A Whale of a Time (New Bedford, Big Sur and the Benedictine Monastery)

      More than 3 months have passed since I first started to track the spirit of Whale and much goodness and an ocean's full of serendipity have drifted my way. Around the time of our Mendocino trip, I had picked up a copy of dime-store copy of Moby Dick and dove into the text with a seaman's wanderlust. This avidity lasted just a few weeks (it has since been gathering dust under my bed since early May). Not to worry, methinks, it's only been in print for 162 years so it isn't going anywhere. Whale himself, however, is a highly mobile spirit, one who crosses all cultures and oceans to help guide our dreams and shape our narratives.

 New Bedford was a happening place in the mid-18th century.


      In early April, I went back to Boston to visit family and felt pulled to visit New Bedford, Massachusetts. The only thing I knew about "Nu'Beffa" is that it was a depressed old fishing port with a high Portuguese-speaking population. And of course, it was where Ishmael spent his first few nights and where Melville introduced some of his dark and romantic themes. New Bedford seemed an hour and a half drive from my parents' place but all I recall was a grey and drab scenery down Route 24 with the spring buds hesitant to emerge. My primary stop was the New Bedford Whaling Museum, an impressive and large showcase on our cetacean brothers and sisters. A few displays made much of the relationship between New Bedford and San Francisco, two of the most prominent (and longest lasting) whaling ports in the U.S., both surviving into the 1920s. The one lesson that touched me the most was how the whaling economy has transformed from one of utility/exploitation (whale oil, especially that of the sperm whale, was used for candles, lamp oils, soaps and cosmetics) to one of tourism/wonder in a century and a half.
      According to my medicine cards, whale is known as record keeper. He is quite 'long in the tooth' compared to us humans and has seen our progress meander along a near geological timeline. So anything that alludes to memory, lessons learned and journal keeping is in the domain of whale. Another aspect that whale represents to anyone who has spotted them in the wild is awe. To see these great leviathans break the water, 'out of the blue' is truly an awesome experience.

 

   
      Upon my return to San Francisco, whale would peek out at me from breaks in what many mystics would call "the veil," the ultra-thin barrier that separates the world of matter from the world of spirit. I'd be hopping along with my busy life on land, running errands and the like, and Whale would greet me from bumper stickers, graffiti and billboards. Skip ahead to this June and July when I had a depression that I just couldn't shake. In desperation, I booked a stay at the New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur, California, a Benedictine Monastery where visitors can stay for $115 a night with all meals included. Only the hand of God, I imagined, could disrupt the sort of blues that had been plaguing me all through the spring and summer.
 Spotted at my local car wash
     
      Before my three and a half hour drive, I took a shamanic journey and asked the spirits to show me how to relax. Down a waterslide I stole until I reached an ocean in the lower world where sea lions, sea turtles and blue whales beckoned me to play. "Water belongs in the West and with Autumn," writes shamanic author, Tom Cowan in his approachable text Shamanism as a Spiritual Practice for Daily Life, "for water runs downward into the Earth, like the setting sun. Water seeks its resting point, as the sun seeks its evening rest below the horizon, as human beings, exhausted from the day, seek a place to lie down and rest at day's end."
      Living in San Francisco, there is not much more habitable West to traverse but I simply knew I had to be at ocean's edge.

 Spotted outside my apartment

      As a Cafetaria Catholic, the monastery wasn't my first choice but my friend, Marc, had recently raved about his silent retreat in Santa Barbara so I opened myself to the possibility of a long weekend bereft of Facebook, Google, text messaging and my secular news sites. Another option were the healing waters of the hot springs up north. To get confirmation, a week earlier I had taken another shamanic journey asking the spirits which destination was a better fit: Harbin Hot Springs (north of Napa) or the Catholic Monastery in Big Sur. The spirits showed a lovely, flirty, wet scene at HHS followed by one at the Monastery where Jesus Christ, Mother Mary and Saint Francis surrounded me like points of a triangle (my version of the trinity?). I decided to go with the option of holy presence. Harbin would be fun but it's decidedly Californian: new-age, bodily and a tad too cruisy for taking some downtime. I needed some deep healing.

      The drive down South was tolerable and I certainly wasn't disappointed when I reached Monterrey County. Big Sur is the prettiest place in the world or at least the prettiest that I've traveled. I think its allure is making driving a pleasurable activity for you never know what you're going to witness around each curve. There was a moment when I was listening to the classical music station (the only one that emerged through the static) and I heard the most beautiful composition. It was a moment of spiritual ecstasy but the static returned and the name of the piece slipped away just as I spotted the entrance sign to the Monastery.
      Up the 2-mile-driveway I ascended, passing various pilgrims and look-out benches where guests are welcome to sit and contemplate. At the top I spotted the just-closed Monastery bookstore along with a post for "Late Arrivals" in which I grabbed my reservation instructions. 
      My clean and reasonable quarters were named after a Benedictine monk, San Albertino, and overlooked the Pacific. The backyard had a gravel zen-garden feel with jasmine growing in the shady corner. A brush jay and baby rabbit would visit periodically. What I would find most memorable at first was the quietude. 

      Just outside my door was a throwback to the earlier "trinity" journey I had taken in the form of three Italian Cypress trees surrounding a sculpture. I felt immediately encircled and comforted by Jesus, Mother Mary and Saint Francis. Italian Cypresses have always fascinated me for their cathedral and guardian posture. These were a direct reminder that New Camaldoli's flagship monastery is found about 30 miles east of Florence.

 Holy Trinity reminiscent of a shamanic journey
      
          Most of the guests were baby boomer white folks along with a few younger Asian women. Meals were vegetarian and served buffet style; you were supposed to eat quietly in your quarters. For conversational relief, I often stopped by the bookstore where, true to my experience, I had the most interesting conversations with the brothers. Every member of the clergy I've ever spoken with, whether nun, monk or priest, always reveals such an intelligent yet humble mind and spirit. At one point, I mentioned that I was thinking of joining the monastery and Father Robert gave me a tour of their private campus.


          The brothers have their own library, infirmary, vegetable garden and gym. Their private residences were off-limits but I could see that they were these little, separate bungalows. For vocation, the brothers would bake and sell holy granola as well as perfect the art of hospitality. Three weeks out of the year the brothers are allowed to leave the premises for travel. 
          Being an underachiever, I attended just one full cycle of lauds, vigils, eucharist and vespers (but it's important to note that none of these activities are compulsory when staying at the New Camaldoli Hermitage) . Lauds start at 5:30 in the morning and most of the events include singing hymns, engaging in prayer and meditation and listening to passages of the Bible. I felt so clean and touched by God, even moved by him. For fun I read The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen. It's the author's interpretation of Rembrandt's great painting of everyone's favorite bible story.
         I don't know if I could commit full time but I do plan on going back to the monastery for another short stay. I may be too much in love with the world to ever take the brotherhood seriously although I do feel such a kinship at a deep level with the temperament of the monks I met. When pressed upon why many new brothers do not stick around, Father Robert replied: "Commitment is hard nowadays and there are too many distractions ..." It was like he knew me all my life.


        The flora and fauna were amazing. Highlights included the bark of California Sea Lion heard from a thousand feet up to planted specimens of Paper Birch, Maple and Madrone. These wildlife sightings did little to quell my unexpected grouchy mood on my last morning. Was I always going to be a man of a thousand interests and zero passions? What was it that the universe expected of me? Upon reaching Highway 1 on my morning departure, I pulled over to the side of the road where hundreds of tourists had their binoculars and fingers pointed to the great blue beyond. What could all the fuss be about? In various breaks of the surface, we all witnessed a pod of Humpback whales feeding not more than a hundred yards from us. My heart sang, for I knew that friends and allies are never out of reach for me or for any of us. There is wisdom and beauty in everywhere we go and everything we do.
           

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