We arrived at the entrance of the monastery in the drizzling twilight. High walls with apparently no windows separated the interior from the outside. A strange uncomfortable vibe crept through my veins. It felt like we stepped into the Middle Ages. As if King Charlemagne with his retinue could appear around the corner any moment. Here we stood, six of us. What to expect from this retreat?
We knocked on a small wooden door in the middle of this massive stone wall. Minutes passed before the door finally opened with a creaking sound. A monk, hidden deep inside his cloak welcomed us upon entering. He let us through a hallway to a small visitors room. Here he lowered his hood, introduced himself and explained us the rules and what to expect.
Every day started with a Gregorian Morning Wake from 5 to 7. Then breakfast. Then another three hour mass. Lunch. Mass. Study. Mass. Study. Diner. Mass. Sleep. The community functioned like an autarky. Every inhabitant played his role. A sort of Smurf town. We met with Brainy, Greedy, Vanity, Lazy, Clumsy, Hefty, Jokey, Dreamy and Grouchy. Only Smurfette was missing. The sage tells that she was created by Gargamel, Lucifer himself. So they probably banned her from the monastery.
During study hours we met with the monks for discussion. Within seconds we came to our favorite topic; celibacy. Dreamy Smurf explained while babbling about doing his penance on a different level. It appeared that Handy Smurf didn’t always attend the Morning Wake. Dreamy suspected him of feigning his hernia. This mistrust sickened him to the point of nausea. He prayed to God for forgiveness every single night.
A disbeliever among us frustrated by this dodging answer exclaimed: “So you’re telling us that in all off these years you never wanked yourself. Come one! Who are you fooling?”. How coincidental.., the name of this disbeliever; Thomas, doubting Thomas.
Attached painting:
Bladibla I
140cm x 180cm