The Council of Elders

The Council of Elders

I was on my way as a pilgrim to Holy Mountain in Greece.

The "old lady's" bicycle I had received as a gift in Germany and ridden for several months had finally worn itself out near Florence and I had been given another old bicycle to ride.

On this antiquated machine I had slowly made my way across Italy and was crossing Yugoslavia. The wheels on this bike were comically small and it had no gears to shift-just one fixed " peddle-push-to-wheel-turn" ratio--but on pilgrimage, speed is not a consideration: you have the rest of your life. A spiffy look is not important. A pilgrim is not concerned with appearances, clothing nor equipment .

The incipient Yugoslav civil war was not a special problem to me either since a pilgrim is stepping out in faith anyway--or is "in God's pocket", as I used to say. But my friends, who had never been on pilgrimage and worried as friends might about my safety, gave me several detailed road maps illustrating the terrain I would probably cover, but I soon lost the maps, and continued on my accustomed way by pilgrim's instinct, so I don't know exactly where I was when the events described in this note occurred, but it was several days slow bike journey into the mountains of Yugoslavia.

At this time in my pilgrimage I was taking a weekly "Sabbath"-one day in seven in which I would not walk, ride, write, eat or drink. I would rest, sometimes read if I had anything "spiritually uplifting"-but mainly I would just sleep and rest. I was always outdoors. It was summer and besides, I had no money for lodging. I stayed away from villages and people so I wouldn't have to talk or buy anything.

This kind of Sabbath is very good for a pilgrim. I think.

It was getting dark as I passed through a small village. I was looking for a quiet place to sleep and to keep the Sabbath the next day.

A few hundred yards beyond the village I turned into a disused road and peddled for a few minutes into the forest. I could hear the village dogs barking, but they were not interested in me, though I have discovered that dogs have an uncanny sense of when someone is around even if the person is not at all near. I think the village dogs knew I was there but also knew I was no threat.

I ate some bread and drank some water, made a kind of shelter with my plastic sheet, rolled up in a blanket and went to sleep. In the night it started to rain--first a sprinkle, then a good, hard rain. I tried to adjust the plastic sheet, but couldn't do much-the rain kept coming and soon I was soaked and cold. Of course this was not new to me.

I had been rained on before and knew it was just an experience, like every other experience--just something else to live through. "This too shall pass", as they say.

It rained the rest of the night and was still raining in the morning. It was the Sabbath for me, so I stayed where I was as wet as I was. I tried to arrange the plastic sheet a little better but that was hopeless so I just rested and even slept as the rain fell, as it did on and off all day, evening and night. The next morning it was still raining.

I broke my fast with some bread. Everything was a cold, muddy mess. Riding a bike in that kind of rain is silly so I stayed where I was. I had a dry change of clothing in plastic bags, but I wanted to save something dry so I just sat or lay and soaked. It rained much of the day, but in the evening the rain stopped and it became very still.

I was cold and wet but not particularly miserable. I was repeating the "Jesus prayer" as usual on this pilgrimage--I can't say I was happy but I wasn't unhappy either. Everything seemed OK.

It didn't rain any more so the next morning as soon as there was light I packed up and pushed my bike back to the road and started to ride. I rode until afternoon and then came to another disused road leading into the forest.

My internal "pilgrimage director" suggested I turn off the road to follow the track.

The ruts soon ended but a path continued farther into the woods.

I left my bike and walked a few minutes on the path, which ended at an overgrown earth embankment no higher than a man. When I climbed the embankment I was standing over a grassy ring perhaps twenty meters across.

The flat, circular area enclosed by the embankment was covered with grass and flowers--no bushes or trees--while surrounding this strange clearing was thick forest.

The place looked just right to me. In fact it seemed perfect somehow.

I sat down and gazed across the ring in the bright sunshine.

Perfect.

Then I had the weirdest feeling that I was not alone there-that I had somehow been brought to this place to attend a meeting of a "council of elders' who were invisible to my eyes but who were nonetheless seated solemnly around the ring.

I had a feeling that they were discussing me--were pleased with me--that I was doing the right thing--that even if what I was doing was difficult, sometimes stupid or even crazy--it was indeed what I should be doing at this time in my life.

Tomasito, 2008


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