THE TIME I RAN AWAY FROM A MONASTERY
“If you have made mistakes, even serious mistakes, you may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing we call “failure” is not the falling down, but the staying down.” ― Mary Pickford
A fugitive. A bat out of hell. This is how I made my departure from the monastery where I made a solo retreat in the final days of January 2025. Ironic that I describe taking my leave from a holy place with words that are decidedly unholy.
As often happens when one is triggered by some old spectre, I was oblivious to the fact that I was repeating a pattern. Run. Flee. Leave no trace.
I am still sifting through all that was revealed and revived to me while on retreat, but I thought I should confess that I left one day early. I didn’t break any rules or windows, but it felt violent to leave so abruptly, so I did what a good cradle Catholic would and gave myself penance. Well, my memory of penance was fuzzy, so it was more of a do-over.
I returned to the monastery the next day, bringing along my mom (because subconsciously, I was 12 years old again) and my dog (for protection, although she would have to remain in the car). The surface reason for my return is that I wanted to visit the gift shop and it was only open on Friday afternoons. I wasn’t yet aware of the subconscious desire to make nice with the situation.
This all sounds more dramatic than it was, but when you are triggered, everything becomes outsized and suspiciously supernatural. In contrast, you become smaller, a human one-trick pony.
In reality, I was too scared and too tired of being scared to stay another night alone in the building where the retreatants stay. There had been another woman there the first night, and although she took her retreat in silence, I was still reassured that someone was around “in case something happened”. Then she left and I was alone the second night. I was so proud of myself that I made it through, yet when the person working there told me with a smile that I would “have the place all to myself” again, I immediately time-tunneled back to days when fear of the night served a purpose against the vulnerability of being alone and defenseless. And this time with the agency to physically flee, I did.
One of the things I learned from this experience is that PTSD has layers which distort the person encircled by it. I am thinking of those cute poodle skirts from the 1950’s inspired musical Grease. The silhouette involves a pretty top layer of fabric with layers of tulle or crinoline underneath which puff out the skirt in order to make the girl’s waist appear tiny in contrast. Only, I thought as I had this realization, I am not liking this look at all.
Thankfully, I no longer have to wear my experiences as part of my identity. Instead, I get to process them, learn, and move on. It is from this calm and clear state of mind that I scheduled my next visit to the monastery. And if the old spectre rises again, I will simply imagine it wearing a 1950’s poodle skirt, and carry on with my retreat.
https://marialuzorourke.substack.com/p/the-time-i-ran-away-from-a-monastery
Maria Luz O’Rourke is an astrologer, certified hypnotherapist, and psychic medium and holds a BS in Biochemistry from the University of Washington and an MA in Organizational Leadership from Gonzaga University. Maria switched gears in 2024, leaving a 29-year career in pharmaceuticals to start a practice (marialuz.online) utilizing spiritual modalities to help and heal. She writes the Substack newsletter, Astrology, Alchemy, & Honest Recovery. The focus is to share hope for living freely and authentically.
