The Cloister Walk
Words by: Ms. Rebekah Hess
There are no cobblestones under my feet, only gravel shifting and protesting with each step. There are no pillars at my side, only sepulchral tree trunks reaching from the earth, shouldering each other against the wind. No peal of bells hastening me about my duties, only birdsong and the dry rustling of ancient leaves reminding me I have nowhere to go. No melodic prayers to focus my thoughts on the eternal, only my heart’s jumbled words and silent plea.
And my feet press into the ground and propel me along this cloister* walk. This walk is choice and desperation. This walk is fear and faith. I did not seek seclusion, but I will seek presence in this solitude.
I am learning the land. Along the path, the soil’s divots and peaks are miniature mountains molded into semi-permanence where bike tires and horse hooves have gouged it. When it rains, puddles form and become oceans swelling over an undersea range, dark and secluded in the water. I have seen this place, this one patch of land every day now for 19 days. I tread by it each day on my pilgrimage.
I did not seek seclusion, but I will seek presence in this solitude.
As I pass, I tabulate the sound of my footsteps on the pavement. One, two, three, four, ten, twenty. Lose track and start again. I don’t intend to count but a hidden part in the recess of my mind craves the rote catechism of numbers in their simplicity. As I walk and count I ponder and observe. Birds chirp relentlessly, and I wonder if I can be as bold. In the sun and in the rain, they sing. In the wind and in the stillness, they sing. In the storm and in the calm, they sing. And I wish to be like them. A prayer builds in my heart.
Where are You when the wildfire
Is taking ground?
Where are You
When the wind comes
And knocks us down?
Where are You when the waters rise
And it looks like we’re gonna drown?
Where are You now?
Where are You now?**
The questions bubble up and spill over and become a hymn on my breathless lips. One, two, three, four. Where are You when the world halts indefinitely? Five, six, seven, eight. Where are You when animation is suspended? Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve. Where are You when disease comes and traps us indoors?
And the counting and questioning drive me forward on earnest feet in shoes not made for walking or for running. They were bought for teaching. They were intended for long days on my feet building sets shoulder to shoulder with young people. They were made for theatre games
played in a close circle with freshmen giggling at childish antics. They were made for kicking off in spontaneous dance parties with young people who still crave the freedom of childlike wonder.
And walking in these teaching shoes makes me remember the answer to these driving questions.
Right in the middle of it
Right in the middle of it
That’s where You’ll be found
Right in the middle of it
Deep in the center of it
That’s where You are now.
And even in the rain, I see the sun fighting through. Young green leaves christen the trees that meditate over the path. A cardinal ruffles his scarlet plumage and struts in a cell of brambles. Spring arrives quietly in seclusion. Peace grows in my soul.
And I tread the cloister walk.
*Cloister
noun
– a covered walk, especially in a religious institution, having an open arcade or colonnade usually opening onto a courtyard.
– a place of religious seclusion, as a monastery or convent.
**Lyrics from “In the Middle of It” from the album “Faultlines” by kalley