Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain 27

27

The Dying Monk:

One day Max was called to visit one of his old monastic friends who was approaching death at a nearby monastery. Father Athanasius suggested that I go with Max for the afternoon since there would be no further assistant carpenter work for me anyway until he returned.

We walked for a couple of hours on a well-worn footpath along the cliffs and through the scrub trees with Max losing no opportunity to replace a loose stone or toss a fallen branch off of the path. He said it was up to every user of the paths to keep them in repair.

Max led me into the monastery in which his friend had long lived and was now dying. The emaciated and unconscious monk lay on a thin pallet on the stone floor of a large room encircled by a group of solemn, silent, black robed monks, perhaps praying, perhaps only observing this natural event which would come to each of them on some not so very far off day.

Max and I joined the silent assembly. I thought that perhaps the spirit had already left the withered and still body on the floor though no one seemed overly concerned wither it still lived or was deceased. The watching monks were all very “present” it seemed to me. There was no phoning 911 for emergency resuscitation, no shouting or screaming–just sort of a serene acceptance that this was the old monk’s proper time to go. It was dignified. Peaceful. Not such a bad way to go, it seemed to me.

Tomasito, 2009


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