| General Fiction posted March 25, 2022 | Chapters: |
...19 20 -21- 22... 
|
  |
Lots of praying & working
A chapter in the book The Tor
Wearing White
by Liz O'Neill
| Background Madeline, passing through a vortex is now called Bro. Samuel. He finds there is no room in the day for fun. They just work and pray. |
Previously:
Madeline, we will now refer to, as a male, known as Brother Samuel, had to serve a penance for being late for prayer.
**********
I didn't know much about the male anatomy, even though I was now the onus owner of said member. I couldn't help wondering if the prostate problems, I had heard of, could be brought on by lying prostrate on a cold floor.
There was too much similarity in the words, 'Prostrate, prostate'. I'd heard the warning that if you sit on a cold stone you could get piles, whatever those are.
I just hoped none of the penances doled out, involved sitting on that floor. I certainly did not want piles added to these other attached inconveniences. Maybe standing was the lesser of the two evils.
Standing sounds like a breeze, but, not so. After a while, I had to cheat and touch the doorway frame so as not to topple over. I was clearly listing. I was fortunate no one was anywhere near to be able to see how weak I was.
One of the consolations was the delightful wafting of the incense that permeated the chapel. I would eventually come to realize the fragrance of myrrh served several functions, aid in prayer and ritual.
I thought it would be a relief to be able to move when I had reason to relieve myself. Not so. I had been standing so long, I think my knees were locked, and my hips forgot how to move. There was pain like angry pins being driven into my joints.
I wasn't sure I could make it down the stairs, and pulling myself back up was worse. My body begged me to return to my quiet standing position. I was able to hobble in to kneel and sit with the others. But when I wasn't joining in some prayer ritual or eating, I was a soldier standing at the ready.
When the group did arrive, I straightened up to create the illusion that it was ‘No problem’ to have received this penance. No one seemed very interested in my standing there.
I was sure others had been dished out the same consequence; there couldn't be that many original means of torture. They knew why I was there and that I was posing, and with great effort, pulling myself up to stand as erect as I could muster.*******
Something strange is happening to my mind. And I must say, very terrifying. I’m beginning to know things about the new me, or should I say, the old me, the 15th century, Middle Ages me.
I’m wearing white because I am a Novice. We are learning about the Benedictine Rule. St. Benedict believed idleness to be the enemy of the soul. It sounds like the time-worn saying or sayings, ‘Idleness is the devil’s workshop, or playground, or worse yet, the root of all evil.
Clearly, Benedict was banning any workshops or playgrounds for the devil. He established a horrid horarium, throughout which, I am being disciplined for showing up tardy for prayer. I have stepped through a vortex and arrived in the 16th century at the 3 pm prayer known as None.
Abbot Benedict had a favorite chant, which I can see is not about having fun. It is actually about having no fun. ‘Ora et Labora’ means prayer and work.
Our schedule, or horarium, is strictly arranged, so there is no time for recreation or enjoyment. He arranged it, so there are three hours between every activity, sleeping, working, eating, and praying, in no particular order.
It is no wonder, the picture on the plate we used for our biscuits, in our little cottage, was a ‘trigger’ I think Cordelia arranged for me to be spared having to wash it. I know she rigged the coin toss when we were flipping to see who would be designated to have to touch that chills-producing biscuit holder.
This guy, Benedict, made it nearly impossible for us to enjoy ourselves. Imagine me, the group comedian, having to refrain from jokes or laughter. How will I ever relate to these people?
Thus far, I’ve not uttered a word. I wonder if I speak in an English dialect and if so, what part of England? I’m at a slight disadvantage with my long-term amnesia.I have no inkling who I am, why I’m here, nor, where I’m from. I have so many questions. Do I have a family? Are there people out there who care about me? What will happen if I see them and don’t recognize them?
I needn’t have worried about finding myself in such an awkward situation. We were forbidden to speak to anyone, except in the case of a business transaction, reassuring the donor, we are doing penance and praying for their intentions.
At times, we were to collect donations from prayer petitioners. We could, without consequence, converse briefly and politely with the parents of our brothers, but, never to our own parents.
What that must have done to tear their heart asunder, to be permitted to speak with any one of the brothers, but their own offspring.Madeline, our narrator accompanied Cordelia, a friend to Glastonbury, England.
As Cordelia was saying she knew they'd been there in a past life together, Madeline stepped into darkness through a vortex entering a Monastery of the 16th Century in Glastonbury, England.
Abbot Richard is the chief leader there
Abbot Benedict, now St. Benedict established this group with some strict rules.
© Copyright 2024. Liz O'Neill All rights reserved.
Liz O'Neill has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
