Thomas Merton was a writer, theologian, a mystic, a poet, a social activist and a scholar of comparative religion.
(Photo courtesy of The Merton Center)
I’m being followed by a moon shadow
Moon shadow, moon shadow
Leaping and hopping on a moon shadow
Moon shadow, moon shadow
– Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam) from “Moon Shadow”
Rosie drew him in, set him in his chair and set little Eleanor on his lap. Sam drew a deep breath. “Well, I’m back, ” he said.
– JRR Tolkien, the last lines of his trilogy “Lord of the Rings”
“Well, I’m back.’ Those were the first words I spoke to my wife, Debbie, when I was liberated from the hideous ventilator six months ago.This after telling everyone who came close to me the day before, that I wanted to die.
“Well, I’m back,” back writing my column, these days from a bed in a rehab facility, on my phone, using my right thumb. Labor intensive to be sure but good occupational therapy, eh?
Plus, I actually get paid for this drivel, “Heh.”
Before we launch into the meat of today’s little screed, I want to thank all the people, readers, friends and family, who wished me well during my absence from the Op-Ed pages. I want to especially thank all those who contributed to the “Go Fund Me” that my sister, Julie, started for me I have a mountain of bills not covered by Medicare and your gifts are more appreciated than I can say.
I tell you, this has been the greatest challenge of my life. Not just the challenge of spending six months in a hospital bed or enduring endless medical procedures, not to mention having to subsist on icky hospital food, but the challenge of being away from my family and not knowing when or if I’d walk again.
I will.
So — what to write about. Ah, got it. I’ve become interested in ancient Hindu texts, along with renewing my interest in Thomas Merton, the author and Buddhist/Trappist monk
When I was a young man, I spent a week at Gethsemane monastery where Merton lived when he wasn’t lecturing in Southeast Asia. Gethsemane is the oldest monastery in America and is the home of Trappist monks, perhaps the most contemplative of the Catholic monastic orders
I went down with a couple of my friends, Ray and Bach, who’d each made retreats there before.
Our vehicle of transport, was Ray’s wheezing Vee Dub bug.
The two things that stand out about that trip for me, are Bach’s ridiculous punning as. we drove through Ohio-
“Holy Toledo, this must be where Cleve-landed. I haven’t been here Cinc-innati.”
. . . and hearing a pre-release bootleg of Cat Stevens’ “Moon Shadow” for the first time on the radio. We were all huge Cat Stevens freaks. I love that song to this day.
I’d never been south of Ohio before and Kentucky was exotic to me. The Abbey of Gethsemane is described as “a training school of the Lord’s service and a training ground for brotherly love.
The Trappists lead lived of prayer, work and sacred reading. At 3 a.m., they gather in the chapel to celebrate the Mass and to perform extensive chanting which is a wonder to esperance.
When you check into Gethsemane, you’re given a small room, spartanly appointed with a twin bed and a mirror and sink. If you wish to speak to a retreat master while you’re there, that’s one option or you can keep to yourself.
If you want to be fed, you showed up at meal time which was served three times a day. Meals were served in a large banquet hall by a monk with a shaved head, who looked like he could break me in half of he wasn’t busy passing out bowls of savory beef stew.
As he served, his eyes were cast humbly down.
During each meal, Bishop Sheen lectures played over the intercom. Bishop Fulton J. Sheen had a TV broadcast, “Life is Worth Living,” on ABC from April 1955 to April 1957.
For 20 years, Gethsemane was the home of Thomas Merton, known in the monastery as Fr. Louis.
Merton was a writer, theologian, a mystic, a poet, a social activist and a scholar of comparative religion.
Merton wrote more than 50 books over 27 years, mostly on spiritually, social justice and a quiet pacifism.
On my last night at Gethsemane, I spent the night sitting in the cemetery, next to Thomas Merton’s tombstone. I was hoping for some sort epiphany that never came.
I’d have to wait another 52 years.
And so it went.
Don Negus is a Morning Sun columnist.