first of many morning prayers to come (actually Terce) back in the audience hall. Everyone was a lot more dressed down now, even the bishops and cardinals in plain clerics instead of the purple and red. Thomas acted as spokesperson, explaining to the assembly how we would sing, and then we sang, my hymn “O Breathe on Me O Breath of God” from “Lord Open My Lips,” then two psalms in Italian and another in English. I must say, it’s a pretty moving experience to have one’s own music there in the heart of the church sung by these representatives from all over the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After that another mad dash to Roma Termini to catch a train since Emanuele and I were heading back up north to Arezzo, then he to Camaldoli and I to Poppi where I am currently giving a retreat at our nuns’ monastery. I can write something about that later. I have some more notes about Wednesday, but I left them back in Rome. Maybe I’ll add something more later. For now, I’ll post this and I’m off to give a conference. Tomorrow we head back to Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #202122; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Every blessing from the Casentino, where the view out of every window looks like a painting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-69208391673809911892023-10-01T02:10:00.001-07:002023-10-01T02:10:10.791-07:00the visitation ends<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Saturday, 30 september 23, St Jerome</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After the morning of finance meetings, we had a lighter afternoon. Alessandro wanted to show us the <i>azienda agricola</i>(basically “the farm”<i>––laborotorio</i> (the laboratory where the cremes and cosmetics are made,<i> la cantina antica e nuova</i>(the new and old cellar),<i> le case coloniche</i> (the houses that Camaldoli owns) and the <i>Mausolea</i> (there is no translation for that word that I can find, but it is <i>not</i> a mausoleum). The last first.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s got a complicated history. Originally it was called the <i>musoleo</i>. Somewhere along the line it became feminine, <i>la musolea</i>, and then morphed into its current named. I read all about it in the collection of don Ugo’s historical essays a few years back. It is basically a large villa about five miles from Camaldoli. Though the lands around seem to have been given to the monks as early as the end of the 11<sup>th</sup> century, I believe the first iteration of the villa itself was built in the 13<sup>th</sup>century, mainly as a place to house the folks who did all the farm work, and took care of the vineyards and the laboratory for the Farmacia. The current version only comes from the 15<sup>th</sup> century (!), built by the famous prior general Pietro Delfini, a humanist who wanted the monks (the cenobites at least) to be involved in rigorous manual labor on the land. At one time the Prior General actually lived there, back when such ecclesial positions were high in society. At another point during the suppression in the late 19<sup>th</sup> century under the Savoy government some monks lived there as well until the hermitage and monastery were re-opened in the 1930s. A few monks continued to live there until late in the 20<sup>th</sup> century, including the noted scholar and liturgist Cipriano Vagaggini. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The last group to use it was called <i>La Grande Via</i>, led by a well-known Dr. Franco Berino and Enrica Bortolazzi. The aim of their program was to “encourage health, wellbeing and longevity, prevent chronic illnesses and early aging and help re-establish a state of health in people hit by chronic illnesses associated with incorrect lifestyles.” (Rough translation from their website.) I visited them once and was quite impressed with their work. They have been gone for about a year and now the place is empty, and Alessandro is hoping to do something new with it, a retreat center or <i>agroturismo</i> of some sort. It’s a marvelous place, very large inside. It has got two huge spaces which were used for yoga and meditation in its last iteration, more than twenty rooms for sleeping, several conference halls, an industrial sized kitchen and a refectory, two little chapels, etc., etc. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we saw the antica cantina, the old wine cellar full of centuries-old wine barrels, now empty, that seemed to go on and on. (I, of course, was on the lookout for my old enemy, <i>i</i> <i>pipistrelli–</i>the bats, which I was warned might be there. They thought it was rather silly that I am terrified of bats.) We then saw the <i>la nuova cantina</i> which is not a cellar at all but a handsome sturdy metal building where the wines are made. Mario was particularly excited since he seems to know wines pretty well. He got very enthused when we got to the <i>spumante</i>. (He might have been waiting for a free sample, but none was offered, alas.) I was entertained to find that they sell wine in a box now and on the package it says, in English, “wine in a box” which seemed somewhat disappointing compared to the normal florid Tuscan lexicon. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We had been led on this whole tour by a young man named Lucca who has charge of the entire scope of the <i>azienda agricola</i>, and he was in the meantime pointing out the lands around us that are part of Camaldoli still, in the place mostly vineyards. Then we got in cars, crossed the road and drove up a long unpaved road to see the stalls where all the cows are kept. (To my vegetarian <i>ahimsa </i>horror, we raise young calves specifically for <i>vitello–</i>veal, which I think is heinous, but I held my tongue.) And then on up the road to visit all the houses that we own, in greater or lesser states of repair. All the way up the long road Alessandro kept saying, “This is our land” and “These are our fields” and “Those over there are our houses.” It’s quite a lot to manage and of course in these times of economic hardship for the congregation he is very intent on making the best use of it all. Some of the houses have had or have semi-permanent occupants. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One of the apartments is now inhabited by an elderly Brazilian woman, Elena, who I had met two years ago at Poppi, where she was living with the nuns at the time. Now she is on her hermit own, living next to a little chapel dedicated to San Martino that she maintains and where she also does her handwork of creating weavings on a loom.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">On the way back, Alessandro asked if we wanted some gelato. I hope I didn’t answer too quickly. It was just the treat I needed after a long day, in the little town of Soci.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Sunday, 1 oct 23<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wednesday and Thursday were somewhat uneventful. We had personal meetings in the mornings and group meeting with the brothers from the Eremo in the afternoon. By now I was finally over my jetlag (!) and had established a pretty good routine. Just like at home, I skipped <i>colazione</i> with the brothers, and headed out for a run or walk right after morning prayer. We were delighted that so many brothers came for personal meetings. For various reasons we thought that here at the monastery there would not have been so many. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">By then we had also already begun to write up our reports. The ones for the initial visits at the separate communities I had done a good draft and then Mario would <i>lavare i miei panni</i>–“wash my clothes,” a Florentine euphemism for cleaning up your Italian and we would add together other thoughts. I must say I was, and Mario as well, very careful with every word, particularly not in my own native tongue. I always think that setting just the right tone is so important. I kept thinking of the line from the letter to the Ephesians: <i>speaking the truth with love</i>. If it isn’t true, it’s not really loving. But at the same time, if it isn’t loving, it ain’t really true. And the other image I kept offering Mario was of a mirror. I felt like our job is simply to hold a mirror up to the community, with no judgement. And if possible, any recommendations would come from themselves. There were some difficult things that brothers wanted said and I think we addressed them appropriately. But I was nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then there was an additional report to write up for the two places together. The brothers here do not like to refer to the “two communities” or even “the communities” of Camaldoli. They prefer (or at least some of them do) to refer to themselves as one community in two places. That is pretty hard to convey. Mario had a really fine idea for that one drawn from his background in ecology and forestry studies and asked if he could start writing the draft for that one, which I was only too happy to concede. (Normally, it’s the first visitator who writes the reports.) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I was a little nervous presenting the <i>relazione</i> to the brothers at the monastery since there was a little contention up at the Eremo, and we had some even harder things to address down there, and some other suggestions that I knew might not go over well. I read it out to the assembled brothers Friday afternoon and my nervousness almost got the better of me. I was tripping over words and got kind of slavishly attached to the written text. At one point someone corrected my pronunciation of a word––in mid-sentence!––which I had not actually mispronounced, and that threw me off a little more, but I recovered and brought it in for a landing. To my relief it was received very well, and we had a nice discussion. There had been a long pause and I said that if there was nothing else to say we could go. But Alessandro said, “<i>Aspetta un attimo. Ci vuole un po tempo per gli italiani</i>––Wait a minute. It takes a little time for the Italians.” And Mario said “<i>Il fuoco Italiano è lento ad accendersi ma lungo a bruciare</i>––Italian fire is slow to light but it burns long.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Alessandro had offered to take us out to dinner again Thursday or Friday night, but we had to sadly but wisely refuse. We wound up spending a good deal of time after dinner (from about 8:00 PM on, not at all my best time in any country) working on both reports but especially the last one for the combined monks. Mario did a wonderful job with the draft, very poetic. We went through and worked on the practical things together, suggestions and recommendations. Only once all week did we say, “We strongly urge the community to…” and refer to it as “urgent and necessary.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I don’t think it is any breach of protocol to share with you Mario’s introduction. I spent many hours hiking through and marveling at this amazing forest of fir trees these past two weeks, so this especially resonated with me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">During the visit to the Hermitage and the Monastery of Camaldoli, several brothers compared the community to a centuries-old plant in which lifeblood flows. This reference demonstrates the close bond that still exists between the monks of Camaldoli and the forest in which they live. The relationship between the monks and the forest is an integral part of the Camaldolese-Romualdine experience. Saint Romualdo himself chose the dense forest as a privileged and favorable place for contemplation and prayer. His successors codified the methods of interaction between the monks and the forest which gives them hospitality, protection and means of subsistence, into their constitutions and rules of life. The monks contemplated the soaring white fir trunks which invite us to raise our gaze and praise towards the sky. For this reason, they begin to plant more and more fir trees. They made it a pure, homogeneous forest, without other tree species.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That fir forest has survived to this day. But the pure cultivation of silver fir does not renew itself naturally, because the plants are too dense and there is not enough light for other plants to grow. The renewal of the forest requires care and work and necessarily involves the clear cutting of a part of the forest and the planting of new plants. This is why today the management of the forest by the relevant parties is changing. Not it’s a matter of encouraging the possibility for other tree species (beeches, maples, hornbeams, oaks) to put down roots and grow together with the silver firs. The greater biodiversity allows each of the species, including the fir, to be reborn naturally through the seeds that fall to the ground. Different plants create a richer and more vital ecosystem that favors the renewal of all species, even if at the expense of the concept of purity, that is, of a certain order and geometric perfection of the forest and individual plants.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s the magic phrase that somehow ties in also with the upcoming Synod on Synodality: “a richer and more vital ecosystem that favors the renewal of all species, even if at the expense of the concept of purity.” And then we ended with this paragraph which I thought was very strong, tying into both the Synod and the theme for our upcoming Chapter––“Being Present to the Presence in the Present.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The richness of our Congregation consists in its diversity and flexibility, which gives us a certain availability to the Spirit, and allows us to respect each person with their needs and their personal journey. This diversity is to be appreciated and celebrated. There is always the danger of absolutizing one’s way of living Camaldolese monasticism. There are different ways of being a monk, a Camaldolese: hermit, cenobite, missionary... However, what unites us, like the roots of plants intertwined in the humus of our forest––our tradition, the liturgy and Lectio Divina, the silence and sobriety of the cell, and above all the search for God––is greater than what differentiates us from one another. If a brother lives the Camaldolese charism in a different way from mine, that should not be perceived as a threat, but as an opportunity to exercise magnanimity, in the unity of the personal and communal vocation of our three-fold good. The world around us, as well as the Church, needs to learn this synodal attitude, this way of being “present”: celebrating, embracing and encouraging diversity. We Camaldolese monks are a model of this, and we wish to continue to be more and more.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">This time I was patient waiting for the Italian fire to light and it burned very nicely without any argumentation for a good hour. Several of the brothers expressed their appreciation for the hard work we had done and for both the tone we had set and the mirror we had held up. We had a wonderful meal with everybody and then––Whew!––what a sense of relief!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I had a little more to do yet last night––both teach my month Zoom session and take part in another Zoom conference for our friend Douglas Christie from LMU, but that was kind of fun after all that other work. And fun to do it form here. Thanks God my cell has really good intenet. And it was nice to see familiar friendly faces on the former, and Bede as well as Paula Huston and Elbina on the latter––and speak in English! The only downside was that I had to miss pizza night…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Today several have left already for Rome so morning prayer was somewhat more muted than usual. I got in my last morning run and treated myself to some <i>schiacciata</i> at the <i>schiacciateria</i> across the street. <i>Schiacciata</i> is a specialty in this region, kind of like a think pizza dough or a smashed (<i>schiacciare</i> actually means “to smash”) <i>focaccia</i> with various toppings. I had a big piece filled with chocolate. (Hey, I earned it!) I can hear the Sunday crowds, tourists and pilgrims, right outside my window as I type, a really lovely sound. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After Mass and <i>pranzo</i>, Bro. Emanuele and I will take the train down to Rome, where we will eventually meet the other brothers and begin our preparations for the Synod. Thomas Mazzocco arrives tomorrow from Berkeley. It will be so good to see him. But first… I learned another new word––<i>letargo: </i>I am going to go into hibernation–<i>letargo</i> for a couple of days.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Ciao</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> for now…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-41033855076998637532023-09-27T21:09:00.004-07:002023-09-29T00:11:53.480-07:00second week of visitation so far<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Wednesday, 27 september 23</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I have had a hard time remembering what day it is… One sweet thing is that Vigils has been suspended for the entire week of the Visitation so I have these luscious extra couple of hours to myself in the early morning.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">So we started out the Visitation in an interesting way that sort of happened on the fly. Giuseppe, who is the novice master here and is also serving as vice-prior pro temp, suggested that we have an <i>incontro</i> with the men in formation. They usually get referred to as <i>i giovani</i>, the young guys, but I have a tendency to avoid that term. Some of the are indeed young (the youngest being 21, one of two Tanzanians) but the others are well into their 30s, 40s and 50s. Even if they are in the first stages of formation, several of them have a good deal of life experience behind them as well as some experience of religious life in two cases. We were ten in all, with Mario and I, a group that included a Brazilian (Edmario) and the two young Tanzanians, Erasto and Stefano (Ste-FAN-o, he pointed out to me) who have only been here a few months and who, besides being shy, are still just beginning to learn Italian.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That’s the first noticeable thing, and toward the end I remarked to the whole group, how fortunate they are to have this international and intercultural experience, and how that makes Camaldoli such a unique place. There are two guys from India here in Italy right now as well, Adaikalam, who is now down in Rome beginning his study in Latin and Greek, and another older one, Rippon, just visiting for a few weeks; and there had been the two guys from China until recently here as well. For a small congregation to have representatives from India, China, Africa, South America and little ol’ USA is pretty impressive.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Mario and I each introduced ourselves and then went around the table and asked each of them to tell us a little about themselves too. That’s when we got to see the full array of life experiences. We then asked about the formation program in general, and honed on in a few points that had been raised: the personalized approach to formation (I taught them the term “cookie cutter” and they taught me <i>stampino</i>, which is what we Camaldolese are definitely not), we talked about holistic spirituality (which means a little something different to them than it does to the guy who wrote <i>Spirit Soul Body</i>), the sapiential approach (Bruno Barnhart’s name was brought up with reverence), and the experience of living at the hermitage instead of the monastery (they each get some periods there during formation, and one, Giuseppe, lives there now during simple vows). I was afraid it would be stilted and tedious but it was anything but. They gave us a lot of confirmation to put in our final report.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We also began with our personal encounters on Saturday and Sunday mornings. My old friend Fede took me for a nice run on Sunday afternoon and told me all about his academic adventure. He is doing his degree at the <i>Istituto Ponteficio di Musica Sacra</i> in Rome, and his first year has been full of piano lessons and semiology studies, participation in choirs as well as conducting lessons. From the latter I got a great maxim: <i>Il tuo</i> <i>gesto è già musica, il tuo respiro già suono</i>–“Your gesture is already music, your breath is already sound.” On the way out he told me all about the history he is learning about the origins of the notation of Gregorian chant. Pretty impressive, and of he is very passionate about it. I asked him what he might do with all this (he has a background in rock n’ roll and is a very talented guitarist and singer) and he wasn’t quite sure. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Italians are pretty brilliant at preserving the past, as evidenced also by the amazing new library/archive here at the monastery which has won a few architectural prizes. But of course none of us monks want to live in a museum, as Robert used to say. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say <i>none</i> of us, but certainly the Prior General, Mario, Fede, and I don’t. I find myself reflecting on that a lot when I am here in Italy, so deeply rooted in history but perhaps at times so entrenched in it that it’s difficult to move forward. I think that is what is so attractive and perhaps can be so annoying about us Americans: we have this great forward movement to us, openness and a “can do” spirit, and yet we can be a little shallow when it comes to a sense of the long arc of history––languages, literature, philosophy, culture, tradition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I must admit that I get a little apocalyptic at times and ask myself, “Why bother? The planet might be uninhabitable in a few years or Russia might unleash an atomic war and blot us all off the planet (or Donald Trump might get re-elected and take away NPR and put all of us liberals in concentration camps).” And yet the more I read about the upcoming Synod and the Holy Father’s push to be in conversation with the modern world so as to keep the Church relevant and engaged, the more I get energized. The underlying question I have rolling on my mind like a drone is “What does the church and the world need of us monks right now, and what is the best way to live on the planet and prepare for tomorrow?” I guess that is the questions that has been rolling around in me for over twenty years and part of the underlying motivation for my ten years in Santa Cruz. The answers that come through the fog are slightly different at 65 years old in 2023 than they were at 44 in 2002, and even more subtle.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Thursday, 28 september 23<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The week has been quite full. Monday Giuseppe, the acting vice-prior of the community (the vice-prior for the last six years was named bishop of a diocese in Sardinia and ordained the same weekend I arrived in Italy), gave a very comprehensive report on the community, and of course a discussion opened up. We ended with an image from Mario that we didn’t have enough time to explore: the sap that runs through the branches of Camaldoli. What is it? We hope to return to that. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Tuesday morning we had a two hour meeting with the financial manager of Camaldoli in the administrative office. Thanks to ten years of looking at financial reports and FAB meetings and the patient tutoring of Jeri, once I got some of the vocabulary down (<i>utile</i>, doesn’t mean “useful,” it means “profit”; <i>mutuo</i> doesn’t mean “mutual”; it means “loan”) I knew how to run the columns and do the numbers. The FAB would have been proud of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s no secret that these have been hard years for Italy in general and for Camaldoli specifically. Besides Covid (you may remember that Italy was hit early and hard), the war in Ukraine has affects here that we do not feel in the US, particularly fuel but also grain and other food stuffs. Besides that, the <i>Antica Farmacia</i> lost a huge customer from Korea for its creams that brought in up to $700,000 a year. So big decisions have to be made and, like us, they are looking at ways to bring in more income as well as looking at all the expenses. One thing that the motherhouse has that we do not is that it is supporting dependent houses, the foundations in Brazil and Tanzania, besides some significant financial help it has offered to a few of our other communities. Kind of like a parent waiting for his or her children to grow up, stand on their own two feet and maybe pay back a little.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After the meeting with the financial manager we had another two hours with all those responsible for income producing activities––the <i>liquorificio</i> that makes the famous <i>laurus </i>and<i> </i>all the other liqueurs, the small but hardy bookstore, the <i>laboratorio</i> that makes the creams, the <i>foresteria</i> (guest house) which has seen a real surprising decline in profit over the last five years, and also the <i>farmacia</i> in general, which the Prior General himself is overseeing and for which he has been actively pursuing a new line of perfume. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Later Alessandro asked me if I followed everything or if I was tired. I admitted that at a certain point it was like hypnosis; all the words just sort of blurred into a drone, which made him laugh. But four hours discussing finances was a real onslaught, I must admit. Mario is pretty good with numbers and ideas, so I let him carry the ball. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Giuseppe has graciously suspended Vigils this whole week of the Visitation, for which I have never been so relieved! So I’m gonna post this and get in a little stretching and breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Bless you all!<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-61940690699246839842023-09-23T00:11:00.010-07:002023-09-23T12:50:10.456-07:00the first week of visitation<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">22 september 23<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It’s hard to believe I have only been here in Italy a week, but such is the case. I arrived at a hot and humid Rome last Friday early afternoon, an uneventful direct overnight flight from San Francisco. Our old friend Mario Zanotti, now stationed at San Gregorio in Rome and my fellow visitator, met me at the airport and whisked me to the monastery. I was feeling pretty grimy after the long flight, and I did not want to sleep, so I put on my walking shoes and took a good walk, my favorite itinerary, up to Roma Termini, around Santa Maria Maggiore, Via Cavour, etc. Also a chance to practice my Italian with some merchants, buying a <i>panino</i> and a <i>spremuta</i> at the station. Then back to San Gregorio, shower, evening prayer with the brothers. Only a small group there now for the summer season but the students are starting to return already. Our oblates, friends (and employees) Louise and Gabe Quiroz were in Rome for the Congress of Benedictine Oblates at Sant’Anselmo, and Friday night they treated George and I to a wonderful meal in Trastevere. I spent Saturday walking again, reading and writing, letting my soul catch up with my body. Then Sunday, after a nice morning run around the Colosseum, we had Mass and <i>pranzo</i> and it was time for Mario and me to drive to Camaldoli where we arrived just before <i>cena</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I am here in an official role as the Visitator of our mother house, the dual community of the monastery and hermitage of Camaldoli. Normally members of the Consiglio Generalizio, the Prior General’s three assistants, do the visitations to all the houses around the world, but two special visitators are elected for the mother house, since it is the Prior General’s own abode. That honor-duty fell to Mario and me this time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Italians observe a little more ceremony around the visitations than we do. Monday morning we met with the Prior General and he offered us a schema of the days ahead, how we might proceed. Then, as of pranzo that day, he, in a sense, steps down as prior of the community and the 1<sup>st</sup> Visitator (me, this time) steps in for all ceremonial roles. I pray the opening prayer at lunch and decide when lunch is going to end. They wait for me to signal when to enter the church in procession and when to leave at the end of prayers. It all felt very strange at first, unseating the Prior General, but I got used to it quickly. It’s not very much different from what I do at home, and Alessandro is as always very gracious.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday afternoon we had our first <i>riunione</i> with all the monks, including those from the Sacro Eremo who came down for that purpose. Again I had to open the meeting with a few shorts remarks, then the word fell to Alessandro to give his presentation of the community over the last six years. As always, his remarks were very global in their perspective, the state of the world and the state of the Church as well as the state of the community and congregation. The floor was open for discussion of what he had brought up. Not too many spoke but enough so that it was not uncomfortable. We then presented the schema for the week ahead, and that’s when I got to see the Italians at their most characteristic. I could barely follow the discussion, arguing about how many meetings there would be, when and if the two communities should meet together (you could see the polemics arise between the hermits and the cenobites!), what ought to be discussed, etc. etc. In the end it was decided that we would re-write the schema. This was all new to me since I have never done a vistation before. Mario has had some experience, so I let him carry the load.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then we had Mass with Vespers with me preaching. I find that to be one of the most nerve-wracking challenges––to preside and preach at Mass not only in a different place but in a different language, being so at ease doing so in my own. Of course I had everything written out and had gone over the missals countless times to make sure I know where the prayers were. It went fine. A big festive meal followed with all the monks from both communities again, and then the next day, Tuesday, we headed up to the Sacro Eremo.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The Visitation at the Sacro Eremo, I must say, went very well. It was nice to get started on such a good note. The vice-prior, Alberto, gave his opening remarks. As always, he was brief and to the point, every word weighed and poignant. We then opened the floor for discussion. It took a few minutes, but pretty soon a pretty lively discussion took place. We were to deal with certain topics along the way––liturgy, <i>Lectio Divina</i>, hospitality, the economy––one at a time. Having never done a visitation before may have been to my benefit since I had no preconceived notions of how they should flow. But every community meeting we held went pretty much the same way: a topic was introduced by someone, and then the guys just talked. At the end several of them said how different this was from other visitations and that they liked it a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">After that first meeting we had a bit of a scare. Several of us noticed that Alberto’s voice was a little odd, almost as if he was half asleep, kind of slurring his words a bit. After the meeting while walking to his cell––thankfully someone was with him––suddenly he started dragging one foot and was not able to move half of his face. An ambulance was called, and he was carted down to the monastery where a helicopter whisked him off to a hospital near Florence. He had indeed suffered a minor stroke, which they think was due to a blood clot resulting from a surgery he had last summer. Fortunately, he recovered rather quickly but they kept him two nights to make sure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Alberto is often described as a living saint, so there was great concern. I think he’s an amazing guy; he loves life at the Eremo and works hard to protect it, and yet he is very open to other expressions of the life as well. He is soft-spoken but I find him also to be fearless in saying what he thinks. He has very intense eyes and a very long beard. One of my favorite moments of the week was when he was talking about another monk who died some years ago who used to give the young guys a good piece of advice when they complained about not enough silence and solitude. <i>Se vuoi silenzio, stai zito</i>––“If you want silence, shut up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We had individual meetings with the monks each afternoon, and again I am thankful to say that many signed up for them and they were wonderful encounters. Thursday afternoon I began to write up our <i>relazione</i>, our report to the community, as is our due as visitators, which we were then to read to the community at the end. My aim was to keep it short (even as the Prior General had encouraged me to do) and just reflect back what we had heard. I did my draft and sent it to Mario and then Friday morning we worked together on the final version, adding some things and trying to get every word right. I was a little nervous about a few things and had him change one sentence just before we printed copies for everyone. The other tense part of this, of course, is that the Prior General is present for all of this since he is technically the prior of both houses, though the vice priors ideally run things. So if there is any hint of criticism it could be seen as criticizing the Prior General. And if you know our Prior General, Alessandro, you will know that he is a force to be reckoned with. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We were both very pleased with the report and a really fine discussion opened up again, and I think it ended well. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The last thing we told them was that it</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> been a joy to find a community so at peace with one another, and such a welcoming environment. These are the three words that we heard from then that we fed back to them as a mirror of their communitarian identity: discretion, peace, and brotherhood.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">We packed up and headed down to the monastery in the early evening and then Alessandro took Mario and I out for a wonderful dinner at a local restaurant last night. I didn’t even realize how much I needed a little break after a pretty intense week, and we had a great time together, not talking “business” at all. It was nice to see Alessandro relaxed, laughing and enjoying himself. He is carrying quite a load. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Today begins the visitation here at the monastery, a very different environment and climate. We have a meeting with the men in formation this morning and then the beginning of our personal interviews this afternoon. I’m also in the meantime doing laundry…<o:p></o:p></span></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-3622932474591944702021-09-19T01:40:00.004-07:002021-09-19T01:42:07.216-07:00ancora di più qualche foto<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few more pics of this happy place before I leave...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQV2SXNZgp9jqJewIDlyfp1j6TGiktqXHnAffuAt1ckxshJxJUuIqzxHIM3Re6FSbHtWSwBJmLg5KDlte7JdrSmZHaonB6mhVmKW6XARjmCEhm-90xShEvsrkOoyzEoKpjGntafWKht4T/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQV2SXNZgp9jqJewIDlyfp1j6TGiktqXHnAffuAt1ckxshJxJUuIqzxHIM3Re6FSbHtWSwBJmLg5KDlte7JdrSmZHaonB6mhVmKW6XARjmCEhm-90xShEvsrkOoyzEoKpjGntafWKht4T/w302-h402/IMG_0723.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here you can see how the monastery is tucked </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">right into the foot of the castle. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ayxnU-DH8f-DvfSnZKIhNSXPCeswYgKiRC_r4ZDphtXvVVqIKuzie19VgY95oGo-0dGA5N6A00JK6Scnb9Wi27Yeu5vMMxV7lKhCaLGJJzOLsrSzoNFiblXrf7mYyHNW4WsDvjJa6SVp/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ayxnU-DH8f-DvfSnZKIhNSXPCeswYgKiRC_r4ZDphtXvVVqIKuzie19VgY95oGo-0dGA5N6A00JK6Scnb9Wi27Yeu5vMMxV7lKhCaLGJJzOLsrSzoNFiblXrf7mYyHNW4WsDvjJa6SVp/w315-h420/IMG_0713.jpg" width="315" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The cumulus over the church in the deep blue sky. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Those bells make quite a racket.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDR_vVEUIeWWa61-6FbpjVXo7bGCfKtf0qI57xUEURmyae6OQDR6qaZZOPhelbPi7Es_X1KIqW-AjEdQQsotbhIZjVrtkKfErzFjetwuBYMTAzocq7FswQNEVFikAJ10O4gcDzWKACP0h/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDR_vVEUIeWWa61-6FbpjVXo7bGCfKtf0qI57xUEURmyae6OQDR6qaZZOPhelbPi7Es_X1KIqW-AjEdQQsotbhIZjVrtkKfErzFjetwuBYMTAzocq7FswQNEVFikAJ10O4gcDzWKACP0h/w442-h331/IMG_0712.jpg" width="442" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here are the good ladies who have been such great hosts:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(from the right) Graziana, Isabella (China), Debora, Neti (Finland),</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Patrizia, Miriam, Chiara (Poland via France), </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and Regina, Queen of the Cucina (Kerala)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On my way to Rome today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-35909172102389484992021-09-17T21:59:00.000-07:002021-09-17T21:59:08.781-07:00delle foto di Poppi<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3E_tvNMt52_42LvcaeWfFbkuHtqDtEm8u0QGx0MZthtn_UTHE515RuYyY582_r1CWbZRev7V1NFwQsLlNTGi1py6MPv7St23i-FdCyYfF8KXgPXVZirN7xAAKXpALGm9JuPBPiahJa7U/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="429" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3E_tvNMt52_42LvcaeWfFbkuHtqDtEm8u0QGx0MZthtn_UTHE515RuYyY582_r1CWbZRev7V1NFwQsLlNTGi1py6MPv7St23i-FdCyYfF8KXgPXVZirN7xAAKXpALGm9JuPBPiahJa7U/w322-h429/IMG_0653.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The castle of the Counts Guido that crowns the city on top of the hill. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The monastery is tucked into its base.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfPcqUaoEbZxxq2x_jf5RPWYZeoojD8emT31ZuHT5FblFrhFUWytTP9W5Xwod6rVHMYVJsqw6Ibwvkegvd9YQEJHoa9OgA4f7a6ncsabjFvcoOCmeyxvdFFgHIEpU8xrDd4_nLnMw3iSJi/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfPcqUaoEbZxxq2x_jf5RPWYZeoojD8emT31ZuHT5FblFrhFUWytTP9W5Xwod6rVHMYVJsqw6Ibwvkegvd9YQEJHoa9OgA4f7a6ncsabjFvcoOCmeyxvdFFgHIEpU8xrDd4_nLnMw3iSJi/w319-h425/IMG_0682.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Tuscan countryside after the rain.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABDH1TRXLzdjGwf9Kf9ReDO3rOl6oJcyS7f_KS2WoJrSpet_3mXznVTI0r7DGmq2W1oZCaMBNq-dgWVOkject_3_aaElAWaSFSF8iJw01wum7L3IwwLTZnzoo2PpRbDZO77tt_YB7bV_k/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABDH1TRXLzdjGwf9Kf9ReDO3rOl6oJcyS7f_KS2WoJrSpet_3mXznVTI0r7DGmq2W1oZCaMBNq-dgWVOkject_3_aaElAWaSFSF8iJw01wum7L3IwwLTZnzoo2PpRbDZO77tt_YB7bV_k/w336-h447/IMG_0658.jpg" width="336" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">12th century church of San Fedele, former Vallambrosian monastery </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">with the Romanesque architecture I love so much.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The rest of building is just raw unadorned stone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAN6nwTJewqo7T0GQQAjJU87qwa0O4P4ceoUQxYbkmBspgLgwqkKYykCECZGV-0JVZ0cJU4Qpu-S2THMk2uvNSTYTTfPINGRvGDftECKCaEO02Wkl1rtGb7aDZmxbVulQk2EEmXidaVzrC/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAN6nwTJewqo7T0GQQAjJU87qwa0O4P4ceoUQxYbkmBspgLgwqkKYykCECZGV-0JVZ0cJU4Qpu-S2THMk2uvNSTYTTfPINGRvGDftECKCaEO02Wkl1rtGb7aDZmxbVulQk2EEmXidaVzrC/w332-h442/IMG_0657.jpg" width="332" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A view of the surrounding countryside, fields and the lazy Arno River </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">drifting through on its way to Florence, not more than a creek here.</div><br /></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLenV1ywQjEW6RZYnYKw-8XQmGdYB0Z9g75HTpD1DtFs_d74qjBre5zhEw_g9BbyyiWhWEA7oWOBo3I1QPbKYiM-sfTK9C8sIxlkLgbpv6Wt1e4PIjizu1aeBOdWlU4fJFFGtCO_9vTQxV/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQziLzDQMQ_6PbtHLReVSs73TXyfCO4esbXuWnd4tPKfcwzKy7RwjzjpUZrdm8QvA3iTMSojkr99eTOeThqpLi4x0cwHzMJxDcefw6vW9MfLwCnEkjklByoAdM382hKpAFBVJxexl2b_4-/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQziLzDQMQ_6PbtHLReVSs73TXyfCO4esbXuWnd4tPKfcwzKy7RwjzjpUZrdm8QvA3iTMSojkr99eTOeThqpLi4x0cwHzMJxDcefw6vW9MfLwCnEkjklByoAdM382hKpAFBVJxexl2b_4-/w339-h452/IMG_0646.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One of the gates of the city where I began my jog each morning.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExwg3fb3uJPUh9hLxVy27cG2KP4MRRJWBH_baL7PIfn05zheDji4OocEywgj648T0a0yecjrsTrAYF3I6leGkV16YQUh02zseTrRSv54vhwnUrY3pIpNdyz6731sxRqt3HTopzGl8lm9C/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExwg3fb3uJPUh9hLxVy27cG2KP4MRRJWBH_baL7PIfn05zheDji4OocEywgj648T0a0yecjrsTrAYF3I6leGkV16YQUh02zseTrRSv54vhwnUrY3pIpNdyz6731sxRqt3HTopzGl8lm9C/w341-h455/IMG_0650.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This sign (which contains our stemma?!) descries how you can see two "universality spiritual" centers from Poppi, Camaldoli and La Verna which Date wrote is "in the raw stone between the Tiber and the Arno."</div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwsDg430QVNe5NWHxCmA7Bp9MGqTyEkOWiTyluYwzryNQMnqte5BZ1S-NgendfPq841bwI0oEt1YIDPKWH63mrjqGBjflsLm80_iOeQf7SNQsjQq4L83PJQSH12P5Dxan8L_p_7qvnzhL/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwsDg430QVNe5NWHxCmA7Bp9MGqTyEkOWiTyluYwzryNQMnqte5BZ1S-NgendfPq841bwI0oEt1YIDPKWH63mrjqGBjflsLm80_iOeQf7SNQsjQq4L83PJQSH12P5Dxan8L_p_7qvnzhL/w355-h266/IMG_0674.jpg" width="355" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An evening of music with Neti and Miriam (behind me on the cetra).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjEPM51_oqXPIVCH203l9q5AeIowGrzD6TMzVKOPhyphenhyphenLksvfWQfWbTrA3-2ulTev-keiKF0y7xhzTEc-Z45F1gI9EHMNzYVVUidHnv6CRD6-iCHd2F8OaH_wcBpNY8K0Q7URvCL5fF9Ljx/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjEPM51_oqXPIVCH203l9q5AeIowGrzD6TMzVKOPhyphenhyphenLksvfWQfWbTrA3-2ulTev-keiKF0y7xhzTEc-Z45F1gI9EHMNzYVVUidHnv6CRD6-iCHd2F8OaH_wcBpNY8K0Q7URvCL5fF9Ljx/w319-h425/IMG_0668.jpg" width="319" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Regina, reigning queen of the <i>cucina</i>.</div><br /><br /></div><br /><br /></div><br /></div><br /><p></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3199872736820020952.post-27909230316655022052021-09-17T11:31:00.001-07:002021-09-17T11:31:43.591-07:00nella grotta del cuore<p><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Friday, September 17, 2021, feast of Hildegarde von Bingen</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It has been a really great week here with the nuns at Poppi. I’ve been leading what they call a <i>seminario</i>––and I must say, the format fits me quite well, part educational, part practical, in other words a 45 minute to hour teaching, followed by 45 minutes to an hour of practice, stretching and/or breathing plus meditation time. We started Sunday night with just a brief introduction. I apologized enough times for my Italian pronunciation (I have never been teased so much about my American accent as I was by the monks last week) and for the fact that I am tied to the text. But the group kept telling me not to worry about it a bit so I finally stopped. (I keep imagining I’m like some foreign monk with a charming accent speaking to a crowd in America.) After that we have had two sessions a day, late morning and late afternoon (very civil), that have lasted nearly two hours with a break. It has been so interesting for me to re-visit this material (I’m teaching out of my book <i>Prayer in the Cave of the Heart</i>) again after over a decade, and to re-visit it in another culture. It’s all fresh to me again and I am so grateful again to the people of Holy Cross and Lit Press for making it happen back in the 2000s. I still find it all very essential and exciting––like discovering the Good News for the first time. Several people in the group are pretty well-versed in meditation practice already, friends of Antonia Tronti, who translated the book and does regular seminars on Asian spirituality as well as on Bede Griffiths and Abhishktananda. Some arrived with their yoga mats and zafus. One professorial older gentleman, when he received the message from Debora, the nun here who arranged this, that he should bring comfortable clothes, told her that he always wears a tie and jacket, that’s what he’s comfortable in. He has always looked a little skeptical of everything and admitted yesterday to the group that he is <i>fuori campo</i>, ‘out of his field,’ but he too seems to have had a good experience. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">One thing I have found out about leading a group of Italians is that if you ask a question, you can expect there to be about a ten-minute delay while everyone offers an opinion about the answer. We’re using the prayer service that I put together for the Sangha and have used in retreats all over the world, of course now translated into Italian with the help of Federico, but I was still unsure of a word or two, and I asked the group what they thought. That turned into a session where we practically re-wrote the last paragraph, and I must admit, it reads better now. This is the way liturgy ought to develop. One of the guys, Gianni, who along with his wife has been very much engaged, wondered why the prayer service didn’t have a name, a title. I asked him what he thought it should be and he said that that depended on me. Long pause… and then he added, “But perhaps I would call it <i>preghiera nella grotta del cuore.––</i>‘prayer in the cave of the heart’.” Of course. But I wasn’t sure if he had said <i>della </i>or<i> nella </i>or<i> dalla</i>––‘of the’ or ‘in the’ or ‘from the.’ So, in the final session I asked which one it should be. And of course, everyone had very strong opinions about which and I had to leave it unresolved and said let them know my decision later.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">These folks have been such good meditators, if that doesn’t sound condescending or silly. There seemed to go deep right away and anxious to do it. I forget the strength sometimes of meditating with a group like that, somewhat different from being with the brothers each night, which of course has its own power. The final session today, which was nowhere near the end of what I had prepared, was especially powerful, explaining, off-script, how I thought we needed to evolve to face what we have to face, and why meditation was so important for the next step in evolution. All in all, a very satisfying and moving experience, well worth the effort.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The community here is just lovely, no two of them alike, on many different levels. Sr. Graziana, who I know well from my visits to the nuns at Contra and from our visitation to Windsor New York together last year is the prioress, a <i>vispa–</i>spry 81 years old, about 4’10” and full of energy and motherly wisdom. She explained the long, complicated history of the place to me. As far as I can remember, this was a monastery of Augusintian nuns dating back to the 15<sup>th</sup> century. When they had diminished in number it was taken over by the Camaldolese nuns from Arezzo, under the bishop of Arezzo. When they diminished in numbers, they asked the Camaldolese of Contra and Rome, and the Prior General to help out, and they patched together a community. That included, first of all, Patrizia, who I know from Rome and Contra (and once we were in India together). She is a very talented artist who weaves wonderful tapestries, <i>arazzi. </i>She is also the only one who is a full bred Italian Camaldolese nun. The rest, including Graziana, have migrated from other congregations or countries, even Graziana who was a Franciscan first. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then there is Regina, who I met back in 2002 in India. She has been here in Italy since 2012, I think, and speaks her own unique form of Italian into which, when she speaks to me, she throws heavily accented English words. It’s hysterical trying to figure out what she is saying sometimes. She is an amazing cook, mixing Italian and Indian in a way that defies categories. She is totally in charge of this kitchen, clucking and tsking at everybody. She has become famous among the monks and locals and has even offered courses in Indian cooking. She has also been practically forcing food down my throat. Between her and Graziana I’m going to turn into big <i>gnocchi</i> if I am not careful. Now there is also of Debora here, in simple vows, who organized this retreat. She was part of a consecrated lay organization that did missionary work in Africa before she joined here. She is also a poet, with one book of her work already published. She speaks very good English from having an English mother, and has been at my side to pull me out of linguistic holes a number of times. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There is also Clara, who is Polish but joined the Camaldolese nuns in France, but who transferred here two years ago. I met her when I was here in 2019, but I would not have recognized her. At the time she was in a full black habit, complete with a wimple, and all you could see were eyes, nose, cheeks and teeth. Now she has lost 20 kms and is dressed <i>in borghese</i>, wearing a cowl for choir like the others. (Graziana is the only one in the full white habit.) Then there are four others here as well, Miriam who comes from another active congregation; and a woman from Finland but who has been living in Denmark for years, named Neti, who is also a holistic practitioner and yogi, and a bit of musician as well. It is her fault that I am here; she wanted a workshop in English, but no other English speakers signed up! She struggles with Italian––but then again she speaks six other languages. There is also Eleana, who is from Brazil, who as far as she told me is doing a hermit experience, but really joining the community for everything; and Isabella, from China, who belongs to a new Chinese congregation who I am not at all clear why she is here but is very much a part of the daily life as well. It’s all very Camaldolese.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Last night, just incidentally on the feast of St. Cyprian (oh ya, and Cornelius), we had an evening of music that had been planned beforehand. Miriam plays the <i>cetra</i>, what we could call a zither, a bit more popular here in Italy than in the US. She uses it to accompany the chant here. She is also a good singer. And of course, Neti plays and sings. So a program was put together of the three of us alternating for an hour, helping each other out on a few pieces, ending with a few Taizé chants and then an acapella piece for three voices that Neti had written that the people found very haunting. Since today was the feast of Hildegarde of Bingen I did my version of her <i>O Virtus Sapientia</i>, plus the Aarathi (in honor of Regina) and Compassionate and Wise, in keeping with the week. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">That plus the teaching and presiding and/or preaching each day on top of the thelanguage challenges left me a little wiped out. I was originally going to go back to the monastery for the last weekend, but my first thought when I woke up yesterday morning was that I should stay here after the seminar was done, so as not to have to pack and change beds again. I am just in love with this little city Poppi and the landscape around it. What’s not to love about a medieval city on a hill with a castle surrounded by the Tuscan countryside? Everyone was fine with that, as a matter of fact the nuns were thrilled, so I’ll stay here until Sunday, say Mass for them, then go to Camaldoli for lunch, say goodbye to everyone there and from there Federico and I will head down to Rome for the last leg. I assume I need to take a Covid test before boarding the place on Thursday, and Federico and I have an appointment to visit the <i>Istituto di Musica Sacra</i> in Rome, where there is the idea that he might study.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I’ll post this now, and follow up with some pictures and maybe some description of the town later.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Palatino; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Dalla grotta del cuore…<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>Cyprian Consigliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04558393189859640821noreply@blogger.com