13. Camera Mishap

Railroad Bridge over the Inn River. (Tomasito, photo)

13


Camera Mishap

A dusting of new snow has fallen during the night.

Perfect!

I walk the city streets and soon find myself on a footpath beside the Inn River. Following the current downstream, I am heading north as I hoped––exactly one day late, which is probably the precisely correct pilgrim time.

When I am surrounded by parkland; I pause to adjust my backpack harness. Arriving at the best fit for one’s equipment is interesting and important for a long-distance hiker, so I take time to adjust the harness straps.

Walking on into the brightening day, I soon come upon a stone railway bridge, which arches across the river through the morning mist.

I hear a train coming and hurry to take my camera out of its case to take a photo of the train as it crosses the bridge. In my haste I place too much strain on the camera’s carrying strap and break its’ plastic battery compartment lock.

This is not the first time speed and certain carelessness have cost me dearly—the camera was a gift from my Kolbermoor friends and I can’t afford another. It apparently still works but has been seriously damaged by my clumsy handling.

There is a lesson in this mishap that I have time to ponder as I continue slowly on foot: I had hoped for a camera like this one for a long time before I obtained it––and now it has been ruined by a moment of heedlessness.

This is a serious loss to me but perhaps this lesson will help me proceed with more care and deliberation in using other valuable tools in the future because I really must learn to be more patient and methodical even when pressed for speed—perhaps some day when more is at stake than a short-lived plastic camera.

One of the beauties of solitary pilgrimage is that you have time to meditate on the simple events of your day such as this.

Tomasito, 2009


...

12. Fresh Start

12


Fresh Start!

Very early in the morning I come down to the common dining room where a luxurious pilgrim’s breakfast of cheese, wurst, bread and coffee has been spread for me.

After breakfast, I shoulder my huge American backpack (donated by Cousin Rose in Anchorage, Alaska) and stride boldly out into the bright winter morning sunlight of suburban Rosenheim.

Children in colorful winter clothing are waiting for school buses and a few early dog-walkers are out with their pets. Until my lungs cool off a bit, I breathe out clouds of sparkling silver mist.

I love this moment.

I’m totally free—my body, just a little tired from yesterday’s hike, is eager for today’s exercise—the cold, crisp “town” air on my face––I’m wearing gloves, a warm parka and a new woolly hunter’s cap with sun visor and fold-down earflaps which I have decorated with an edelweiss badge and am using my pilgrim’s staff which I have dressed up with an evergreen sprig and blue and white diamond pattern Bavarian ribbons. I am so bright and cheerful that I smile, even laugh out loud from pure joy as I stride along. Such sensation! Such delight! Such pilgrimage!

Tomasito, 2009


...

11. Circular Start

Old Rosenheim (Tomasito photo)

11.

Circular Start

So I retrace my steps to where I can leave the canal footpath and then follow a city street toward the Inn River where I still hope I will find a pretty riverside path leading north.

Walking on the city sidewalk and carrying an increasingly heavy backpack, the progress of this pilgrim is mighty slow.

City traffic whizzes by and, though I try to go the shortest way toward where I think the Inn River is, that is not at all the way the streets want to go!

Ahhh! Finally I cross a big freeway bridge with signs pointing the way to Salzburg—and far below, I see the Inn river—but, how to get down to it?

There are rows of trees down below the bridge, which may have shaded a country lane years ago, but now that land is fenced private property-- meanwhile the short winter day is already wearing out.

Slowly, slowly, I pace through a few more highway twists, and arrive at a village signpost proclaiming the village of “Hopping”! Holy Mackerel! (A pilgrim’s swearword!) Now I recognise where I am! I am less than a mile from the house where I started walking this morning—and I’m south of Kolbermoor, though I wanted to go north!

My day-long walk has been in a circle and in the wrong direction !

This is so typical of my pilgrimage style that I just stand there and laugh like a fool!

It’s a good thing I am traveling by myself—if I was leading a group of pilgrims, some of them might be annoyed—maybe even angry!

But since this may be my only opportunity in this life to sleep in the delightfully named village of Hopping, I seek for and find a small guesthouse that is open for business, though the tourist season is long gone.

The Gasthaus has a nice, clean little upstairs bedroom and a bathroom with plentiful hot water down the hall—and since I have some money on this pilgrimage, I can sleep in this cozy room instead of under a bridge all night!

I eat some of the food I’ve brought with me, drink some orange juice (what an elegant pilgrimage!) and, after a short but sincerely thankful meditation, go to sleep swathed in one of those wonderful fat, fluffy, down comforters they wisely use in this part of the world.

Certainly, if pilgrimage were always this easy, luxurious and fun, there would be no one to keep the hotel because everybody would be on pilgrimage!

Tomasito, 2009


...

10 Getting Lost

10

Getting Lost

To my great delight I became lost almost immediately after setting out from my friend’s house.

To many people, being lost is a profoundly humiliating condition to be avoided if at all possible.

People who must know where they are at all times need maps, compasses—even global positioning devices and “where AM I” aids of all kinds--but I don’t.

For me, most of the fun and the learning seem to begin when I am lost. I truly love wandering, as they say, where there is no path—because when I am lost I begin to rely on other guidance, other sources of information, perhaps imaginary for you, but always available to me: my “guardian angel”, my “intuition” or whatever it may be.

For me, allowing this guidance to emerge and to accept its direction is one of the most compelling reasons to “pilgrim” in the first place. Really, if everything is pre-planned and pre-known, why not just take a “package tour” with everything paid in advance and no surprises (you hope!). I have actually seen advertisements for “pilgrimage tours” to well-known “holy places” where the client can pay for a time-limited “pilgrimage” without the inconvenience and discomfort of walking.

Of course, people are very different and many may profit from such tours but they do not appeal to me.

Please understand that I never plan to get lost. I really expected that, since both the Mangfal and the Inn Rivers have been “roads” of commerce for centuries and since Germans love well-cared-for walking paths through pretty scenery, there would be connections from the beautifully maintained Mangfal canal-path to the place where the canal rejoined the Mangfal River (probably, I imagined, some rustic but well-built bridge) and then to its confluence with the great Inn river where there would naturally be (I imagined) a lovely park-like path beside the majestic river all the way to Straubing.

Indeed, I had followed the course of the Inn on another pilgrimage in the southerly direction as it flowed out of the Alps with no problem, but on this occasion, when I arrived at the junction of the Mangfal with the Inn, instead of bridge and park, I found myself on a sandbar with a swamp on one side, rushing water on the other, freeway bridges overhead and fenced private property in every other direction.

There is no room for a picturesque pilgrimage path in up-to-date Rosenheim, and I am perhaps the first “real pilgrim” to walk this way in a long, long while.

tomasito, 2009


...

9. Prayer Mantras

Stone "Celtic" Cross in Forest Near Kolbermoor, Germany. (Tomasito photo)

9


Prayer "Mantras"

I have noticed that these different mantra-type prayers do not seem to have exactly the same effect on me, but they all seem righteous and good.

Of course, before they become a Prayer of the Heart I think they must be repeated many, many, many times since faithful, continuous practice seems necessary.

If the above seems foolish to you--well, it seemed foolish to me too. I had to experience the work myself—and that meant abandoning some prejudices and expending some effort.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained” is more than a folk saying.

Perhaps a person should also have reached a particular state of need in their spiritual development when this sort of activity is right--though I am not sure about this.


When I have finished “pilgrimming” and have stopped reciting the mantras, their total effect has continued to be beneficial to me, I think, though in exactly WHAT way I really could not say.

Tomasito, 2009


...

8. To Become a Prayer

8

To Become a Prayer

Some pilgrims like to use a rosary to count their repetitions of the "Jesus Prayer" and in the beginning I experimented with a rosary too, counting the beads just for fun.

I think it may be good for a person like me--who is easily distracted--to use a rosary to engage as many senses as possible in the prayer.

And if a person has only a limited time to pray, the rosary does make a handy timer.

But as I became more intimately involved with the prayer during my first long pilgrimage, counting beads seemed unnecessary.

Yet to me this did not seem to be merely robotic repetition, but a deeper altering of the condition of my consciousness—with nothing to attain, nothing to do--except to walk or sometimes ride an old bicycle.

Eventually, I suppose you might say that the pray-er--(you or me)--becomes the prayer.

In a way. the prayer becomes the core--the Self.

The Jesus Prayer then, as repeated by this pilgrim at least, was not really so much of an asking prayer (though the words ARE a plea for mercy) but a being prayer.

And since my first pilgrimage using the Jesus Prayer, I have experimented as I walk by reciting other mantra-type prayers from other of religious traditions—sometimes just for a change and sometimes for reasons I felt might be important for my "spiritual growth".

I have used Estafer-u-Allah (God have mercy) from the Moslem tradition; Aum, Mani padme hum (Aum, The jewel in the lotus) from the Hindu tradition, Aum—Ahhh—hum, vajra Guru Padma siddhi hum (Aum—Ahhh—hum. Diamond Guru Padmasambhava, hum) from the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, and others.

Tomasito, 2009


...

7. The Pilgrim's Prayer

7.

The Pilgrim's Prayer

I had abandoned the religious activities of my youth in a reaction against not only the hypocrisy I saw in the church but even more so in a reaction to the hypocrisy I saw in myself.

Regarding the Russian pilgrim's “Jesus Prayer” for example––at first I couldn't even recite the words comfortably in English, so I learned to repeat it in the original Greek—the meaningless sounds of that language: “Kyrie Jesu Christe eleson mas” were less repulsive to me than the old trite saw: “Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on us” was.

The author of The Way of the Pilgrim recommended that a sincere pilgrim should repeat this simple formula continually as he walks, and since he walks all day, he repeats the prayer several thousand times daily.

After a few days or weeks of this, he no longer needs to articulate the prayer—he repeats it silently as he walks, and eventually he will discover that the prayer has become, quite literally, the “Prayer of the Heart” since it is being repeated automatically night and day, awake or asleep, in his heart as they say.

I found through experience, that for myself at any rate, this is literally true.

During pilgrimage, for example, I would wake up in the middle of the night in strange surroundings and instead of normal fear I would experience the subtle but real comfort of the prayer running along quietly in my head

The prayer helped sustain my mental equilibrium, I guess you could call it.

Tomasito, 2009


...

6. The Prayer of the Heart

6

The Prayer of the Heart

Two women were responsible for directing my love of travel and adventure and my latent spiritual longings into the path of pilgrimage.

An older German woman concerned herself with my education in the cultural/religious traditions of Europe when I was living in Germany. She was the one who first told me about the old pilgrim’s path to Santiago de Campostella in Spain and later asked me to undertake a pilgrimage to that holy place on her behalf since she felt herself too old to make the journey.

The other woman was a devout Greek Orthodox Christian I met in California. When she found I was contemplating a pilgrimage to Campostella, she asked me to extend that pilgrimage on her behalf to Holy Mountain Athos, in Greece, since women are not permitted to visit that monastic province but may commission a male to make a pilgrimage there as their proxy.

This Orthodox woman also introduced me to a little book written by an anonymous Russian more than a hundred years ago: The Way of the Pilgrim.

In this book I read for the first time about the Prayer of the Heart, also called The Jesus Prayer, a short mantra-type prayer recommended to the devout seeker as an important spiritual exercise to be done while making a pilgrimage.

Oddly enough, this book and this prayer captured my interest and I began to repeat the mantra—at first more or less as a joke with no seriousness, but gradually, when I started to understand that the prayer could be a possible foundation technique--a key-- to spiritual growth, I started repeating the prayer just as the Russian pilgrim had suggested

Tomasito, 2009


...

5. Born to Move

5

Born to Move

I have always loved movement and travel. When I was a schoolboy I would study the illustrated encyclopedia’s articles about the wonders of the world and I longed to see with my own eyes the Great Pyramid in Egypt, the Himalayas of India the Holy Sepulcher in Israel and other marvelous sights around the world.

And I came from a "religious" family.

My great-grandfather was a Methodist circuit-riding preacher in West Texas and New Mexico and as a teenager I was a youth leader in another Christian church–– but an organization that did not recognize pilgrimage as a method of devotion.

Long Before I ever had the notion of making a pilgrimage myself, I had backpacked around the world and seen many of the places I had dreamed of seeing and had broadened my "spiritual perspectives" by exploring several religious traditions.

Tomasito, 2009


...

4. Just Walking

Mangfal Canal. (Tomasito photo)

4.

Just Walking

Pilgrimage renews its subtle conditioning from almost my first step away from my friend’s door as my consciousness begins to relax its constant demand for sensation and direction: “Oh, we’re just walking again”––a mood of tranquil acceptance settles on me because pilgrimage walking for me is not a stimulating or mentally engaging activity—it is just steady, rhythmic physical movement, which induces a sort of pleasure without content at some deep psychological level.

I have experienced literally years of this kind of movement––traveling by foot or riding an old bicycle—so I am not at all surprised to find my body and mind slipping easily into this familiar, comfortable state.

Tomasito, 2009


...

3. The Pilrim's Route

Mangfal Canal. Tomasito photo

3

The Pilgrim's Route

My plan was to follow a nearby footpath beside the Mangfal Canal, a watercourse that was dug a century ago to bring water for powering a textile mill in Kolbermoor but which is now a park.

I hoped to follow this canal for a few kilometers to where it joined the Inn River--then imagined I would simply follow the course of the Inn northward until I came to Straubing.

Walking is a very popular sport in Germany so I expected to find well-maintained paths beside the river and to be sheltered from the annoyance of highway traffic the entire way.

My Kolbermoor friends, urban people who love to walk for exercise, usually drive to a pleasing spot, park, hike a bit and then return to their car, so they could not advise me on my pedestrian pilgrimage route. I could have found other advisers, I’m sure, but I prefer to simply walk out and see what develops. I am fond of the adventure of walking into the unknown—through interesting or boring landscapes––because for me, sometimes even the boring times of walking can be the most spiritually rewarding since I am not being entertained by pretty sights but am simply putting one foot in front of the other for what may be many monotonous miles.

Such tedious walking calms and humbles my spirit —as my body tires, my shoulders begin to ache and my legs begin to send pain signals to my brain—those subtle reminders of mortality which can be more easily ignored in the comfort and security of home––reminders that my time using this fascinating and useful body is limited––I should make use of it because someday I will certainly lose it.

Tomasito, 2009


...

2. Call to Pilgrimage

Kolbermoor Town (Tomasito photo)

2

Call to Pilgrimage

I was staying with friends in Bavaria, the beautiful southern province of Germany, when I felt the insistent internal call once again to make a pilgrimage: to go alone and on foot to some holy place.

It is absolutely no problem in Bavaria, a land richly blessed with traditional sites for pilgrimage, to discover a holy place to visit since the “way of the pilgrim” has been accepted for centuries as a good technique for developing spirituality.

Almost every village has a pilgrimage church, a sacred grove, spring or holy stone to visit with reverence.

Ancient footpaths, worn by pilgrims long ago, can still be found and used by the determined pilgrim of today.

Carved stones or field crosses, the traditional wooden covered crucifix so typical of Bavaria, often mark mossy and overgrown pilgrim tracks, winding through forests and alongside fields and streams. An attentive modern pilgrim can follow in the very footprints of many generations of spiritual searchers, far away from the noise and haste of highways and shopping malls.

My friends own an up-to-date semi-detached house in the village of Kolbermoor on the Mangfal River near Rosenheim. They know well my pilgrimming habits and when I asked them for a likely walking destination, they suggested Straubing on the Inn, a famous pilgrimage town two hundred kilometers north of Kolbermoor on the Inn River.

Straubing has a famous church, an historic town hall tower and a fine metal commemorative statue of Saint James, the Patron of Pilgrims.

I like long hikes and this seemed to be a perfect destination so I selected a sturdy pilgrim’s staff from the dried branches in the nearby forest, put some extra warm clothes in my “rucksack”--since it was mid-November which can be a snowy month in Bavaria--and early one morning, after a hearty breakfast, walked out with my friend’s cheerful blessings.

Tomasito, 2009


...

1. The Way to Altotting

Field Cross in a forest near Kolbermoor, Germany.
(This is the place where the pilgrimage began.)

The Way to Altotting

By foot from Kolbermoor to Altotting, Germany
November 1997

(With thanks to Penny and Dr. Kurt Seitz)

At that time in my life, the best way for me to become spiritually focused was to make a pilgrimage—and for me, the best sort of pilgrimage was to walk to some holy place—carrying a change of clothes, a sleeping bag, a book or two, writing materials, a little food and water and sometimes a camera—with no address, no E-mail, no FAX, no telephone, no bills to pay, no worries and only responsibility for myself.

Some of my longest, and perhaps most spiritually rewarding pilgrimages have been made in distant lands where, among unknown folk in strange surroundings, I could wander, often without money or map, long enough to become truly centered and spirit dependent.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Pilgimage to Holy Mountain p. 43

Tom 2009, Tanya photo

Epilogue

Now, many years later, writing this and thinking back on my singular pilgrimage to Holy Mountain, I am grateful that I was allowed to see and participate in a way of life which is perhaps unique in this day and age. Perhaps the experience made a better person of me. I hope so. And I hope lots of spiritual merit, whatever that is, is bestowed on the woman who commissioned me to be her proxy

If I had made a different choice in the hermit’s cave beneath Saint Anne’s, I might have gained but I would have also missed many years of experience and adventure in the outside world, would never have met nor known great happiness and fulfillment with my dear wife and friend, Tanya.

I believe it was a right choice for me.

Tomasito, 2009

© Thomas F. Wold
Escondido, California
2009

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 42

42

Return to the World:

I step off the boat onto the Daphne dock and am instantly back in my familiar world.


The first thing that catches and fills my eyes are the girls on the dock in their bright summer clothes–how pretty they are–even the homely ones.

And for the first time, I completely realize how much of my attention and time are taken up and have always been taken up with the dramatic and entertaining play between the sexes.

For six weeks I have not been concerned a bit with how I looked or how I was dressed since I looked and dressed exactly like all the other men in my environment and, truly, I found the unique experience unexpectedly liberating.

Most of the other stressful things of “normal” life were absent for the simple monks at Saint Anne’s: no newspapers or magazines, no electronic media filling the brain with noise, advertising and other stupidity. No worry about earning a living or paying the bills, in fact no money transactions at all to be a bother. No concern about what to do next or where to go next. No instrumental music–only the music produced by the human voice. It was a snug. Life in a cocoon. Attractive, but not my life.

I returned to Thessalonica but stayed only a day or two with Good Priest. I returned his camera and the exposed film he gave me but did not linger to see the prints. I hope there were some good ones.

At a bank where I went to change the last of my European money to drachmas, I met some young guest workers from Israel who had just been sent home because of an urgent war scare. I assumed that any war in the area would include Greece and I did not want to be caught in that part of the world . I had just enough money to buy a bus ticket back to Germany where my pilgrimage had started.

I gave my old, very used bicycle to Kalogiros, thanked him for being such a good friend, and said goodbye.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 41

41

The Bogeyman

But, isn’t it odd how many mature people encourage belief in “the bogeyman”?

It seems to me that most cultures have their own “Thing in the Forest” to fear. It seems that “insiders”– initiates who know very well that the “Creature” or “Beast” is smoke, mirrors and masks of their own contriving, keep the game going for generation after generation to fulfill some psychological need of their own.

Do they want to scare others as they have been scared? Or perhaps they are victims of their own fear? Or maybe they just want fools to pay them for “protection” against whatever it is they are afraid of?

Perhaps it is just human nature. Those horror movies which stimulate imaginary fear-thrills and encourage our scare-juices to flow are always popular!

Kids love to frighten themselves and there are always too many unbalanced individuals who are more than willing to take the next step and BE the bogeyman!

Still, and in fact, “666” could be absolutely real.

If so, and if all the power of modern technology is his to control, it will take more than a little courage, tenacity and luck to avoid his microchip “mark”.

I asked the Greek if he thought 666 would be a company or a state or an individual and he replied that the general consensus of his colleagues was that 666 would be an individual–but no one knew his true identity or when he would make his move.

Maybe so.

I bid farewell to the worried Greek and boarded the boat for my return to Daphne.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 40

40.

“666” Warning:

I arrived back at the Kyries dock and had to wait for an hour or two for the larger motor launch which delivers passengers to the main port of Daphne. A Greek man neatly dressed in civilian clothes–not the usual monk’s robes–approached me and invited me to join him at a cafe on the beach for a cup of coffee.

As we sipped, he began, in excellent English, to describe a problem which was new to me.

He referred to a biblical warning from the book of Revelation–the last book of the canonical Christian bible, which says that at some future time an anti-Christ will arise, take over the world and rule–not for good but for evil purposes. The book of Revelation sternly warns believers that they should not follow this wicked leader, called by the author of Revelation: “The Beast” or “666”.

The same scripture warns that it will not be easy to avoid following The Beast because all of his adherents will bear a “sign” on their hand or forehead which will identify them as partisans. Eventually, any person who does not have this sign will not be able to buy, sell or live a normal life but will be considered an outlaw.

The Greek in the coffee shop told me that the time of The Beast had now arrived and that modern technology would allow “666” to take over and control the world.

He told me that microchips had been developed which could be inserted under the skin of the back of the hand or wrist which could be electronically scanned to reveal any information needed by police or governmental authorities and which could be part of a larger scheme to allow only such identified (marked) persons to buy or sell, rent living space or cross a border–in short, a permanently “carried” ID, passport and credit card all in one. Global positioning devices would also be able to track any implanted microchip so that authorities would know at all times where the bearer of the chip was. Certainly this would be a policeman’s or “control freak’s” dream come true!

He said that the chips were already being used on animals, inserted in cattle’s ears to keep track of them–placed under wild animal’s skin to study their migrations and so forth and even under some human’s skins to allow them to enter exclusive clubs in the United States and Europe.

He said that the time would soon come when most people would demand this chip since they would no longer have to carry money or identification cards and could be instantly traced if they got in trouble on vacations or lost in storms. Their medical history would be instantly available anywhere on earth in case of illness or accident–but the authorities would also have complete control of the technology and therefore complete control of the whereabouts and information regarding the implanted person. In this way, “666” could and would take over the world–pretending at first that such a mark would be only used for the benefit and safety of humankind but later using it for the sinister purpose of total control.

These implanted microchips are the "sign" on the hand or forehead referred to in the book of Revelation.

The Greek wanted me to keep in touch with contacts in the Orthodox community on Holy Mountain who would send me information about the progress of “666” which I could make use of in warning others of the danger of the imminent takeover.

But I declined to accept this commission.

I preferred what little freedom I already had to becoming an active agent of Christian Orthodox paranoia.

Tomasito, 2009



...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 39

39.

Invitation and Farewell:

I had been at Saint Anne’s monastery about six weeks when Father Thomas, a handsome old Greek monk with a beautiful long white beard who spoke excellent English, offered to show me a saint’s cave nearby.

The history of the cave was that long ago, before the monastery was built, a recluse famous for his wisdom and piety had lived there for many years. The present day monks of St. Anne’s keep it ready for special prayer vigils.

At the appointed morning hour, I met Father Thomas at his very pleasant, clean and modern skete about a ten minute walk from Saint Anne’s.

Before we hiked down the path together to the saint’s cave, Thomas spoke to me: “You have lived out in the world a long time and you have certainly seen how futile and foolish are most men’s lives. You surely know by now that the life of the spirit is the only true life and the religious life we live here hopefully leads us to a better understanding of that spirit. I am authorized to ask you to consider prayerfully whether you would join us on Holy Mountain. You would have a room in a skete similar to mine—you could be a simple monk or a priest if that is what you feel called to be or just a lay helper if you prefer—you have seen that there is always healthy work to do, nourishing food, pure water and free medical care. We think you would fit into our community very well. I would like you to pray about this in the saint’s cave, if you will.”

This unexpected offer pleased me. I did admire the way of life these men led. I did think they had something beyond price and worthwhile though it was very different from my accustomed way. I thought their life was good––complete in a way that life in the outside world is not. It was peaceful and meaningful, rich and beautiful–even uplifting…my mind was open as we entered the saint’s cave. This was surely the place to pray––an icon, a candle, some fresh flowers—Father Thomas left me alone and I opened up in what is “prayer mode” for me.

An hour later I left the cave and walked back up the path to Father Thomas’ skete.

“Father Thomas, I will leave Holy Mountain soon. There are still things I feel I must do in the world. Thank you and thank your community for offering me a place—it would be lovely, but it is not my path.”

Father Thomas smiled in a kindly way. A few days later I was on the little boat that carries pilgrims from monastery to monastery, and as the launch pulled away from the small dock I gazed up at Saint Anne’s perched so high above the sea. As the boat moved down the coast, I watched the passing cliffs and valleys of Holy Mountain with the sad feeling that I would never again see this beautiful place in this life.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 38

38.

Fire on the Mountain:

A small wildfire had been burning on the eastern side of Holy Mountain for weeks when I first arrived at Saint Anne’s.

Monks from all the monasteries around the peninsula had joined to battle the blaze as well as they could but the fire had spread and come over the ridge which forms the backbone of the province. The fire had become a conflagration, broken through their lines and was finally advancing on Simonopetra. The path from Simonopetra to Saint Anne’s that I had walked just the previous day was now closed.

Though there are few roads and almost no vehicles on Holy Mountain, the monks have radiotelephones, fast motorboats and some modern firefighting equipment; but this fire was out of control and getting closer by the hour. We could see red light in the sky from the awesome blaze at night and when the wind was blowing toward us from the direction of the fire the air was filled with ash particles and smoke.

Before he left to personally assist fighting the fire, Father Athanasius asked all of us to pray that the fire would stop before it destroyed Simonopetra. He told us that the monks there had vowed to stay in their cliff-top aerie and fight to the end. They would die fighting the fire, rather than surrender their monastery and its sacred artifacts to the flames.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons the Guest Master had been so curt with me. Perhaps he knew the fire was coming and wanted me to move right along because he thought that the presence of an infidel might lessen their chances of survival.

I was awake and outside before dawn the next morning to pray as requested, but I believe I was the only person at Saint Anne’s to witness an amazing formation of clouds roil silently down from the top of Holy Mountain.

Strange swirling clouds, lit first only by fire and moonlight and then by the pinks and gold of dawn, were twisting together like tremendous writhing snakes. A most awful sight— it looked more like a Hollywood special effects “miracle” than anything natural I have ever seen. But by the time the other men at Saint Anne’s were awake and out, the cloudy sky had returned to normal.

When Father Athanasius returned later in the day, he said that early in the morning the wind had suddenly shifted and the neighboring monastery was saved. The fire had died out after barely scorching the wooden balconies on the cliff side of Simonopetra.

Tomasito, 2009



...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 37

37

On To Simonopetra:

I have heard from other pilgrims that the monasteries nearer the hurricane fence line border between Greece and Holy Mountain are much tougher than the soft ones to the south. They are probably more militaristic since they have to patrol the border. They don’t sound very hospitable or interesting to me so I avoid them by crossing the peninsula and heading back south toward Saint Anne’s.

I visit several monasteries. Each is unique, but they share some architectural features. They all seem to have a central church and an enclosed courtyard. Their main gates are made of heavy wood sometimes covered with iron sheathing I suppose for defense against medieval battering rams. Most of the buildings within the wall are built of stone with the upper stories made of white painted wood. Many are built on cliffs with the level area of the monastery being set on a stone foundation terrace a hundred or more feet high.

They must have been formidable fortresses in their day and remain an enduring testament to the creativity and skill of generations of believers.

Built on a high outcropping of solid rock, Simonopetra Monastery is perhaps the most spectacular of them all. My first view of the place from land was from the footpath leading from the next large monastery to the north, Pantaleimon.

But the Guest Master of Simonopetra made an indelible and not very pleasant impression on me. When he was showing me to the cell where I would spend the night he asked what Orthodox congregation in the states I was from. When I told him I was not Orthodox, but was making a pilgrimage as the proxy of an Orthodox woman in California. He asked why I was not Orthodox. When I replied that I was a seeker exploring many of the various paths to spiritual understanding, he actually got angry. This was quite a surprise because I had rarely seen any emotion displayed by the monks, neither happiness, sorrow nor anger. They all seemed to be following the ideal of “the middle way” quite well. This monk, however, told me to go to my room and not leave it. until I was called to breakfast, After breakfast he said I was to leave Simonopetra immediately.

When I left for Saint Anne’s in the morning I noticed a lot of gray ash in the air borne on the morning breeze.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Pilgrimage to Holy Mountain p 36

36

A Russian Monastery:

There are fewer monasteries on the eastern shore of the Holy Mountain peninsula. I visit a couple, one of which is most interesting. I remember the name as “Stavronikita”, though that may not be correct. This monastery is BIG–built on a huge tract of land which was planned and developed all at once as a park and monastic community by Tsar Nicholas before he was murdered by revolutionaries.

Nicholas supported the Russian Orthodox Church but maybe spent too much money on this grandiose project in an Orthodox but foreign country. He funded this entire monastery–designed for perhaps a thousand or so residents–had it built and furnished down to the last detail and then: kaput. After he was killed, no more funds from Russia arrived and no Russian monks were allowed to come either so the place was never officially opened–a brand new derelict!

At the time of my visit, only six monks, all Russian Orthodox men from the United States and mostly from New York, were the only inhabitants of this town-sized property and, though all their time was spent in building maintenance, the place was literally falling apart.. They begged me to stay with them to help, but even though I love building restoration, this was too much of a good thing for me!

They told me about another serious (for them) problem. Other monastics had been removing whatever materials their monastery buildings needed from this almost abandoned hulk. Stavronikita has become a warehouse of free building supplies! So it happens on Holy Mountain as it does in secular society! But you can’t exactly call it theft–just rearranging assets!

These American Russian Orthodox monks gave me a quick tour of some of the most interesting features of their huge white elephant, such as a completely stocked surgery with medicines and medical tools from our great grandfather’s day–all lying unused in their original crates and cabinets.

Tomasito, 2009


...

Plgrimage to Holy Mountain 35

35

Sex on Holy Mountain:

I leave very early the next morning following the eastern coast of the peninsula toward Pantaleimon and Stavronikita monasteries which I have heard are unusual “must sees”.

The trail winds across the hills and valleys of the mountainside. Often there is a choice of trails to follow and there are few signposts but orienting north is easy–just keep the big mountain off your left shoulder.

I am dozing beside the path under some scrub brush out of the sun, when another pilgrim, the first pedestrian I have seen, approaches. He wears an outdoorsman’s hiking clothing and heavy cleated boots–of course, he is another American from California.

We talk for a while and he tells me that this is not his first visit to Holy Mountain. He visited here fifteen years ago. He says he is gay and tells me on his last visit he met a young gay monk and they hit it off quite nicely. He said the biggest mistake of his life was to leave Holy Mountain since he had gotten hopelessly messed up back in the states. He said he never knew what had happened to his Greek lover but had given up trying to find him and was going to make this hike around the peninsula his last walk in Greece. His last words to me has he hiked off toward Great Lavra were: “If I had only stayed here, life would have been perfect.”

Maybe so.

There seems to be some homosexual activity among the men on Holy Mountain, but it is not officially condoned and is, in fact, officially discouraged.

Homosexual contact seems easy to avoid if you wish or, perhaps, easy to have if that is your way--since homosexuality has always been a more or less accepted part of Greek culture.

There are no females on Holy Mountain—not even female mules or other animals though I have heard that female cats are allowed to reproduce to keep the mice under control and there may be some hens for eggs though I saw none. There is little or no opportunity to indulge in any male/female sexual contact so if a man is drawn to sexual activity he will have to find a male partner.

Tomasito


...