The Monk

“Do you like to walk through the Monastery and the old town on the way back to the vehicle?” It had been a long day, with an early start and a memorable mule ride through town and up on the mountains, to reach the Asheton Maryam Monastery.

Then, after a short break, it was time for an accurate visit to the eastern section of Lalibela’s rock hewn churches.

It was close to sunset and the heap of emotions, the altitude and the winding paths in and around the churches had made us feel quite exhausted. A promising evening expected us, with the religious celebrations for Mary’s hardships during the flight into Egypt. Street vendors were there already, selling candles and bright white shawls in the warm light of the setting sun.

We looked at each other…“Let’s do that”. We could have never said no to a proposal made by our guide, Yohannes. We knew that he would not suggest anything that was not worth the extra effort. But, we could not know that that short walk up the hill overlooking the site of the rock-hewn churches, along the narrow and uneven path that we were walking on quietly, with our minds taking in the sounds, smells and sights of this ancient city, would have led to a life changing experience.

Suddenly a soft sound brings us back to reality and we are there, in the middle of a monastery, with its small cells hewn in the hill slopes.

We know that behind the darkness solitary eyes are watching us.

Yohannes immediately understands, he was born and raised here, and opens a small door in the hut that we were passing by.
It is the voice of a monk, he has been sitting, squatting and meditating there for a time that we cannot even imagine, it might have felt like a single minute to his mind, but it must have been an incredibly long time. His legs are so stiff in the position he has been squatting in, that he cannot stretch them. Somebody must help him start moving again. Yohannes takes his hand and helps him.

Is this real?

All I can do is stare, still and speechless, understanding that the Ethiopian ancient stories that we consider as pure legends, like the story of Tekle Haymanot, who “lost” a leg while standing in meditation for years in a cave, could be pure reality in this world of strong belief and devotion.

He cannot really stand, but his legs can somehow move now. He is happy, smiles and walks away…

I turn around, and the world is different.