Saint Ælfflæd of Whitby - February 8th - My 20-year Anniversary as a Hermit

 

The ruins of Whitby Abbey

Seen above the town, in modern times

My 20-year anniversary

Twenty years ago, on about February 3rd, I finally became so disabled by my various injuries and illnesses that I could no longer hold down a job, and I had to retire early on my Social Security retirement insurance into which I had paid for more than 30 years. At that time, I decided that I would dedicate the remainder of my life to God alone, and three years later I entered the Catholic Church, by which time I had decided to offer my pains and sufferings for the benefit of The Church, with the intention of supporting the reunion and re-integration of the Catholic Church with the Orthodox that had split from it in 1054.

Practicing the Presence of God

In the following 17 years, while wrestling with these illnesses and defects, I read as much as I could about the examples of the saints and, to the best of my ability, I keep my mind "at the feet of The Lord," practicing the presence of God in all of my mundane doings. In every moment, I make an effort to keep my mind attuned to The Lord. He keeps me company in all of my hours, and I maintain awareness of his presence in an intimate communion with Him. Whatever I am doing, I am conscious that He is accompanying me in all of it in a quiet embrace. He is both within me and around me. When keeping touch with Him in this manner becomes difficult, I speak to Him interiorly and/or out loud and ask for his help in short sentences, such as "Lord save me!" or "Lord help me!"  It doesn't take much to get my mind back on track.

The Offering of Pain

Because of the chronic pain throughout all the bones in my body, my acetic practices do not have to be artificially created. Old-time contemplatives had the habit of denying themselves food or causing themselves some other type of pain, such as with the infamous hair shirts of the middle-ages, but I have plenty of pain to spare that my body introduces on its own, without bidding from me. While the physical pains prohibit the use of customary forms of acetic practices, they are, actually, a replacement for them. Over the years, I have gradually come to realize that my disabilities are my blessings. They both bring me closer to the Lord and act as a type of spiritual currency to offer up in reparation of the sins of the world and especially the sins of those who create division, such as the division between the Roman Catholic and the Orthodox churches.

What is Most Important

I do not pretend to have anything resembling a proper monastic schedule, due to the inability to gain cooperation of my body. Indeed, for this reason, someone like me would be a burden to any institution, which is the main reason I remain at home. But if I have learned anything in the last 20 years, it is this: What is most important is the condition of the mind and the topics on which I allow it to dwell.

Although I also suffer from a persistent type of insomnia that refuses to be tamed, this condition forces me to accept the mantle of humility. After 20 years, I simply cannot bring my schedule into line with what I consider a proper monastic schedule.  I have substituted the practice of the presence of God in every moment, even though I often wish I was not forced to do it this way, however I try to be grateful instead of focusing on the downside. It is a challenge, and I often struggle to keep the mind "on the high road," but this battle also has its benefits.

Spiritual ambition

I have noticed some chatter on social media with regard to those of us who live as monastics at home, and it has become clear to me that there is a lot of confusion around what would be considered the basics of this life that are not negotiable. Celibacy is probably the one crucial observance that everyone living as I do must absolutely follow. I have learned that every major religion which has a monastic tradition requires the same thing. Our deepest affections and attentions belong to The Lord alone.

There are some characters who advertise themselves as "anchoresses" or hermits of some sort who are married and live with husbands and children and enjoy the typical comings and goings of relatives. They are devout and fervent householders, which is a noble path, but it is not monasticism.  Due to rabid clericalism, some women discount themselves and the holy vocation of wife and mother for some idea of a quasi-monastic vocation that they mistakenly believe is somehow superior to their own.  It is not. What comes out of this confused idea is a jumbled chaotic spiritual life that manifests in an inauthentic presentation to the world. They have an emotional need for validation and their attention is not on Christ.

It is a wonderful ambition to desire to become a saint, but it is a different sort of thing to have an ambition to be REGARDED as a saint by other people. I see a lot of this on social media when I have made the mistake of joining supposedly "Catholic" groups started by women who have not had enough validation in their lives and who immediately begin to slather new members with sickeningly sweet appellations, such as "my dear child," followed up by unasked-for spiritual direction and other nonsense. The craven need to be followed and admired is sadly obvious.

The vocation of an independent hermit IS a peculiar one to begin with and, for all I know, we have to be at least a little bit "odd" to embark on it, but most of us have had an attraction for monastic life since we were children. I, for one, discovered the Carmelites when I was 11 and carried out an intense correspondence with them, much to the ire of my mother who was not at all religious and who absolutely hated Catholics! She soon put an end to my correspondence with them, but the desire for the contemplative monastic life never left me. I experimented with it in various forms, from "New Age" religions to Buddhism to Hinduism, and eventually the Catholic Faith, where I happily remain.

When you live as an urban hermit:

Living in the world but not OF the world is in many ways much more difficult than being part of a monastic institution. In a convent or monastery, one is propelled forward by the rules and watchful eyes of your sisters and superiors. Everything in your environment is geared toward the spiritual goal, and it is placed in front of your eyes and in your ears every moment of every day. Unless you go out shopping or to the doctor, it is a rarified atmosphere.

But as an independent hermit in one's own home, it is all up to you. Other than what is forced on you by society or your landlord or your physical disabilities, every decision is ultimately yours to make. Your schedule, food, rising and sleeping, prayers and observances - It is all on you. You can't just surrender to the institution. You ARE the institution.

While the Catholic Church is FULL of monastic institutions of various orders, Catholic history is rife with independent monastics who either remained at home to practice their spiritual disciplines or they went out into the wilderness to find solitude.

Our history includes hermits that eventually attracted a following around them and drew other hermits into their orbit, which was the beginning of a cenobitic lifestyle, but this is less common today due to the complex organization required, as well as financial practicalities that make it very difficult to arrange.

I try to research a saint on each day, and am helped a great deal by the Catholic.org website that publishes the names and some of the life stories of all the saints who share the calendar day as their feast day, and it is rare not to find at least ONE saint who lived as a hermit. Often, there are several.

As an independent monastic, however, we have to be careful not to put ourselves forward as some sort of official personality. While I am Catholic and I am a hermit, I try to avoid claiming to be a "Catholic hermit" for the specific reason that I want to avoid the pretense that I am somehow affiliated with the official institution of The Catholic Church.  There is a provision in the catechism for something called a "Diocesan Hermit," and I do not know what sort of bona fides one needs to have for this particular title because every time I have called the bishop's office about it, I get crickets in response. After half a dozen phone calls and brief discussions with functionaries whose job it was to coordinate this activity, I gave up. 

My impression is that, unless they already know you, you are out of luck - probably due to the inordinate number of "kooks" (as one priest described them to me.) Several "cradle Catholics" have suggested to me that if I was wealthy, the Bishop would be calling ME. I don't have trouble believing that, but in any case it is irrelevant. Considering the ever-worsening condition of my health, I probably have little to offer them anyway.  I had been attracted to the idea of possibly having the Eucharist preserved on my prayer shrine and this is the one benefit of taking Diocesan Hermit vows that keeps luring me toward it. I do not have the opportunity to regard our Lord in the host under any other circumstance, as I am rarely able to attend church, due to disabilities and lack of transportation.

Saint Ælfflæd Of Whitby, my cousin

The saint I have chosen for today is a cousin of mine: Saint Ælfflæd Of Whitby. We are each descended from a long line of saints, mostly along the female lines.  The ancestor that she and I share most closely is Clotair I, a Merovingian King of the 5th Century, whose mother was Saint Clothilde, Queen of the Franks (the French, essentially.) 

Saint Clothilde

Queen of the Franks

My 42nd Great Grandmother

4th Great Grandmother of St. Ælfflæd 

Clotair and his wife Waldrada were my 41st great grandparents. Their family line is jam packed with saints, mostly female, but some male as well.

Saint Hilda of Whitby

Not only was my cousin well connected, spiritually, but she was also a member of royalty and her line is lousy with kings and queens. This is where it becomes obvious that our destiny is often hinted at within our family circumstances because, while I was enabled to become a hermit by virtue of disability that prevented me from working, Ælfflæd  was destined by another type of circumstance.  When she was barely a year old, she was given to Saint Hilda to raise in a convent at Hartlepool. When Hilda left Hartlepool to establish the Abbey of Whitby, on land given The Church for that purpose by Ælfflæd's father, King Oswiu, she took Ælfflæd with her. Ælfflæd was still a toddler at this time.

Picture of King Oswiu

King Oswiu is credited with convening the Synod of Whitby, out of which came the decision to adopt Roman Catholic ways rather than Celtic. I have found reference to him as a saint as well, but I have to verify that.

From her infancy, you can see that my cousin was trained in the way of the monastic saints. She was also highly influential in government.  Stephen of Ripon described her thus:

"...always the comforter and the best counselor 
of the whole kingdom."

~ Stephen of Ripon
Author of The Life of St. Wilfred

In fact, there is so much really fascinating information about the life and influence of today's saint, that it inspires me to read further and, rather than wait to publish this blog post and use information that would, essentially, reinvent the wheel, so to speak, I will just post a few really good links at the bottom of this post and let you choose whether or not you also have interest in Aelfflaed.  

Advice to parents:

Many times, I have heard parents say that they will let their children decide what religion to follow when they're grown up. I just wanted to point out that whether one becomes a monastic or a lay person is often determined by circumstances of family and education, and there is a bit of a whiff of destiny in the whole thing.  I do not believe in strict "destiny" per se, but experiences, environment and education do substantially mold or prepare a person for adult life. This is why I have come to believe that raising your children in the faith is important. 

I'm not saying that one should give one's child to the church to be raised as a nun from babyhood, such as what Aelfladd had done to her, but I am just pointing out that it is better to get an early start on religious education. Everything in Aelfflad's family and life circumstances were channeling her to the path of sainthood and she accomplished great things. (Read about it through the links, below.)

I did happen to eventually come to The Faith on my own, despite efforts on the part of others to keep me out, but it took a lot of time to get to that place. In the end, the options that remained were few. You don't want your child to experience unnecessary limitations. Fortunately, convents do accept applicants at older ages than they used to.  Formerly, you had to be no older than 25!  It isn't that way any more, thanks be to God. At least that is one limitation that is less daunting in this age.

Regardless of whatever limitations or difficulties I may have endured, I find myself feeling very grateful that I am not so sick that I cannot pray or that my pain is not worse.  I am grateful to have adequate medical care and a decent place to live with a wonderful view of the Sandia mountains that turn pink at sunset. I am grateful that The Lord does not abandon me in my golden years and that he has left me with at least ONE eye with which to read His Holy Word.

Often, there is not enough money for a proper healthy diet, or to repair the ancient chariot I need to get me around, or to take the service dog to the vet, and I am most grateful for any and all charitable donations given for those things. There is a "donate" button below my picture (above right) and any amount is most appreciated. I will also get an updated Amazon wish list done up very soon. I do get tired of asking for help, as you probably also grow tired of being asked, but I must endure the humiliation as I have no choice in it.

That's all I have for you today. Please pray for me during the month-long celebration of my 20-year anniversary, and I will pray for you, as always. Look for the list of interesting links about Saint Aelfflaed, below.

God bless us all!

Silver Rose

Links to Saint Ælfflæd of Whitby:

"Saints' Bridge" blog (very well researched)

Catholic.org post about her

Wikipedia page about Aelfflaed of Whitby

ST. TERESA OF PORTUGAL - Feast Day: June 17

Today is the feast day for Saint Teresa of Portugal.  She was married to my 26th Great Grandfather, King Alfonso IX of Leon, and they were FIRST COUSINS! She is also a distant cousin of mine.

After having several children together, the church dissolved the marriage because it was too close in blood relation (consanguinity.)  It was common at one time for relatives to marry one another among nobility because, God forbid, one couldn't marry a commoner.  Their world would fall in. Consequently, since I am descended from a bunch of royal lines, I am a cousin to myself a hundred times over, maybe more!

After the marriage was dissolved, Teresa returned to her estate at Lorvao in Portugal and funded a monastery on her property.  Later, she replaced the monks with 300 nuns following the Cistercian Rule, and she lived with them, though she did not take vows until later.

In 1231, her former husband's second wife, Berengaria of Castile, asked Teresa to return to Leon to arbitrate a dispute between their children about the throne and inheritance of Alfonso IX, who had died in September of the previous year. Imagine the confidence that Berengaria would have had to have in our Saint Teresa in order to call on her for assistance with something as weighty as this. As is the case with so many of the female saints, we have to infer her virtuous qualities from the limited amount of information passed down to us over the years.

After settling this dispute, she returned to Lorvao and lived as a nun for the rest of her life, ruling over hundreds of Cistercians in her convent (pictured below) which HAD been a monastery of Benedictine MEN. She replaced them with her Cistercians, which I find incredible, because it is usually the men that are throwing out the women! She must have been remarkable.

This too tells me something about her attributes, since I cannot imagine the men obeying her edict to get lost and then hundreds of women following her in religious life without that woman having had an unusual character. She would have to inspire devotion and obedience in all those women, overcoming the pettiness and infighting that could easily occur among a community of people who have been told since childhood that they are worthless in comparison to the male sex. I pray to be imbued with some of that inspiration myself!

Many of my Sainted ancestors and cousins have started convents and monasteries. I have also long wanted to start a convent geared toward disabled and retired ladies, but that sort of thing requires a huge amount of funding.  My sainted ancient ancestors were wealthy, most of them, or at least had quite a bit of land, and they had the freedom to dedicate it to the church so as to establish convents and monasteries "for the glory of God." If you had no money, you had little or no chance of a religious vocation - unless, of course you were young, exceedingly healthy, and able to wait on and serve everyone else. 

Abbey of Lorvao

Photograph by Vitor Oliveira

from Torres Vedras, Portugal

This is a view of the old Abbey cloister and of the

lantern tower of the Abbey Church.

It was originally occupied by Benedictine monks, from

about 1070 to 1206, and then housed Saint Teresa's Cistercian

nuns from 1206 to 1887

The great importance of prayer, whether intercessory prayer, glorification, or contemplative prayer in which one simply inclines the mind to God, cannot be underestimated, but I find that, even some very devout people don't see the sense of it and are not likely to support contemplative vocations.  They expect visible production in the form of social programs on the part of the religious, but fail to calculate that Martha AND Mary are necessary.  Some are jealous of the peaceful, protected life of contemplative monastics, despite the lack of mobility and choice about almost anything in a nun's life. When I was a nun in the Vedanta convent, I overheard a few "close devotees" speak with bitterness about the supposed ease of the lives of the nuns, when they knew nothing at all about the tremendous amount of physical labor that was required of them. My body was destroyed by the physical work and I ended up in a wheelchair for a couple of weeks, at least.

Why do I care if I am related to this saint or that saint?  The thing is this:  The saints are not really dead. They have exited the physical world and moved on to another, spiritual realm and if I am related to any of them, I like to direct requests for intercessory prayer to them.  Hey...I need all the help I can get, and I am counting on them to be interested in their descendants and relations.

In addition, the lives of the saints give tremendous inspiration to process along the holy path they trod before me. Their examples prove it can be done. It is possible to conquer the lower urges and approach the Lord, if we observe, imitate and correspond with the glorified ones.

Granted, it is more difficult to be inspired by the saints like Teresa of Portugal who have been ignored by the church and for whom there is so little information, but when we meditate on the events of their life and spend some time considering the implications of their history, we can mine jewels from it.

Teresa had two sisters who were ALSO sainted - Sancha and Malfalda. I have seen this tendency of saints appearing in the same family like this, and it gives me something to think about. Is there some DNA aspect to sisters given to saintliness, or is it entirely a "nurture, rather than nature" situation? Therese of Lisieux immediately comes to mind. Her sisters, you will remember, were also nuns.

Today I commune with Teresa of Portugal and I recommend her to you, as well. 

God bless us all.

Silver "Rose" S. Parnell

Sannyasini Kaliprana

Silver Cottage Hermitage

Albuquerque, New Mexico
(c) 2015

HIRE A HERMIT (update)

"Hermitage" garden feature on 

an English Country Estate

I recently learned that, in the 18th century, wealthy European landowners would frequently build a model "hermitage" as a garden feature on their extensive land holdings.  They would then hire a man to play the part of a hermit, but they had to give him his pay at the end of the year, and it was often a goodly sum, because it was so hard to keep a good hermit on one's land!

According to Wikipedia, Saint Francis of Paola may have been the first such "ornamental hermit" when he chose to live in a secluded cave on his father's property in the 15th century.  His parents were extremely pious people, however, and Saint Francis of Paola (named after St. Francis of Assisi) had shown sincere religious inclinations prior to the time he spent as a hermit in that cave.  Perhaps his sojourn there sparked the imagination of some nobleman who was charmed at the idea of a hermit on one's land and who didn't happen to have a religious son, so he hired someone to act the part!

I wonder how the actor playing the hermit would feel about this "job" and if any of them were suddenly struck with a real desire to adopt the hermit life?  Whose idea was it to create this fantasy on their land for the amusement of visitors?

Aristocrats spent quite a lot of money to accomplish this charade, and I can't help feeling a bit wistful that, instead of supporting a real hermit or two, these people were spending a huge amount of money on a Disneyland sort of re-creation.  If THAT doesn't say something profound about human nature, and how we value an entertaining fantasy over a substantial reality, I don't know what would.

For more information about this phenomena, check out Charlotte Brentwood's Blog, from whence I obtained the awesome picture, above.

There are varying degrees and types of hermits, from the fake hermits of the 1700's in England, who looked and behaved genuinely the part but were, from all accounts, spiritually bankrupt, to the modern day hermit living in a city apartment who appears to be quite normal and ordinary to the casual eye, but whose daily life centers around a profound prayer life in the company of the Lord.

As they say, "looks can be deceiving," and one never knows what someone is about until you dig a bit and see.

Many of us modern women wish to follow in the footsteps of the hermits of old insofar as our lives are meant to center around God, we live a retired solitary life to the best degree possible, and we eschew most entertainments. This is another reason why the fake "hermit" of the 1700's is so ironic, because his life is completely about entertainment, though not for himself.  His sole function is to charm and entertain the guests of the lord of the manor and to act the part of a religious.

Carmelite nun in her hermitage cell

I am fascinated with other independent hermits and how they manage to maintain their tranquility in a life that is not supported by any structure or organization.  How do they remain other-worldly while staying very much in the world?  Any hermits out there who would like to respond, please do.  I would love to hear from you.

Carmelite nuns of the Byzantine Catholic Rite

While I would have loved to have become part of a contemplative order, I spent many years investigating various religious expressions and therefore developed in my own way - too independent to submit myself to the rule of others, I suppose, though there were aspects of monastic life that I loved at the Vedanta Society in Hollywood, California, when I was a nun in their convent.

Carthusian nun

The form that my monastic "schedule" takes is still under construction, so to speak.  I imagined a robust schedule of formal prayers, but I am unable to do them, since my disabilities continue to worsen over time. I pray to be cured of my illnesses to the extent necessary to enable me to sit through formal services, but, if truth be told, I much prefer the simplest of meditations - peace and quiet.

I was gifted with numerous creative talents, and I use these as instruments of prayer, to the best of my ability. Painting of religious subjects, writing, making crocheted works of art, and other artistic ventures give me a concentrated space of time in which to keep the hands busy while I pray. I used to give away a lot of these things, but I have become so poor that I now find I must try to sell them, if I can, in order to buy medical supplies and other things required for my health.

I hate having to labor for myself. I had wanted to be saintly and, like Saint Rose of Lima, make beautiful works of art for the sake of other people. The disabilities and the cost of addressing them, have put a monkey wrench into that desire. I am going blind and need three separate types of eyeglasses to accommodate my visual disabilities. I need walkers to deal with mobility problems and special food to prevent allergic and asthma attacks that could kill me. The list goes on and on. Frankly, it is infuriating. It is also the method by which the Lord is humbling me, so I must thank Him.

Living Room prayer corner

Bedroom prayer corner

Although I am unable to live according to my aspirations, my life is somewhat more retired than  many American's lives. I don't smoke, drink or take drugs. My entertainments are few. I haven't gone to a movie theater in more than 20 years. I do not travel. I do not eat in restaurants, except for the rare occasion when a friend will treat me. I don't attend parties. I don't play video games. Obviously, I do not date and have not done so for more than 20 years, having given up romance even before making the formal commitment.

I HAVE spent a lot of time writing this blog, which I am phasing out. It was originally started at the urging of a friend who imagined that I could supplement my income with it, but I have since learned that the only way one makes money is to "monetize" it with ugly advertisement. In addition to marring the beauty of the layout, the advertisements slow down the ability of the user to read the page. The many hours I have spent writing my posts are not recompensed, and if I am going to work at something, it needs to generate an income of some sort. 

Consequently, I am cutting back on the blog in favor of a novel with movie possibilities on the back end. I was raised in the entertainment industry, sold a number of stories to an episodic television show in the 1970's, and probably have as much chance of selling a novel as anyone else might. Alongside this, I have planned a series of paintings and "art jewelry." (I have also sold quite a few paintings in my lifetime, so I will continue doing that.)

Sunflower I grew in a large pot outside my apartment

Some aspects of my life are hermit-like. I am nowhere near any of the stores that carry the supplies I need, so I have to order almost everything online and, while I do live in the heart of the city, I am fortunate that I can spy a bit of greenery and wildlife on the other side of the fence from the apartment complex.

Recently, I found some rose bushes on sale at a local hardware store and placed them in pots outside my living room window, very near a statue of the blessed virgin that I got for free (long story.) The arrangement gives the impression of a meditation garden, but the apartment is far too noisy and too open to foot traffic to operate as such. During the day, there is the constant flow of people going to and from the pool. At night, the sizable homeless community prowls about, looking for items to steal. Recently, my rolling walker was stolen from right in front of my apartment door. I heard them taking it but was not fast enough to catch them in the act. Apparently, they were prepared and had brought some kind of vehicle into which they tossed it.

Nonetheless, I am grateful to have a glimpse of garden outside my window, and I can pretend that I am living in a real hermit's cottage.

In the ditch, we have hawks, beavers, skunks, racoons, ground squirrels, herons, egrets, sandhill cranes, Canadian geese, wood ducks, mallards, owls, diamond back water snakes, bats, hummingbirds and a wretched infestation of June bugs that, for some reason, come to my front door to die every year.  Sweeping them from the door is a daily chore that makes me sad for them.  If they are still alive, they cling to my broom and make a type of hissing sound, poor things.  Still, I enjoy the many critters. Their presence contributes to the atmosphere.

Hawk on my back fence

While I am unsuited to the rigors of any established convent, I do my best to create my own convent atmosphere and habits, to the degree I am able.  At times, I am sad that my disabilities make me unacceptable for convent life and too poor to create a spiritual retreat on my own. I had hoped to be of some use in the world, but my entire life has been one long, stressful effort to simply survive, an effort which has become harder and harder, as the chronic illnesses worsen.

Compounding the difficulty is the lack of compassion in our government and among our Christian people. I am poor and unable to get basic needs met because I am too sick to work, but society would have us believe that I am poor because I have some character defect. It is a perverted point of view, and certainly not in step with our Lord Jesus, but the love of money has ALWAYS been a source of great evil. Those who love money usually hate people.

In my younger years, though ill with inherited things since my early 20's, I never imagined I would have difficulty supporting myself in my old age. I was supposed to have inherited a goodly amount from my father, who always promised it, but after he was stricken with Alzheimer's, a disreputable person had me written out of my father's will through an attorney who did not know him and had no clue that he had lost his mind. Alzheimer's patients can appear to be quite normal to other people, especially in the earlier stages. I tried to challenge it, but was surprised at the extent to which people will go for the sake of filthy lucre - how many lies they will tell, and just how long "the long con" can stretch, over time.

Well, if the Lord wanted my struggle to end, he would not have allowed all of this. I bow my head to his will and offer it all up as my penance. I do not wear a hair shirt, but I suffer enough without it. It has been valuable in many ways, especially in the formation of my consciousness and resolve to remain in the monastic state, regardless of its difficulties. I still pray for a religious patron to help support my spiritual life and the prayers that support the world, though! I have not given up hope for that. If God wills it, he or she will come, but I have the feeling that the patron will not appear until and unless I become more perfect in my vocation.

Artists and religious people have always needed the help and support of patrons. Even the fake "ornamental" hermits have had their patrons. That is another sort of vocation, that of patron or philanthropist.

Me - sitting with the swami (in the back ground)

 when I was in the Hindu convent

One of the issues that needs to be resolved is the issue of tidying the environment when dealing with all the accoutrements of creative projects. Ideally, a monastic life is very spare, but a disabled person requires all sorts of physical aides in order to function in a minimal sense. It can really clutter the environment (especially in combination with art projects!) The disabilities make housecleaning extremely difficult, which also disturbs the atmosphere. In addition, it takes so much longer to actually DO the housework than it ever did before! It has become my full-time job, even though it is never really done.

When I was in the Hindu convent, prior to my conversion, I had far fewer possessions that belonged to me personally, but much more comfort and security than I have now.  Buying the furniture and other accoutrements that contribute to a restful atmosphere used to be someone else's job, and now it falls to me, along with everything else.

Gone are the days when I could live and sleep on the floor like a real acetic or hermit.  My aging body has rebelled against my former austerities.  These days, when I get down on the floor, I cannot get up by myself.  An electric bed and a recliner have become mandatory.  I cannot afford the electric bed, however, so have slept in my recliner for the last couple years or so.

My apartment is probably less believable as a hermit's cottage from outside appearances, but somewhat more authentic than the perfect looking hermit in the garden cottage on that big estate in England.

In any case, I am doing the best I can, between God's grace, my own efforts, and the occasional assistance of a Catholic friends.  I wouldn't mind if someone were to pay me to be a hermit, though, like that 18th century garden hermit - or at least to provide me a proper place to live!  Unlike the decorative garden hermit, I would actually be praying and devoting all my actions to God.  So far, there are no takers on that idea! (I often pray that something like this presents itself. I have been physically menaced quite a few times since living in this low-income apartment complex - once by a gang of hoodlum neighbors that have moved in recently.)

Until a religious patron appears, I will attempt to be more like Brother Lawrence. He was considered unfit to be either a priest or a choir monk. The choir monks were the high class monks who sang the beautiful Gregorian chants. Brother Lawrence was relegated to the kitchen where, among his pots and pans, he thought about the Lord all day, thus transforming his menial work into a glorious prayer.

I will take the example of Brother Lawrence and, no matter what form my monastic life takes, I gratefully offer it to the Lord.

God bless us all

Silver Parnell

Sannyasini Kaliprana
(c) 2015
All rights reserved

SOURCES:

Ornamental Hermits of Eccentric Modern England

Before the Garden Gnome, the Ornamental Hermit: a Real Person Paid to Dress Like a Druid

The Hermit in the Garden: From Imperial Rome to the Garden Gnome - by Gordon Campbell - AMAZON Link for purchase

SCIENTOLOGY, HINDUISM, BUDDHISM, CATHOLICISM, AND ME

Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo

location in Carmel, California

Many women find themselves, in middle or late age, longing to realize a strong monastic vocation that, for various reasons, they have been unable to pursue in their youth.  In my case, I was raised without any religion whatsoever.  In fact, my parents were hostile to religion in general and Catholicism in particular.  They were generally narcissistic people, who divorced when I was about 5 and spent the rest of their lives chasing sex, money and glamour.

Their children, my sister and I, were left to our own devices, to learn about life on our own. Consequently, I began to develop the inclination toward art, music and religion - all the beauties of life.

Me, at about age 8

We had a Cuban babysitter when I was about 6 or 7.  My mother was working at one of just a very few jobs she ever had.  The babysitter spoke no English, so we had to learn Spanish to communicate with her.  One day she took us out of the house and down to an enormous Catholic church to attend mass.  We were mystified by it all.  At one point, a man in a long robe at the front of the church was passing out cookies to lots of young children who were kneeling at a railing.  I was hungry.  I asked Iday if we could go get a cookie, but she didn't understand what I was saying.  I grabbed my little sister's hand and ran up the aisle, dutifully kneeling as I saw the other children doing.  When the priest got to me, he asked me, "Have you had your first communion?"  I said, "huh?" and looked at him, mouth agape in confusion.  He laughed to himself, cast a glance at me and then my sister, and walked past us with the cookies.  Red with embarrassment, I dragged my sister back to our seat.  We were hungry, darn it! (Food was typically scarce in our house. My body became conservative, and I got fat. My sister was thin as a rail. Go figure.)

When I was about 11 years old, my mother moved us to the beautiful Carmel Valley in California.  I was a lonely child and spent many hours riding around town on my little Schwin bicycle with its colorful "banana seat", long handle bars and plastic streamers flowing from the handles.  The Carmel Mission, though a long ride from my home, was my favorite haunt.  It was open every day and there was no fee to enter.

I loved to wander through the book store and admire the pretty medals and rosaries, knowing nothing of their use or meaning.  But I had a fascination for it all.  I sensed the mystical message behind the beautiful artistic presentation. The man behind the counter felt sorry for me, I think.  Every once in a while he would give me an inexpensive little book mark or a colorful medal of Saint Therese or the Virgin Mary.  I was an avid reader and I would hide the medals in my books at home.  I am still a collector of medals and holy cards, to a certain extent.  I like to keep the holy cards at my primary prayer corner and take a moment during the day to ask for the saints' intercession.  Holy cards also make great book markers!

One day, the nice man gave me a pamphlet about the Carmelite nuns. In it, there was an address to write to them.  Enchanted by the descriptions of the life of peace and silence, I sent them a letter.  This began a short period of correspondence that was brought to an abrupt halt by my mother, who cuttingly announced to me, "do you think they will want you when they find out your mother is DIVORCED?"  She pronounced the word with a distinct air of scandal. This would not be the last time that my love of God and my mystical bent would be crushed under the weight of worldly considerations and the pettiness of a woman with her own selfish agenda.

"We know the goal: union with God. You may ask,

'what is union with God and how do I attain it?"

Union with God means seeking to do the will of

God with every choice we make.'"

website of the Carmelites

Carmel, California

Indeed, the nuns did stop writing me.  I realize now that, in all likelihood, my mother had written them and told them to bug off, but I was left with the impression that she had been right, that I was somehow tainted by my mother's divorce.  Later in life, I would learn that Catholic people DO have a "thing" about divorce, and many Catholic people, lay and professed, use their own misunderstanding of it to discriminate against people, even where the faith itself does not. More about that later.

Carmelite Monastery of Our Lady and Saint Terese

Carmel, California

"Our life with God draws us to the deepest empathy

with the sorrows, the joys and the hopes so confidently

entrusted to our prayers each day."

At the tender age of 17, I left my abusive home and struck out on my own, with nothing but the clothes on my back.  My mother had hidden my car keys.  I had received the car as my high school graduation present.  It was a hand-me-down from my father's new wife who, he said, "deserved better."  It later went to my sibling, like nearly everything I had ever been given.  (It had been a bizarre home life in which my mother had labeled me the "bad" daughter because I was fat, mostly, but also because I really WAS different. I WAS the "outsider" in a home of bigoted and cruel narcissists.)

Life was very difficult, but despite continuing survival issues including a brief homeless stint, I continued to yearn for God, for peace, for a life of prayer, and a life that meant something.  My search was not what I would call successful.  I fell in with some Scientologists and spent some time working for L. Ron Hubbard on his "flagship" that traveled between Lisbon, Portugal, to the northern regions of Spain, in Basque country.  Franco was still in charge in those days, and Spain was more than a little tense.  In the end, L. Ron Hubbard made me tense, with his odd habits and very strange personal aura. I had originally fallen in with these people because of my feeling of love for mankind and a desire to devote my life to the betterment of the human race. I very soon lost confidence in this cultish group of well-meaning people, once I had interacted with its founder.

Scientology flagship "Apollo"

(I lived on this ship in 1974)

From the obvious drawbacks of the Scientologists, I flirted with a form of Buddhism that involved a lot of chanting.  An actress friend of mine was wild about this Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism, and pushed me to try it. That's all I remember about it, except that all the women I knew who practiced this religion were using it as a way to get things out of life...like cars and boyfriends.  It hardly seemed worth the effort and was obviously not a genuine pursuit. Using religion to obtain worldly things is pecuniary, when God is offering us so much more! Surely, there is a bit of The Lord in everything but it is not the THINGS in which He resides on which I set my sights. It is He alone that draws me.  In any case, there was no peace or joy for me, and it lasted a very short time.

To be fair, I did very little reading in connection with this religious sect, and the superficiality with which I approached it probably has something to do with my completely dismissive attitude toward it. I have yet to experience a religion that does not have something wonderful to recommend it, so please do not take my word for this religion or any other. It may be wonderful. It just was not wonderful for me.

After some extremely difficult life occurrences, I found myself in an apartment in Sacramento, working in a law firm and spending my free time in meditation and prayer.  I had a very big walk-in closet in this apartment on the second floor of a small apartment complex. It was not a very quiet neighborhood, so I used to close myself in this closet and meditate on my oneness with the Lord. I felt his presence within me, and I within him. I wanted more of this feeling. I also wanted to connect to other people who loved the Lord in this way.

I decided that I needed to learn how to meditate properly.  So, I picked up a phone book and found a group that sounded East Indian:  The Vedanta Society of Sacramento. Oddly enough, though I called the main number, my call somehow rolled over onto the Swami's private telephone and, although Swami Shraddhananda appeared to be alarmed that I was calling him on that number, he was also very warm and welcoming. He invited me to come to the temple and meet HIM.

Interior of the Temple

VEDANTA SOCIETY OF SACRAMENTO

That phone call was the beginning of more than a decade of close association with this group that posited the idea that "all religions lead to God."  Well, that sounded nice and tolerant and broad.  Plus, they taught meditation.  Just the ticket.  I became very involved because I did love the meditation and the peace that I felt on the premises.

Being service minded, and not having the distraction of husband or boyfriends, I immediately started volunteering in the beautiful gardens. My plot of land was the Saint Francis garden. I remember, specifically, the begonias. I had never seen begonias before, but these were lovely and I have been captivated by begonias ever since.

The pond at Vedanta Society, Sacramento Temple

I attended the celebrations in connection with various religious holidays (the "pujas") and made some friends, but Swami Shraddhananda was ill and didn't just initiate new "disciples" at the drop of a hat. He was a well respected guru, with many disciples.

On Saturdays, after doing my work, I would sit outside on the concrete while everyone else was inside with the swami, enjoying refreshments and his talk. I couldn't be there because I wasn't one of them. (Do we see a theme beginning to form?)

Swami Shraddhanandaji

Vedanta Society of Sacramento

(my first swami)

I did this for about a year, but then I was let go from my job. A client told me she liked me better than my boss, and he did not like this.  I decided to return to Los Angeles, where there was more work and better paying work. When I told the Swami that I was leaving, he seemed upset. Apparently, he had "just decided" to initiate me with a mantra, but it was too late. I was leaving and had no way to stay. (In later years, he would tease my guru, Swami Swahanandaji, saying that I really "belonged" to him! It was sweet.)

Shortly after relocating back to Hollywood, I threw myself into service projects at the Hollywood Vedanta Society. I met Swami Swahananda, who impressed me very much with his wisdom and his humor. We got along famously. I loved spending time with him, visiting in the afternoon after his work was completed, taking one or two walks a day, and basically soaking up everything I could of the Vedantic worldview, the breadth and depth of which continued to entrance me.

I absolutely fell in love with Vedanta philosophy and, after a couple years of involvement, decided to join the convent. There was resistance from the nuns. They told the swami they didn't want me because I was too old and too fat. I think I was 32 years old at this point.

Here I am, "fat" and happy

sitting with the swami and other "devotees."

Finally, he made them take me. They were being ridiculous. [At one point he had said I should try to lose some weight and "then return to your natural state." He was so funny.] Looking back on my experience with the nuns in the convent, I recognize this behavior as very typical of any American group, religious or secular. People want you to give them your youth, your beauty, or your money. If you don't have at least one of those, no one wants you. 

In the convent, we had a large library of books of most of the major religious traditions.  The darndest thing happened.  Every time I walked in there, I gravitated toward the Catholic books, especially the ones about the Catholic mystics and Catholic religious orders.  I also particularly loved the Eastern Orthodox magazines and books like, The Way of the Pilgrim, and the Philokalia.  I would tell myself that I "should" read the Hindu-based books, but they left me cold, for the most part.

In my experience, the Hindu books sacrificed love and warmth in the interest of justifying the religion through scientific allusions, which I do not believe it has to do.

These Catholic books were my first introduction to Christian history, theology and cosmology, except for the slim pamphlets I'd been sent from the Carmelites as a young girl.  In my childhood, I'd never had a friend who was Christian.  My mother moved us to another city every year, one step ahead of the creditors or the last boyfriend or whatever.  It wasn't enough time to get to know anyone.  No one in my family was overtly Christian.  My grandmother frequently said, "all you need is the golden rule," and that no one needed to go to church.  In my 20's, I had been working in the entertainment industry.  I didn't meet any Christians there either.

While mystics like Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and Therese of Lisieux were speaking to me through the many books in our catalog and our convent library, the nuns were doing their best to destroy my happiness. One of the younger ones was always screaming at me over petty things. I can't even remember her objections, they were so frivolous. Another spied on me. I would find her standing at my bedroom door, with her ear right there. (Many times, I discovered her standing in the stairwell behind the kitchen, avidly listening to the conversations of the other nuns.) This nun made me take the shower slot AFTER her but would fail to rise in time for it, and then harangue me for taking my shower before her, even though it was in my time slot. Stupid things like this. They generally did every petty thing that women do to ruin the serenity of other women. (My theory is that this is the reason why men are in charge of the world. Women are so busy gossiping about one another they fail to notice when the man takes the prize.

At the same time, the harsh physical requirements of the constant manual labor required from all the "younger" nuns had destroyed my back, my sclerotic hips, my knees and my varicose veins. At one point, I was in a wheelchair. The ersatz head of the convent, fueled by God only knows what, went to the swami and claimed I was "faking" it. He did not buy it for a minute, but he did tell me about it, and finally, I decided I'd had enough. I left the convent, ostensibly to become Catholic and then join a Catholic convent, but that did not work out. More about that later.

I will put a pin in my narrative at this point to make an observation. Mostly, I left the Vedanta convent because I mistakenly thought that the love of one another and the egalitarianism that is so clearly advocated by Jesus and his religion was missing from the groups with which I'd had some experience, up to that point, because of some failure of the religions themselves. I imagined that I had finally found my home in the Catholic faith, and that the meanness of the nuns, the dishonesty, the cruelty and the obsessions about superficial trivialities, would not be part of that shining beacon on the hill - the Catholic Church. Now at age 65, looking back, and having the wonderful opportunity to have delved deep into some form of each of the major religious traditions (as well as some cultish ones), I now see my mistake. I had attributed their merciless torment to some failing of the religion, when they were actually just being humans

After leaving the convent, I began taking RCIA classes at the large Catholic Church near my workplace in Beverly Hills.  About halfway through the classes, the nun in charge summoned me to her office and announced that it would be "years" before they would consent to baptize me because I had been divorced.

To be clear, I was leading a chaste life.  I had no boyfriend.  I wasn't dating.  There was no reason to deny me baptism (which is supposed to wash you clean of ALL sin), but this nun was under a misconception, which she gleefully transmitted to me.  Evidently, getting a divorce was so sinful in her mind, that baptism couldn't even fix me. I tried to refer her to certain sources that would disabuse her of her mistaken idea, but she was insistent and she was nasty about it. I gave up and walked away. I didn't know a single Catholic and I had no idea what else to do.

Heartbroken, but still wanting to be baptized Christian, I walked across the street to the big Episcopal Church, entered their class midway and was baptized on April 11, 1993.  This Episcopal Church was what they call "high church." The music was classical, gorgeous, and inspiring.

The minister was a very masculine woman who made me very uneasy and who rarely smiled.  Aside from the female minister, they had all the bells and smells of a Catholic Church but something was definitely missing.  Later, I would come to believe that it was possibly the apostolic succession that was so necessary but which was absent. Also absent? The mystical life.

I made some noises about joining an Episcopal convent, but there weren't that many of them, and the mystical life was not emphasized, that I could see. I remember a strange interview with a nun who had no joints in the middle of her fingers. She pointed out the aberration and I couldn't stop looking at them after she made a thing out of it. She was dismissive of my desire to be one of them. What IS it about groups that makes them want to exclude people? Jesus wasn't like that. Anyway, this is how groups are kept small. Perhaps that is the point.

One thing I particularly missed in the Episcopal Church (as in Vedanta and other religions) was Jesus' mandate that we love one another.  The Catholic Church had made it clear it didn't want me because I had been divorced, and what could be more unloving than that sort of rejection?  I just couldn't seem to find a religious "home". Not having a family, I didn't fit in. I understood that family is a great thing, but why is there no provision for those who do not HAVE one? This is a major failing of the Christian churches, in my mind.

After a period of sadness, confusion, and challenging life issues, I returned to the Hindus by taking sannyas vows by permission of my Hindu teacher.  These vows, essentially, make one a female swami.  You could say that they are the "final" vows of a Hindu monastic, some of whom live in monasteries, but most live ascetic lives by themselves.  I wanted to devote myself to God completely and felt that these vows would help me.

While living in a large apartment complex, I met a woman who was an Ursaline nun.  We became friends.  I did her genealogy and found that she was my 11th cousin.  When I confided to her what had happened to me when I had tried to become Catholic and how sad it had made me, she informed me that the nun who had refused me baptism had been completely wrong.  Unless I had been living in an "irregular" second marriage or living in sin with someone, there was absolutely no bar to baptism or confirmation in the church.  She offered to sponsor me if I still wanted to become Catholic, and I took her up on it.

Thus began my dual "citizenship," as it were. I was to be a mystic, a renunciate in the Vedantic tradition, as a sannyasini, and the Catholics would be my group.

Once again, I had problems, however, because of my physical health issues.  I was unable to sit through the classes and had to pursue a private course.  I wanted to be confirmed in the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much but, while the priest was willing to have me pursue a private course, the deacon said he didn't have the time, and he refused me.  Once again, the door had been closed on me.

I wasn't going to let this rejection throw me off, however.  My cousin had an acquaintance at a large church near my house.  We had a meeting with her, made arrangements for my confirmation.

After a period of poor health, trying different Roman Catholic Churches, I returned to the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much.  The Byzantines are, essentially, Orthodox style churches that either stayed with the Catholic Church or joined it.  I can't remember the specific history.  There is only one in New Mexico and it is in the town where I live.  The liturgy is very beautiful and is sung by the congregation, without instruments.

In this church, there was a handicapped, retired priest, who I hoped would be my new spiritual director, but he seemed out of his element when I tried to talk to him about it. He seemed to be a man of great spirituality and intelligence, but the mystical life was not something I could talk about with him.  He seemed puzzled that I would want to discuss my spiritual life with him. Shortly after joining that church, a new priest came on the scene and took over as the pastor.  He is just a couple years younger than the age of my son, if my son had not died, and I looked upon him with a motherly eye.

I offered to fill a need in the bookstore on Sundays, and was very happy to have a little role. It did not last long, however, because the young Ukrainian priest started harassing me in a shocking way, and my physical health became affected. 

Rituals are important in whatever faith you ascribe. The ritual of the yearly house blessing is something that the Byzantine Catholics do, and I invited this young priest to bless my apartment. When he arrived, we had a very strange conversation in which it became apparent that he was not terribly well informed about the faith because, when I told him about my history and how hard it had been to get baptized, he mistakenly said that I had to have my previous marriage annulled before baptism should have occurred. He was dead wrong but terribly egotistical. I was surprised that they had put someone in charge of the church who was so poorly catechized himself, but I understood that most Catholics who regularly attend church are married people with families and most had already been baptized as children. You rarely run into a Catholic who was baptized late in life, so there are some assumptions about one another in a parish that are not true for the person who is a convert.

From that time onward, he began to discriminate against me at church. I caught him whispering about me to the other men and sharing jokes with them about me, in small cliquish groups. These men and their wives then began to shun me when I attended church. If I spoke to any of them while in line for the meal after the liturgy, they would turn their backs on me. They would give me that 'look.' You know that look. The look that says that you are not worthy to speak to them. It is that same look from your middle school years, when the 'cool' kids were trying to cut an individual from the herd. I remember once standing in line behind one of the men of our parish - someone about the age of my son. One of the church busybodies inserted herself between me and this young man and very pointedly asked where his wife was! It was obvious that she believed I was "after" this man, but clueless that I was far too old for him to begin with. She did not know me and did not realize I am under vows.

At the same time, the young, callow priest began other strange behaviors, changing his mind constantly about what he wanted to have done in the bookstore and then haranguing me when I did exactly as he had previously told me to do. It was a test of my patience. Frankly, it was exhausting.

The problem with a little church like this, since it is the ONLY Byzantine Catholic Church in town, is that whoever is put in charge of it is, ipso facto, a little potentate in his own realm. You have no choice of other Byzantine Catholic Churches. There is only this ONE, and if you get a priest in there who is a poorly formed Christian with enormous ego needs, you can imagine what happens from there.

But, like a puppy trying to please its master, I did everything I could think of to propitiate the little tyrant. When both he and the retired priest were terribly sick with some virus, I arranged to make a big pot of chicken soup and other lunch items in the parish hall, with plenty left over to get them through the nights of coughing and sneezing. My physical condition was continuing to worsen, and it cost me dearly in pain, what to speak of the food itself, which cost a bit as well. But I was keen to be of use and show my loving nature. Believe me, it was not appreciated. Not a single "thank you" was uttered, and the tyrant continued to treat me like the outcast.

Finally, one day, I was discussing with him the need to have a chair in the book store that was more ergonomic. There was already agreement to buy one. A group of people were in the bookstore, men and their wives. Having an audience, the fledgling priest began a tortuously long puerile "joke" in which he imagined that my nether regions were too big to fit in the seat and how he and his friends would have to pull me out of it by my feet because my large butt would get stuck. To emphasize the point, he acted out all the parts. I couldn't believe it. All the men laughed. It was so funny to them! Their wives just looked at me, stunned, with their eyes widened like cartoon characters.

I was aghast, of course. The inappropriateness and, frankly, the cruelty of it, astonished me. You might expect some drunken wastrel in a tavern to make a loud joke about the size of a woman's ass, but a celibate, supposedly "religious" person? Never. It was completely outside my sphere of experience. I waited until the other people left the bookstore and, as kindly and gently as I could manage, I told him that, here in America, it is considered extremely bad manners to discuss the attributes of a woman's body, especially if you are a religious person. Of course, this isn't appropriate ANYWHERE in the world, but I tried to give him an "out" that would save his face, but I needn't have bothered. He gave a perfunctory apology but continued his brutal campaign. I appealed to the retired priest, but he was of no use.

Later, I learned that the young priest had lied to other parishioners about our interaction. I wasn't surprised. I had finally come to understand how very common it is for people in these groups to target the most vulnerable members and that, even the people highest up in the organization were often the cruelest and most brutal bullies of the lot.  This is why, when I considered reporting his behavior to his bishop, I decided not to both. Later, the parish members with whom I'd become friends furiously shunned me when they learned I was opposed to Donald Trump's cruelty toward the babies at the border more than 5,000 of whom he had stuffed into small cages.

As one might have expected, I had enough at that point and I left that church, never to return. 

This is where the Catholic Church, in general, has a real problem. Unless you fit into a very narrow "type" you are not easily welcomed. Most welcome are people with families, children and money. They could care less about late vocations of people who did not find the faith until late in life. They want youth, beauty or money - just like every other group. Do not be old, fat, disabled and poor if you expect to be accepted as part of the group. Jesus would take me - but not the good Christians.

I am not singling out the Catholic Church when I say this. It actually has nothing to do with the particular faith itself. This is the nature of people. And people do not alter themselves to accommodate religious precepts all that much. They will SAY that they do. "Oh, Catholicism changed my life" or something along those lines, but Catholic people aren't much different than secular people when it comes to forming cliques.

Hospitality of Abraham

I have recited the most obvious examples of the experiences that have led me to this understanding, but, when I look back on all my experiences with all the religions I have studied and practiced, this is very true. I have come to the conclusion that saints become famous because they're the only people who actually practice their faith unreservedly and, just as the behavior of the people in religious groups is pretty much the same, from one group to another, the saints ALSO have a lot in common with one another, regardless of the faith, whether Hindu, Buddhist or Christian.

There are many many instances of women who chose to absent themselves from society and live a vowed life, alone in the desert or the forest. I now understand completely why they did so because I find myself among them now.  I have written about many of my spiritual sisters throughout history, and will continue to do so, now and then, as their feast days occur to me and when I have the time to write.

The rest of my time is spent in prayer and meditation, writing my novel, and artistic pursuits. I have given up trying to become part of any religious group, church or parish. It is not meant to be.

But I DO have a message for the other mystics out there - the women who don't "fit in"



God bless,

Silver Rose Parnell