Assumption Abbey  is miles deep into wooded hills, at the top of an old Ozark mountain, with tall trees and occasional surprising views.  I turned off the car, and stepped out into the quiet.  I could hear the wind in the pines, just moving through.  And nothing. 

A sign by the door said to ring for the Guest Master, so I rang, but no one came.  Just the breeze, and the sound of my footsteps.  I walked around, going places I was not supposed to go, though I didn’t know it then. 

And the quiet started moving in.

The Guest Master came eventually.  With long white robes and a kind, soft voice, his very strangeness was reassuring.  They obviously had their own thing going here—they weren’t waiting for me to do anything!  And that was such a relief.  

He showed me to my room in the guest wing.  It was small and sunny, with concrete block walls, bare linoleum floors, a hard twin bed.  A desk for my books, a lamp, a comfortable chair.  The only schedule was of the Monk’s prayers, and they prayed every day, many times a day, whether I was here or not.

            I set my things down, lay down on the bed, and with no thought or decision, went to sleep.  The breeze was soft and warm, the quiet was comforting, empty in the austere nothing.  In the daytime and for no reason, I just slept.  Soundly for a bit, then drifting to distant sounds.  Safe in His arms, releasing it all.

I had no awareness of the depth of my tiredness until I let it go.  You may find you’re tired too, if you lie down in the deep quiet.

Later that afternoon, I sat on the wide portico, in the sun and the shade.  I held a book, because back then I didn’t know I could just sit, but really, I just sat.  And then I cried.  The tears came out on their own.  It was a release, and a surprise.  I wasn’t crying for anyone, not even myself.  I just cried. 

And that was my first retreat meditation.  Sleeping, drifting, aware of the breeze; crying, releasing, letting go.  Just trusting, and resting in Him. 

Can you really stop at home?  The phone is there, and the bills, and the projects you should do—the ones you will never get to, and the ones you do without even thinking.  Just the knowing, the associations with every room and chair and bed, is enough to keep you busy. 

Perhaps retreat is where you will find meditation.