Early rise, menagerie fed, dogs walked…I was heading off to find the buddhist monastery, apparently called Plum Village. It was a beautiful drive, a clear day. Roads alarmingly narrow as they wound up the hills going higher and higher. Praying that a car wasn’t on its way down. Seeing a monastery type building ahead of me standing alone on the hill convinced me that I might be in the right place. A monastery or a church, I wasn’t sure. Either way it was a majestic structure rising up above the landscape. The beauty fed my eyes. Parts of the building golden under the shafts of sunlight.

Stepping out of the car it was noticeable immediately. A wide sense of balance. Eerily quiet – not a soul, not a sound, just a faint whisper of wind. Not wanting to interrupt the quiet I remained still. Leaning up against my car door I became mesmerized with my surroundings. This place was in a realm of its own: seemingly untouched undisturbed by the rest of the world, almost not real. But here I stood, my feet physically connected with the ground. Sense of time oddly absent. Flashes of insight with razor sharp clarity. I was supposed to be here. Here as a privileged guest in this privileged place.

The bells rang out. This startled me. Still not a soul, nor a car. Mysterious. I was in awe watching them ring out, tolling back and forth, the sound reverberating all around. Filled me completely. After the bells stopped, there was a lingering vibrational ‘Om’ sound. This sound I knew. The sound that closed each yoga class I attended in Canada. This had an incredible calming effect throughout me. The vibration I didn’t want it to end.

Still relishing the wondrous effects of the place, now wondering where Plum Village actually was, realising it wasn’t here, I started the drive back down the hill. The narrow snake like road demanded my full attention. Now sitting at the stop sign unsure of which way to turn, there to my left is a woman walking along the road. This is the first person I have seen all day- maybe she can help me. “Bonjour!! Excusez moi”, feeling myself cringe at the sound of my voice as I rolled down my window. She looked over at me. Poor woman having a nice walk totally in her own thoughts and then I come along. Thankfully I remembered a useful french sentence that my new friend Moira had taught me. If I can remember to think of a pedicure, which I can only remember by thinking feet, then I have it – “ Je suis pedu! “ I exclaimed (Je suis pedu meaning I am lost).  Feeling quite proud of myself for that, she responded “ Bonjour! Sorry I don’t speak French.” I almost shot out of the car with excitement. Well it turned out that she was in France visiting from the United States and she was on a retreat at Plum Village. I had hit the jack pot. Apparently the place high up on the hill where I had just been is where the monks go to gather some times but Plum Village was further on, watch for the wooden sign she told me. With a ” Merci. Thank you.”  I set off again. After some time and now with the road getting narrower again, climbing back up into the hills I knew I must have driven past the sign.

Pulling into an open area to turn around I spot a small church poking out through the trees; just a short walk away. Sparking my curiosity I parked the car. The air was poignantly fresh and crisp. No sounds. Similar feel to where I had just been. Just faint whispers of a gentle breeze. Coming into a clearing I could not believe my eyes. There, right in front of me, were two monks sitting cross-legged perched on a ledge. I froze. Holding my breath, I was overwhelmed by what I was seeing. I didn’t want to disturb this scene. From what I could see, there was a huge drop from the ledge looking onto magnificent views of the Drot valley. I realised that they were young women. Nuns. No indication that they knew I was there. So not to intrude, I lightly walked away to the far end of the church following a sign to a small grotto. Upon returning, the nuns were gone. I stayed there for a while. Sitting on the ledge where they had sat. Absorbing it all. Gazing out over the fields, vineyards, life in the valley. Magical.

I needed to start heading back. I had a farm to care for. I ended up on a different twisty road following a sign for the main road. Almost at the end of the road on my right the colour brown caught my eye. The same brown that the two nuns were wearing. There were rows of brown robes blowing in the wind. Monks working in the garden. Some hanging out washing. I came to the end of the dirt road to turn onto the main road and there to my left were the same two nuns, the ones from the ledge, walking down the road holding hands swinging them back and forth. I was in awe being treated to such a scene of happiness, of simple joy. A warm feeling in my heart. Turning onto the main road I see a piece of wood sticking out of the fence with the words Village des Pruniers hand painted in calligraphy style. This was the Plum Village sign that I had missed. Only painted on one side. There was something inexplicably satisfying about the simplicity. As I drove past the nuns, they looked so happy. Made me smile. I kept looking at them in my mirror until they were out of sight.

Days later I am told that Dieulivol, the name of the place where I had been, means Breath of God. This described exactly what I had felt. Something very spiritual.

Now back home, all sixteen animals fed, bedded down for the night, I decided to do some research on Plum Village. Turns out the one I saw in Dieulivol is for single women and nuns. The one for men and monks is in Thenac. This is where the founder, the zen buddhist master, a  world spiritual leader resides. His name is Thich Nhat Hanh. Seeing this name sparks something in me. Where have I seen this before? I dash into my bedroom to get my book that I have brought with me from Canada. The simple book on the breath. The book that I had read in my local library after Jason died. This important book offering me the first sense of grounding, a sense of hope- a life line.

My heart raced off. I couldn’t believe it. This name Thich Nhat Hanh staring at me from my computer screen, was an identical match to the authour’s name printed on my book.

 

 

 

The following year I returned here with my friend Moira and then later with my daughter Kelsey.