Finding Emptiness

I loved living by the monastery's schedule, although it meant a constant struggle to get enough sleep (and to get up) as I am an insomniac night person. When things were going badly and my resistance was high, I'd grumble that I ought to leave just to get some sleep. But most of the time I found the schedule energizing.

Not only did it ensure time for daily meditation and prayer, it was vital to creating what I came to call "emptiness." Emptiness was one of the greatest gift of monastic living.

I was shocked at how much energy I'd previously sunk into running errands, driving, socializing, and endless unimportant decisions (like when to eat and what to cook, to read a novel or rent a video, to clean the bathroom or do the laundry). Suddenly all those things were missing. Some were forbidden or severely limited. Others were strictly designated according to the schedule, eliminating the need to make decisions.

In the emptiness that left, my soul energy blossomed into a consuming light.

Even the meditation was better. I wasn't less inclined to thoughts, but the thoughts seemed easier to release, and the deep places easier to fall into. Before, my greatest distraction was the press of to-dos for the day. Just giving myself 20 minutes to sit seemed so hard as one to-do after another would press for attention. But when it wasn't my choice to sit, the to-dos left me alone. Whether my meditation was deep or shallow, those empty minutes were inviolably mine, with no pressure to go anywhere or do anything else.

But my monastery was not good at keeping what was perhaps the most important aspect of the schedule in Benedict's Rule. It is the one I find most difficult outside the monastery, also.

Beginning and ending activities on a bell was supposed to change how things were done, not just set times for doing them. Monks were to treat every object, even the most mundane, with the care and reverence of a "sacred vessel of the altar." An injunction to "pray always" meant every activity was to be done as a prayer. Like Buddhist mindfulness, both these attitudes require slowing down and doing less in order to be attentive. Owning as little as possible also helps.

Having an always-more-than-can-comfortably-be-finished amount of work (or prayer or play) means always being in a frantic rush. This makes it impossible to go through the day at a steady, prayerful pace. To change this attitude, Benedict's monks picked up their work on the bell. When the bell sounded the end of a period, whatever monks had in hand was "immediately set aside", finished or not, and they went on to the next thing "with utmost speed, yet with gravity." Monks had to let go of worries over what needed to be done or what was yet undone.

A monastic schedule supports this attitude, but does not necessitate it. In my monastery, the work each sister had to do was always more than could completed in the time allowed. As a result, we not only were in a rush to get work done - just like every other over-extended American, but work often impinged on prayer and personal, contemplative time.

Still, having a schedule is the first step. Letting it help you release over-commitment comes after that.

Ever since I left the monastery, I've struggled to create a monastic schedule for myself, but my efforts have mostly failed. I needed the community requirements and the support of structures like living, working and praying in one place - which eliminated driving, and having an excuse to minimize entertainment temptations and social obligations.

When I imagine a no-particular-faith monastery, it isn't anything fancy. Just two or three other people who'd like to share a home and resources in order to help each other live with silence, daily prayer and, hardest of all, emptiness.