But the great Catholic Monk Thomas Merton had lived only a hour's drive from Louisville so Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, and I would drive to Bardstown to spend afternoons at Gethsemane. There's no interaction with the Monks but we would make our way to the balcony of the Chapel and watch them pray, which they do seven times a day.
It sits on wonderful lush hills permeated by a sense of holiness that's either manufactured by the Monks or we just believed it so it was true.
Later I discovered the much more opulent, but no less holy, St. Meinrad Monastery in Indiana and unlike Gethsemane, I had free reign of the place and wandered into Monk's rooms, the Chapel and the adjourning Seminary.
In terms of feeling holy, I enjoyed visits to Meinrad more.
There have been others though they don't stand up in memory test and I can conjure up only fleeting images of having visited.
What I do vividly recall is the search for holiness that I seldom experienced at the Baptist Seminary.
That was all a long time ago and I haven't visited a Monastery in decades but the search for holiness has never waivered.
There is a back deck affixed to our house filled with plants, a Chiminea my kids gave me, a table under an umbrella, a wooden robot looking man who holds a potted plant and a ceramic frog with a silver ball on its head.
There are also signs proclaiming the site to be "Clothing Optional" and "Umbrella drinks served here" hanging underneath four wind chimes, each chosen by Sarah and one of her girls.
It's mostly bathed in brilliant sunshine during the day and blanketed by stars at night. The songs of the sea are easily heard from just on the other side of the Palm Tree with the oyster smile, coconut bra and grass skirt.
I have no idea why it's such a holy place but from the moment I step on it I can feel Divine things ... the way the leaves dance in the summer breeze ... the choirs of birds ... the shadows playing on the wall ... the feel of salt on my skin ... the pungent aroma of the marsh in the air ... a spot for drunken Angels to rest and collect themselves ... a spot where I collect myself.
God only knows why this is such a holy place.
