The art of doing nothing in Bukidnon: Staying in Malaybalay monastery during pandemic
BUKIDNON, Philippines — What’s a 54 year old Tita of Manila doing in a monastery in the hills of Bukidnon with 17 Benedictine monks in residence?
Could it be…
To find myself? A glace at the mirror will suffice to reassure that I am alive and intact.
To escape reality? Netflix is cheaper and much less work.
To go on retreat? Hmmm, partly true—but not in the way you would think.
At a get-together last December, my brother was chatting with a friend about his trip to the Monastery of the Transfiguration, Malaybalay, several years ago. He went alone, spent a week there just hanging out, and said it was one of the most memorable weeks of his life.
The thought excited me. All my life, I have identified myself with a role: daughter, sister, student, wife, mother, entrepreneur, manager, colleague, homemaker, friend, author, volunteer. What was it like to just be me?
The idea hung over me persistently in the days following. I figured, if not now, when? It seemed a fitting start to the New Year.
It felt like a force was propelling me to the monastery -- despite my family’s and friends’ apprehensions about a woman travelling alone to Mindanao, during an election year, in the time of Omicron! To stay in a monk’s cell! What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I just knew I had to be there, and to show me that He approved, God cleared the way.
There was no real reason not to proceed other than the fears of others.
In two weeks, I had booked a ticket, made arrangements for a driver, and accommodations at the guest house. Anticipating that I would be bored out of my mind, I downloaded six movies on Netflix, brought four books, and a mobile modem -- what a perfect place to work uninterrupted, right? Or so I thought.
When I stepped on the plane, I took a deep (N95 masked) breath. This is the start of an adventure, I told myself. And just like that, I was off.
Unlike most people, I like being unreachable as soon as the plane takes off. It’s a forced reprieve from the urgency of news, chat groups, schedules, and the noise of the world. My section of the plane was totally empty. That gave me extra comfort and solitude. A good sign!
In Davao, the airport was relatively busy, but in a quiet way. Retrieving my luggage was efficient, and as I stepped out the exit doors I saw my driver, Rene, waiting for me with a big sign (that he proudly told me he laminated himself).
Our anticipated three-hour drive to Malaybalay became four: as a delighted tourist, I stopped several times to take photos of the breathtaking views, and could not resist the lure of roadside stalls to buy mangosteen (P80/kilo!) and marang. I split the goodies with Rene as he was to stay close by for the duration of my stay at Malaybalay. We enjoyed our ride in silence punctuated by pockets of conversation. He was rightly curious about my trip, and I was curious about him.
He told me why he moved to Davao from Muntinlupa (where I live!) and why he decided to stay. He was careful not to talk about politics, but with my 36 year experience as inquisitor to five teens, his story unfolded further. Staying with my intention not to revert to any role -- I simply listened. It was apparent that we did not share the same political views. But as he told me how his life had unfolded, I felt like a privileged guest into another person’s world. And I understood.
Arriving at the monastery
We arrived at the monastery at dusk, when the last rays of the sun bathed the landscape in a range of indigo that would last only a matter of minutes. I was in awe at the sight of the stunning church, designed by National Artist Leandro Locsin. What a providential welcome! No one was at the guest house, but we could hear chanting from the church. It was Compline, the most dramatic time of the abbey’s daily prayer ritual.
The church was in total darkness, save for the light of a single candle. The monks, in white, faced the altar. While I could not make out the words, the sound of their voices was otherworldly. I felt like an intruder, yet strangely at home.
When the ceremony was over, we were sprinkled with holy water, the candle was put out, and the monks filed out of the church in silence. I stayed a few more minutes in the darkness, then walked to the guesthouse. Dom Carlo was there to welcome me. Over a simple, distanced dinner, he inquired about my trip, pointed out the daily schedule of meals and the Horarium* (the daily rhythm of prayer at the abbey), should I be interested in participating.
I had so many things planned! A daily hike, some time with the monks if they were available, movies to watch, books to read, and articles to write. Dom Carlo simply smiled and said to let me know how he could be of assistance.
After showing me to my little room, spartan, but clean (with aircon and hot water!), we parted ways. I unpacked, checked in with my family to assure them I was safe, and prepared for my first night there. I figured getting up before 5 a.m. to attend Morning Lauds was a must, so I set my phone alarm.
Turns out I didn’t need to. The sound of clanging bells 4:45 am, and the accompanying crowing of roosters did a sufficient job. I walked across the damp field of grass in darkness, towards the church. Apart from the monks, few were in attendance.
Any traces of sleep soon disappeared as the chanting began. A monk in glasses scurried over, handed me an accompaniment book, and pointed towards the pages to follow. As I lost myself in the chanting, the colors of a glorious dawn appeared over the mountains. I felt that I was given a glimpse of eternity in the present moment.
Mass was celebrated, and it was done. The monks filed out to have their breakfast. I walked out of the church, into a new day.
'Unli' coffee
Breakfast was simple and filling, as it was to be during the days to follow. As I was lingering over coffee, a group of three men and a woman in fatigues walked in and helped themselves to coffee as well (unlimited and free). They sat at another table and made conversation, which I was happy to overhear. Not speaking Bisaya, I understood little, but I enjoyed observing their camaraderie and laughter.
Travelling alone makes you a little bolder and more curious about others. I greeted them from across where I sat, and learned that they were from the PNP (Philippine National Police), and that this was part of their inspection routine to maintain peace and order in the area. I was grateful for that reassurance, but thought to myself, the free coffee doesn’t hurt either! I asked to take photos with them, and after a nod from their lady boss, they were quite happy to oblige. I waved at them as they drove off.
I spent the rest of my first day sleeping, walking around without a purpose, enjoying the mountain air (and the accompanying earthy odors of cattle), smiling and nodding at strangers, scratching soft puppy bellies. I took photos of anything that caught my attention.
I occasionally scrolled through my email, messages, and social media feed to see what I thought I was missing. When the bells called at 4:45 p.m., I returned to the church for Lauds and Compline. An early dinner, and early to my cell. The day had passed so quickly.
When a fellow guest tested positive for COVID-19
Over the next few days, I made shy, unspoken acquaintance with the lone other female guest. She seemed to be lost in thought over a deep matter. One morning, she didn’t come to Lauds.
I wondered, and was told she tested positive for Covid. The barangay responded quickly, and she was allowed to stay at another building in the guest house. I was happy they allowed her to do that.
I later learned she quickly recovered, and that she was continuing with her plans of staying for a month.
The other guest, who left the day before I did, was quite the opposite. He was a healing priest, and came to the abbey often to minister to the sick in the area. On my simple inquiry about his methods, he exploded with enthusiasm. He literally jumped over two monobloc chairs to show me, that at his senior age, his wellness regimen was effective! I was rightly amused and laughed.
The two nuns who were waiting to take him to patients giggled and said he did that all the time. In his eagerness to prove his point further, he sat me down and gave me a 1 ½ hour PowerPoint presentation showing more diseased body parts than I cared to see, but all with happy endings, thanks to his herbal regimen and diet of natural, unprocessed foods. I thought to myself, a little skepticism is healthy, but there’s definitely something here worth considering.
Living with the monks
Ora et labore. This is the Benedictine way. Between their daily prayer schedule, the abbey grows and produces coffee, aptly called Monk’s Blend. There are retreats to be run (sadly, much less so during the pandemic), coffee and cacao plantations to be tended, rice fields to oversee, and grounds to be maintained, including a stunning collection of bonsai trees.
There are guests to be welcomed and cared for; a gift shop to manage -- where not only religious products are sold, but also food items from local farms and bakeries. It’s a way of life punctuated by the rhythm of prayer, the holiness of manual work, and the challenges and blessings of living in close community.
Over chance encounters and friendly chats, I learned more about the monks in residence. Contrary to what outsiders imagine monks in general to be like, there is a lovely thread of humanity in their community. They come from very different backgrounds (one is a chemical engineer), and while united in their devotion, there are many different personalities, tendencies, and the daily challenges of patience, tolerance, and reconciliation.
There are monks who are on Facebook, and complain about the occasionally slow signal. One brother uses hair dye. There are many cobras in the area; a certain brother has become an expert snake handler. He can catch a snake by the tail, spin it around, and throw it back into its natural habitat. Another is devoted to a healthy drink concoction, but also loves drinking Coke.
Ice cream and cake is always present during birthdays and special celebrations. During chants, one of the more heavy set monks would occasionally burp mid-Psalm. Sometimes I would catch a yawn from one of the older monks. All these were a welcome reminder that we are all human, reaching for the Divine, imperfectly. We are all meant to be saints, “under construction." And there is beauty in that.
Magic in the mountains
My last day at the abbey came too soon. The thought of moving to my next destination, a luxury resort, was something to look forward to, but the thought of leaving this place tugged at my heart. I knew I had been given a precious experience – in a place where schedules are strictly followed, time had stopped. Where no plans had been made, discoveries awaited. Where in solitude, hearing stories of other lives abounded. Where enchantment lay in the air.
All in all, I stayed for four days. I finally understood Einstein’s theory of relativity. Time is elastic -- it can stretch interminably, or it can stand still. When you are here, four days is too short. There are no minutes or hours, only moments.
There is truly magic in the mountains, and I promised myself I would be back.
*A night at the monastery is P1200, which includes your own room, three meals and two snacks. For inquiries on accommodations at the Abbey, please message Dom Carlo via text or Viber at 09155537410.
