The Nuns and Me

Yes, you read it right: the nuns and me. Me-and the nuns.

Last week I went to a Benedictine abbey in Kent. One of my yoga acquaintances-Mary-told me about this place a few weeks ago, and I had a free week (what? Wonders will never cease), so I decided to go along. What an experience!

I sang in the church choir (Presbyterian. Not a nun in sight) when I was growing up, and that was about all I wanted when it came to religion. As soon as I got my little backside out the door to go off to college, I stopped the whole Sunday church thing. What a relief that was! I couldn't justify all the things going on in the world with the church teachings-neither could any of my college friends, so everyone rejected Western religion and crossed over to Buddhism.

Then I decided that any kind of religion was just a means of someone trying to control everyone who bought into the dogma, and I rejected Buddhism, too. I decided that when I want to talk to God, I don't need some middle man. I dial direct.

With this in mind, I went to the abbey with Mary. And there they were: the nuns. And here I was: a heathen. It only got a little tricky when it came to going to all the services. There were a lot of services. I went to one, and that was enough. I don't know psalms, or hymns, or when to stand, when to bow, when to sit...so I followed everyone else. Oh, boy, it was really awful. We were in the guest chapel, and all the nuns were around the corner in the main chapel, so I did what the other guests did. And when I left the chapel, I felt like I'd been granted a parole.

The nuns I met were lovely. Honestly, we had tea together, and they wanted to find out a little about us-and I wanted to find out a little about them, too. Some things you just don't ask (like sex, for example), but I was very careful. And no swearing, obviously. I wonder if nuns ever swear? What do they do when they just don't like each other? Nobody likes-or is liked by-everyone. Perhaps next time. This was a missed opportunity for me to find out about a nun's life-if any of them would tell me. We all kept it impersonal.

So that was my week last week. And Mary, whom I now call "motor mouth", never stopped talking. Ever. Even in the guests' lounge, a place where you weren't supposed to talk, she talked non stop. About nothing. Verbal diarrhea-terminal, with her. It drove me around the bend. I had to walk into the little village to get away from her-and spent a lot of time in my room, just for some peace and quiet. The only time she shut up was during prayers; I looked forward to those because I knew I would get some peace.

Am I going back? Yes-in August, but by myself. I'm not telling Mary that I'm going. She did ask if I would be coming back-and I'd already booked, and the booking sister was sitting with us, but what a star: she said nothing when I said that perhaps I'd be back in the autumn.

Still, I recommend going on a retreat-by yourself!- to a place like an abbey, where nobody pushes you to go to prayers, where the grounds are beautiful, the buildings around 400 years old (the guest quarters were renovated around 2 years ago, so that was pretty great), and it's so quiet and peaceful that you can meditate, unwind, relax, and recover from the pace of the city.

And I still don't know one psalm from another. But I do know my Kettle Chips. I got back and knocked back a flat white from Starbucks, and scarfed an entire bag of salt and balsamic vinegar Kettles in one sitting. I'll probably be damned.