9 Feb 2024, from Shantivanam

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

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^th 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!

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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 yukta(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.

 

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.

a series of meals and conversations

 5 february 2024

Early morning yoga on the terrace off the second floor. 

Just before dawn, muffled roard of air conditioning compressors

already a little buzz of traffic. 

 

Gently wafting up from below in the street 

the smell of incense from one of the food stalls.

I’m imagining a vendor doing his morning offering before beginning work.

Then a few minutes later the smell of grease on the skillet 

and the slapping sound, shaping of some chappati or pratas to be fried.

Then the faint smell of cardamom as the chai is prepared.

 

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.

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 have a room here,” meaning there with the friars.

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.)

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. 

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. 

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.

Mark, Dianne, me, Brian, Cynthia, Leonard

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.

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 Chief Operating Officer for the Asia-Pacific Region of a leading global professional services firm called Aon), 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.

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.

 

Wednesday 7 Feb

 

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 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. (https://www.tts.edu.sg.) 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.

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. 

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. 

With Keith and Claire.

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.

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!

(with apologies for the formatting issues... dunno what to do...)

singapore

3 feb (or 2 feb, depending on where you are in reference to the International Date line)

 

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.

 

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.

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.

A tiny room really. The bed takes up almost the whole space, with a small corridor and a nice sized bathroom.

There’s an outdoor terrace with a “dipping pool” (hot tub). Perfect place for morning yoga.

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. 

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 te tarik (“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.

 

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.

 

the itinerary

I have felt something like an obligation to write (I usually journal every afternoon) but virtually no energy for it. Maybe today. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. Furbo! 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.

 

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^th, for sure!). Not exactly sure where I’ll be staying then, maybe couch surfing in Santa Cruz?

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.

 

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.

At least that's the plan. I feel very open to whatever the universe and the Spirit have in store.

 

last days in Rome, short stay at the thin place, La Verna

 Nov 1, 2023.

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 Tutti Santi, which is, of course, a national holiday here in Italy. 

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 foresteria. 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 Sub Tuum Presidium 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.

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 pranzo. 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.

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 Collegio Capranica 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. 

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.

Then we carted back to Sant’Antonio for one final pranzo 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?”

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 bronzino (sea bass) with crispy skin (pelle croccante). 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.

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 pranzo 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^th 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 fabbrica dei papi–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 salone 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.

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 ensuite 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.

The rooftop of the Jesuit Curia c/o AMERICAN magazine.

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.

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.

Nov 2 

I’m at the Santuario of La Verna now with no internet or phone signal so I might as well add a note.

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 deposito bagagli in the train station and happily headed up into the beautiful historic centro 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. I settled into a lovely osteria and yes, Raniero, I finally had my pici, 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 stazione.

Pici acciugatti.

I have been here at La Verna at least two times in the past but have never stayed the night. 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 foresteria 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 gentilemente 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 l'importante è la puntualità ai pasti in refettorio. When I got to my room there was another notice exhorting me to puntualità nel refettorio, so by now I was starting to get the hint that punctuality at meals was of inestimable importance here.

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 bas reliefs, and of course a gorgeous acoustic. Mass was very informal, and I led them in some easy participative songs. We ended Mass with my Bismillah, 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.

Facsimile of St. Francis' writing the litany of Praise.

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, Come vi chiamate? which is the second person plural, an antiquated extremely polite way of asking “Who the heck are you (plural)?” I was about to say Noi ci chiamiamo Camaldolesi–“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. 

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 alla braccia, 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.

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.

The chapel of the stigmata.

November 3, waiting for Axel to come and fetch me from Camaldoli. 

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 santuario 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 salat 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. 

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 pranzo. 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.)

Every day at 3:00 (punctually!) there is l’ora media 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.

On my way to Camaldoli now for the duration and the beginning of the last leg of this soggiorno.