It’s true: For about the last 15 years I have regularly sought refuge from so-called normal life at retreat centers. Ever since an Episcopal priest and future mentor looked at me kindly but shrewdly, amidst a crumbling personal life, and said, “You need to go to this monastery I know,” well… that was that. And, however incongruous that advice may have seemed (monasteries were pretty far from my realm of possibility then) she was utterly right, and I have been going to them (and to convents) ever since.

Why? Because there is some sort of re-calibration that happens in places dedicated to prayer and silence. You are folded into a container designed for rest and for listening and for God, and you cannot help but drink from it.

(Note to readers: Many centers are near NYC and on public transportation, too. Many take individuals looking to get away. Drop me an email for more info)

One problem with going regularly, with making this a spiritual practice: You get more and more attached to the places, and their purpose. This past weekend, my husband and I were, again, at a convent in Northern California that has become part of the mosaic I call home. The place is pivotal, as is the particular retreat we go to—mostly silent, run by two dear friends. Because it is so far away, we stay an extra night to catch a flight back the next day, and last Sunday, as I puttered about in the familiar and empty and sheltering public rooms, a voice inside said: “You are more at home here than anywhere else.”

What? There’s trouble. Who said that unexpected thing? I don’t think these soul pronouncements are always meant to be taken literally (move here) or in some escapist way. No, this is about congruence, rest, freedom, prayer, and a type of deep landing in a place that both sees you completely and makes no demands that you be any other way than you are. I could feel tears as I faced my unexpected utterance, but I also knew it was invitational: how to celebrate that knowing, and take it home, to my literal home, and truly dwell with it there? 

That is the ongoing challenge of retreats—to not leave them where you found them. To bring home the wisdom about daily living they convey. To change some stale habits. And while that is very much an individual matter, I do want to share some of the bounty that can be shared, i.e. some of the “Basic Contemplative Retreat Habits” one of the leaders, Marv Hiles, outlined for us in a welcoming essay:

• The meaning of this retreat will be fo und in doing the retreat.
• Your anonymity will be sheltered. You do not have to say or be anything.
• Moving slowly is like moving holy. You’ve heard of “slow food.” This retreat is “slow everything.”
• Place a high value on letting go, loosening, listening.
• To be silent, “lost,” is not anti-social, it is the group norm. (OK, so this is my favorite.)
• You have all you need inside you. The retreat clears a way for it to emerge.

Retreats are the things that remind us what is too important to forget—and yet I forget all the time. And, happily, you don’t need to go on one to take in the contemplative suggestions above and apply them to your own life, this coming week. Which one jumps out at you…and what might it mean to adopt it? Ultimately, a retreat is about returning… to God, to the quiet place inside you can trust amid turbulence. Enjoy.