About 12 years ago, I had a thing for monasteries. And so did a lot of other people. Monks and monasteries had recently attained the status of “groovy stuff” amidst the spiritual seekers of the post-war generation. Thinking Christians of the 1950s and 1960s turned to Thomas Merton, a famous Trappist writer and apologist for the “quiet way” of monasticism. Now the beautiful people of the 1980s and 1990s, the maturing baby boomers, had re-discovered the monastic institution. Various writers decided to ride the wave for fame and book sales, most notably Kathleen Norris.

I bought and read Norris’ magnus opus on monasticism (“The Cloister Walk”) soon after it came out. This book was and is a good source of information about monastery life. Norris received a lot of good reviews for it. But as for me, “The Walk” was a rather annoying exercise in self-indulgence and self-celebration by Ms. Norris. In the end, it wasn’t about the monks and nuns and their ancient traditions; it was all about thoroughly-modern Kathleen, a totally with-it author who had the vision to rediscover what these (usually) old men and women were doing in their old churches and farms, despite their seeming irrelevance to the flower-power generation. The stories in Cloister Walk of Ms. Norris’ interactions with various monks and nuns and their communities were quite interesting; but she also just has to let you know about her reaction to an LSD trip, about how a local farm-hand brought a bucket of newly-removed bull’s testicles over to her house one morning (something of a local delicacy out in South Dakota, I think she was trying to say), and various other experiences far from the cloister. I wasn’t quite sure what her point was, other than “oh, my life is so interesting, including how I dug up these places where people still do what they did in the Middle Ages; so aren’t you so glad you paid the $15 or whatever to allow fascinating little me to tell you all about it?”

Last night, while in the supermarket, I was reminded of another disedifying line from Cloister Walk. In describing her life as a famous author, Norris talks about a late evening in Oklahoma City or some such place when she was coming back to a hotel to meet up with her husband after doing a local media interview. Even though it was late and her hubby had turned in, she was all charged up; she wanted something modestly stimulating and satisfying, like fresh strawberries and cream, or a swim in the pool. But it just wasn’t gonna happen that night. So poor, groovy Kathleen wasn’t going to get her berries on. What a tragedy.

I don’t know why, but I felt like that while walking up the cereal aisle. I had just concluded another blah week at work, but strangely enough I still had some restless energy left over. Nonetheless, there wasn’t anything worthwhile to burn it on. So I tried to do what Ms. Norris forgot about out there on the celebrity circuit. I tried to relate to what lies at the heart of monasticism, the raison de etre for every monk and contemplative nun: i.e., contemplation. I.e., the turning inward, the embracing of the darkness and emptiness inside ourselves in the search for the ultimate brightness without. I tried to “calm the monkey mind”, as the Buddhists say (with much admiration from the Cistercians [Trappists] and other highly contemplative Christian orders). I heard the Buddha’s call to extinguish desire.

That pretty much explains why I felt let down by Ms. Norris. She got close to the monks and got deep inside their monasteries. They actually talked to her, and that made me jealous. They never seemed very talkative with me when I visited their retreat centers. Actually, there was one guy, Father Albert at the local Benedictine High School [technically still a monastery, albeit in the middle of urban Newark, NJ] who exchanged correspondence with Ms. Norris and wrote a few books himself, but was still willing to give me a few minutes of his time. But back to the main problem: the monastic way just didn’t seem to rub off on Ms. Norris, despite her may words about the wisdom behind the Rule of Benedict. I.e. the inner pathway to sanctity and personal “imitation of Christ”. She just didn’t seem to take it personally; or if she did, she just wasn’t willing to share what it meant to her (other than her surface fascination with the details of an ancient way of life, e.g. the chanting of the “O Canticles” during Advent). She didn’t seem able to hue to the “quiet path” of inner peace when the urge for earthly gratification blossomed and (as usual) quickly shriveled into frustration and disappointment. She didn’t seem to even know that it was available. Just what were those monks teaching her?

So, did I get back on the Zen level despite my existential urge for adventure at the supermarket last night? Yes, for a while. As the daylight faded in the west, I felt at peace with my loneliness and failures and disappointments as I left the Shop Rite and drove over to Whole Foods to pick up some soy yogart. But then something unexpected happened, something that actually did gratify the earlier urge for a “memorable experience”. The checkout woman at Whole Foods was rather young and pretty, and she was very nice to me (rare here in northern New Jersey, rarer still for schmucks like me). We got into a pleasant little conversation about the bottle of blackstrap molasses that I was buying with my yogart. I guess she was also interested in “whole foods”.

Well no, it didn’t lead to anything. Sorry, but this is New Jersey, not a fairy tale or a romantic comedy. I don’t go to Whole Foods very often and the staff there turns over very quickly. I’ll probably never see her again, and even if I did, she was too young for me (and is probably hooked up anyway). But that little tete a tete and the little smiles we exchanged as I carried my bags away were just enough to satisfy my earlier restlessness. It was an interesting day after all. I had found both inner peace and a bit of ego gratification.

(If you read my entry from earlier this week, you might ask why I liked this little bit of attention so much better than the occasional condescending and teasing smiles from the married chicks at work? Well . . . . maybe I’m just in a better mood when I’m away from work.)

(As to the local Whole Foods, business was booming last night, despite their announcement that they will no longer sell live lobsters. Actually I don’t remember even seeing a lobster tank there.)