By the time I reached the monastery at age 13, I was already a spiritual explorer. My early experiences with seeing beyond the material world at ages 5 and 7 had left me with a deep, unshakable curiosity about the hidden world that exists within. What was once a personal journey—finding meaning in dreams, symbols, and even sun-staring—turned into something that was no longer solitary when I stepped into the monastery’s spiritual environment.
The Monastery: A Place of Quiet Reflection
Unlike the rigid Orthodox class I had experienced earlier, the monastery felt like a place where questions were welcome, even the “heretical” ones. I remember asking my religion teacher why there were two different creation stories for women in the Bible—a question that got me kicked out of his class and labeled as a heretic. In contrast, the nuns didn’t push me away when I came to them with my endless curiosity. Instead, they invited me to explore my questions further. They never handed me a fixed answer. Instead, they gave me readings, told me to contemplate, and often responded with more questions.
The nuns were deeply different from the religious teachers I’d encountered before. They encouraged me to look inward, to sit with my thoughts, to meditate, and to let the answers rise from within. I found a quiet solace in these practices. The monastery’s space was ordered, disciplined, and full of silent reverence for the unseen world. This taught me that the hidden inner world wasn’t something to fear, but something to embrace. It was a realm I could visit freely—a place where I felt both anchored and expanded.
The Adoration Ceremony: A Late-Night Journey into the Divine
One of the most profound experiences from my time at the monastery was the weekly Adoration ceremony. It took place every Thursday night from 10 PM to midnight, and this ceremony quickly became the highlight of my spiritual practice. Adoration is a ritual of prayer and devotion before the Blessed Sacrament, where you sit quietly or participate in song, reflecting in the presence of what Catholics believe to be the physical manifestation of Jesus.
Unlike the expected silence of most religious practices, the Adoration ceremony I attended was filled with sound—angelic sound. A choir, guitars, and the powerful, ethereal music of an organ filled the space. The organ’s notes would rise and resonate through the church, filling every corner with a sound so divine that it felt like the music of angels. The vibrations of the organ, combined with the gentle strumming of guitars and the voices of the choir, created a sense of wonder and awe. I will never forget the way those sounds seemed to lift my spirit, making the divine presence feel almost tangible.
Between these musical moments, there would be stretches of silence, where the absence of sound was just as profound. The smell of incense hung in the air, mixing with the soft glow of the candles that lined the altar. Those moments of silence, enveloped in the dim light and sacred fragrance, felt like being wrapped in a warm, spiritual embrace. It was as if the very air in the church was alive with meaning, with something greater than ourselves.
For a 13-year-old, it felt deeply significant to be a part of something so powerful. The sheer beauty of the ceremony, the combination of music and silence, and the presence of the Sacrament placed an almost tangible weight of sacredness over the church.
At first, my mother was hesitant. A 13-year-old going out so late at night on a school day wasn’t typical, and she worried about the safety and the late hours. My father, however, saw it differently. He believed that there was no better place for me to be than in a church, deepening my connection to something so clearly meaningful. Eventually, my mother agreed but decided to come with me, though she usually fell asleep during the ceremony, resting in the pews beside me.
In those late hours of Adoration, I felt a stillness within me. What once felt like an empty inner world, one full of unanswered questions and solitude, was now filling with quiet strength and connection. I didn’t feel alone anymore. The ritual gave me a space to connect with something larger, deeper—something beyond the reach of words or even my own understanding. I could feel the Divine there, not in the way of traditional religious teachings, but as a living force, an energy that resonated within me and offered a sense of belonging.
Meditation, Ritual, and the Unseen World
It was during these nights that my love for meditation and ritual deepened. I realized that ritual was not just about repetition—it was a bridge. A bridge between the physical and the spiritual, between the conscious mind and the unconscious world that lies just beneath the surface of everything we do. It was in those hours of music, silence, and reflection that I began to understand how powerful connecting with the hidden aspects of ourselves can be.
The inner world was no longer a place I feared or felt lost in—it became my refuge. The more I connected with it through ritual and meditation, the more I found answers to the questions I had asked so long ago. But even more importantly, I found peace in the knowing that not all questions need fixed answers. Some questions are meant to lead us deeper into ourselves, into the mystery.
The ceremony, the quiet hours of Adoration, and the nuns’ patient guidance shaped my lifelong love for exploring the unconscious. Through these rituals, I discovered that the hidden inner world wasn’t meant to feel isolating—it was meant to be explored, integrated, and embraced. It was a world where connection was possible, even in the deepest silence
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