Ramadan in a monastery

By Mohammad Ali Salih

Almost every year since 9/11 attacks and the US declaration of the Global War on Terrorism (GWOT), and running away from Washington politics of fear, revenge and war, and from my own frustration, anger and stress, I spent a weekend in a nearby monastery.

Last weekend, my spiritual experience was multiplied because I was fasting Ramadan and because I didn't say a word during the whole time.

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The Holy Cross Abbey is a Catholic monastery sheltered by the Blue Ridge Mountains in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia, about 60 miles west of Washington. It is an elaborate farm and a bakery (specialized in fruitcakes and truffles) run by monks and nuns, and has an elegant but simple 15-room Retreat House. There is an extra room "we always leave for an unexpected visitor, as part of an old European tradition of hospitality," said a pamphlet.

The rooms are simply furnished, have no telephones, televisions, radios and keys (locked only from inside). Loud music is not allowed and cell phones are only to be used outside the building. Lunch (called "dinner") and dinner (called "supper") are served promptly at 12:00 and 6:30 pm, respectively and guests are warned in advance: "If you are arriving at 6:30, please have dinner beforehand."

Meals are vegetarian and guests help themselves, clean afterwards and set tables for the following meal. The meals' cost is part of the room charge, but there is no room charge; only "offering" to be put in an empty envelope in each room.

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Every time I visited, I was overwhelmed by the silence, except whispered greetings and small talk like asking someone during the meals to pass salt or pepper. But this time, except when I introduced myself to the monk in charge of the Guest House and he showed me my room, I didn't say a word from 3:00 pm Friday until 3:00 pm Sunday. I avoided eye-contacts, and when I couldn't, I nodded with a quick smile.

I listened to many CD's of the Koran, the Gospel of Matthew (my favorite gospel) and German Gregorian religious chants (without knowing the language); visited the library; walked to Shenandoah River; and gazed towards the high Blue Ridge Mountains. My fasting added to the atmosphere of spirituality.

In addition to praying in the dining room at meal times and in the adjacent contemplation room, I prayed ten formal daily prayers. Five Islamic (by myself in my room) and five Christian (in the main chapel with the monks): "Vigils" at 3:30 am; "Fajr (dawn) at 4:40; "Lauds" at 7:00; "Zohr" (afternoon) at 1:13 pm; "Midday" at 2:00; "Asr" (evening) at 5:01; "Vespers" at 5:30; "Compline" at 7:30; "Maghrib" (sunset) at 8:04; and Isha'a (night) at 9:44.

There were some awkward moments. Like when I, alone, at 4:30 in the morning, entered the Guest House's kitchen to prepare and eat "sahoor," the last meal before the start of fasting. And when dinner was served exactly at 6:30 pm, about an hour and a half before sunset, the time to break Ramadan fast. So, I prepared my meal in a plate, covered it with aluminum foil and put it in the refrigerator to eat it later.

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The two-day complete silence was the climax of many years of attempts in relaxation and in stress-management: ten years of yoga; five years of Valium, Librium and Ativan; three years of counseling; two years of chanting; a class on how to breathe correctly; and a class on screaming into a pillow.

During the monastery's talk fasting, I felt - and sometimes heard - my breathing. Avoiding eye-contacts was different than doing the same in downtown Washington, the metro-rail or the metro-buses. I call the totality of my feelings spiritual individualism, whatever that means: something like being, at the same time, out of place and above place.

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When I was listening to the Gospel of Matthew, I came across: "But when you pray, go away by yourself, shut the door behind you, and pray to your Father in private." I read that when I am not praying but stay silent, God will pray into you.

When I go to the monastery next year, I will not even listen to the Koran, the Bible and the German chants; I will listen to nothing - maybe God will talk to me.

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Mohammad Ali Salih is a Washington, DC-based full-time correspondent for major Arabic newspapers and magazines in the Middle East.

By Mohammad Ali Salih |  August 30, 2010; 7:58 AM ET Save & Share:                 
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