This past week, Avila partners and the wider community were invited post-election to gather around the fire pit for conversation and care. Some 35 people, including old and new acquaintances enjoyed an impromptu pot-luck meal including good comfort foods of pizza and s’mores. Conversations around the bonfire provided those assembled the opportunity to share their thoughts and feelings, and the simple gift of being present to one another.

I spent the last week or so before the gathering on pause, seeking to allow the feelings of disappointment post-election some space in my mental landscape. Resisting the urge to become urgent, I listened to what was welling up from my deeper self as a meaningful guide toward what might emerge as next steps in the world. The phrase that kept coming back was “go wider and deeper.” Wider in the sense of taking the time to seek out and listen to those who have life experiences and perspectives that may differ from my own- immigrants, low wage-earners, those with limited health insurance, and yes, those who voted for the other candidate. Deeper in the sense of listening to the yearnings of my soul’s desire to strengthen my contemplative journey and there rediscover again and again my inherent connection with all things living. 

Perhaps what we are called to do next arises from going wider and deeper, listening without and within.

I enter quietly into the spacious community room. Nearly fifty chairs are set up in a large circle. A small table, adorned with a single burning candle and an old farm bell, stands in the middle. I take my seat and watch as the light of early morning before sunrise stealthily enters the room. Taking a few deep breaths, I close my eyes.

I am the first of our group to arrive this morning on the fifth day of our pilgrimage with John Philip Newell and Cami Twilling on the island of Iona on the western coast of Scotland.

Earlier in the week we had hiked to the northern beach of the three and half mile long island, to a place called Martyrs Bay. We were re-introduced to the Celtic cathedral of earth, sea, and sky, blending together into a single tapestry. It is a place where one can readily sense the deep connection to the sacred element of all created matter, including each of us.

It is also here, John Philip reminds us, that 68 Celtic Christian monks were slaughtered in 806 A.D. during a Viking raid on the Iona Abbey. The profane and violent layered on the sacred and enriching.

It is also here where we created on the shore a mandala of stone, seaweed, and grasses. Each person said brief words about the gathered stones as we placed them in quadrants representing earth, air, water, and fire. Our words abounded with yearning expressions of hope, compassion, justice, and love.

The same sandy beach where our mandala took shape had run red with the blood of the monks. We were invited to acknowledge both the tranquility and the violence that so often run together in our broken, beautiful world.

We stood quietly as the late afternoon sun cast shadows transfiguring our body shapes on the sand.

Days later in the quiet of this fifth morning sitting with my eyes closed, I hear a slight swish of the door followed by footfalls upon the floor as the pilgrims enter the room and make their way to a seat. First, it is one person at a time, then multiple sounds of entry layer upon each other. Some foot sounds are light like ballet dancers, and others heavier like beasts of burden. I hear a few canes tapping along the wooden floor. Some chairs creak as their occupants settle in. There are recurrent rustlings of papers and jackets directed to their spots on and underneath chairs. The cacophony increases until a moment when the room returns to stillness, like birds in the trees during a solar eclipse.  I hear Cami rise from her chair, walk to the center of the room, and sound the bell to begin our morning meditation.

I open my eyes. The rays of the risen sun are now shimmering on one wall. The first movement of the day’s symphony has ended, and the second one is dawning. There will be harshness in the world this day. There will also be those who recognize the light of love and the sound of hope. Let me be in that number.

By: Terry Allebaugh

October, 2024

We welcome Elaina Eakle as our part-time communications and event coordinator, the first staff member of Peace Hill at Avila! She will be directing online communications including newsletters, program announcements, and social media, as well as coordinating Peace Hill events at Avila and in the Durham community. Originally from Southeast Ohio, Elaina is a PhD Candidate in Communication at UNC-Chapel Hill, where she studies organizational communication with a focus on activist organizing and coalition-building. In addition to her organizing work and studies, Elaina also teaches undergraduate communication courses. She enjoys hiking, writing, and spending time with her two cats.

“I am incredibly excited to join Peace Hill at Avila. Contemplative and restorative practices are vital resources in our current moment, as organizers and community members face ever-increasing stakes and demands. Peace Hill’s mission is an essential component of broader social justice goals and I’m grateful to be part of this work as the organization grows.”

You can contact Elaina at elaina@peacehillavila.org.

This summer we also welcomed new board members: April Allison, Lois Deloatch, and Racquel Gill.

Did you know the labyrinth at Avila is maintained and sponsored by Peace Hill at Avila?

The labyrinth is an ancient pattern found in many cultures around the world. Labyrinth designs were found on pottery, tablets and tiles dating as far back as 4000 years. Many patterns are based on spirals from nature. In Native American culture it is called the Medicine Wheel. The Celts described it as the Never-Ending Circle. It is also called the Kabala in mystical Judaism.

One feature all labyrinths share is they have one path which winds in a circuitous way to the center.  Differently from a maze, a labyrinth provides a meditative pattern. Walking toward the center of the labyrinth is symbolic of accessing our own center of quiet. Walking the pattern outwardly denotes carrying our renewed selves back out into the world.

Walking a labyrinth is a personal practice and everyone does it for their own reasons.  While there are no set rules on how to do it, here are suggested guidelines to help you make the most of your labyrinth experience.   

Prior to the walk, sit or stand for a bit in the stillness.  If you go with a specific question or issue, put it out there and take a breath before entering the labyrinth.  As you enter, let your mind clear.  Focus on breathing as you move along the path.  Set a comfortable pace.

If other people are walking the labyrinth when you are, keep quiet and pass with care.  Respect the quest of other walkers as you expect them to do for you.

When you reach the center, stay for at least a moment, preferably longer, to allow answers, comfort, inspiration, prayer, or thoughts to enter your mind. 

Begin the reverse path when you are ready.

As you walk your return, take in the goodness of the ground beneath your feet, the air, the surroundings, and your thoughts. After you exit, take some time to reflect on your experience.

If you’d like to get involved, you can volunteer to help maintain the labyrinth. To learn more, please contact us.