Monastic hospitality is more than tea and cookies in the monastery parlor...it is meant to allow people the experience of life without social chaos, interruption and the internal noise that comes with all that.
JOAN CHITTISTER
There’s a way of slow, intentional hospitality that goes beyond making sure people are merely physically fed. There’s a way in which our homes issue an invitation to relax and communicate a standing offer to be a listening ear and gentle presence to anyone who crosses the threshold. In this way, how are we building a monastic home for ourselves and others?
To measure how cozy and comfortable our homes are, we tend to focus on the physical aspects: we assess our clutter, we weed out accordingly, we decorate, we re-arrange, we clean. It's a powerful thing when we also apply these ideas directly to our most primary home—our very own body and soul. With my body and soul, how am I issuing an invitation to myself and those around me to turn down the volume on chaos? To be at peace? How might my physical space of home reflect my inner life? Is my mind cluttered and in need of a good rearrangement—a mental zhuzh?
To that end, I've cobbled together some questions to ponder and contemplate. Maybe you'd like to sit with them after you've poured yourself a cup of coffee, maybe you'd like to crack open your favorite journal and spend some time with these questions in the evening by candlelight. In any case, they're here for you whenever you need.
the kitchen is for sensation
If you want to break open your senses, isn't the kitchen a perfect place to be? The smell of freshly chopped herbs and a simmering stew, the feeling of kneading dough, the vibrant colors of fresh vegetables, the sound of whisking fluffy eggs backed by lively conversation and a good playlist, and finally—taste. One of the most exciting and profound gifts the activity of a kitchen offers us is the miracle of separate ingredients harmonizing to create a unified and entirely unique dish. It's hard not to let the life-metaphors unfold from there. How might our own distinct traits integrate to form a whole sense of self? How are our senses awakened and alive to the world around us? The next time we cook, maybe we'll also contemplate these questions. Cheers!
for contemplation
What flavors and scents from the kitchen bring back your most meaningful memories? Take a moment to savor those memories.
​
What would you consider the best "ingredients" of your personality? Do you feel like each aspect of your personality works well together to form an integrated whole?
If you could prepare a dish that best reflects your ancestry and/or childhood, what would it be like? How about your personality now—what dish would best embody you as an individual? What interesting similarities or differences do you notice?
​
What sight, touch, taste, sound and smell do you most love?
the dining room is for kinship
As important as it is to keep the home a place of walled-in safety and security, there's also a richness in welcoming others into our corner of the world. It's a strange mixture of vulnerable and fun when we invite others into our homes, and it's best to do so with intentionality. Who we choose to encircle our tables and how we step into the role of host, if you ask me, are some of the best indicators of our emotional maturity. To put it differently—how we serve others matters. Is it with open-heartedness? Are we simply going through the motions and checking the boxes as we wait for the clock to tick towards an acceptable end time? Or are we relaxed and willing to take the risk of letting conversations unfold however they need in order for others to have their cup filled? And does that not also fill our own cups?
for contemplation
When you think about your ideal dinner party, who is circled around the table and why do you love spending time with them?​
Are there guests you've been allowing in your home, either literally or metaphorically, who might not serve you well?
How do you hope people feel when they enter your home, and how is your personality a gift to those around you?
​
Who is your greatest companion? Perhaps you can write a letter expressing your gratitude to this person (even if you're unable to send it to them because they have passed or are no longer in your life).
the bathroom is for solitude
When you need a moment to collect yourself, the bathroom is the place to be. We tend to think of the bathroom first and foremost as a strictly biological space where we relieve ourselves and keep our bodies clean—but is that not also profoundly meaningful? Perhaps we've become so numb to the everyday nature of bathroom usage that we forget what a treasure it is to be able to have a space where we can close the door and be alone. Apart from tending to our bodies hygienically, this is also the place where we make decisions about how we'd like to present ourselves to the world. Perhaps we look in a mirror less for the sake of seeing ourselves and more for the sake of imagining how others might see us. Do we style our hair? Do we wear makeup? How do we choose to present ourselves as a unique individual?
for contemplation
As you reflect upon all the ways your body works well to keep your internal systems up to speed, what three things are you most grateful for when you contemplate your body's functionality?
What's an impurity in your life you've been finding difficult to cleanse, and how might you address it more effectively?
We're often quick to diagnose the unsavory traits of others, setting boundaries to protect ourselves from emotional toxicity. But what about our own toxic traits? Is there a quality that could use some softening in order to bring peace to others?
​
When you think about your personal style, what comes to mind? What outfit/look feels most "you?"