TRaVELMAN BUCKFAST ABBEY, ENGLAND: Song of Silence

Brother Daniel continued to speak in hushed tones and at an accelerated rate of speed, his words chock full of information. I think he mentioned the age of a room in the abbey, maybe the library, something about a cloister, how to use the key, the fact they hadn't always locked guests out of particular sections but they now found it necessary, things I could do during my stay, when dinner was served, and where they keep the holy grail. I remember none of the specifics.

I was attempting to swallow all the information around me. If only my mind were a snake, it could unhinge it’s jaw and take it all in.

I was walking with a man who wore a frock, in England, down the private halls of an abbey, past statues, stained glass, paintings, alters, a wet paint sign, and arched ceilings made from stone that parodoxically absorbed and amplifed sounds simultaneously.

The halls were empty and still, lit by sunlight coming in from an enclosed square courtyard in the center of four crisscrossing halls.

We passed the library, Brother Daniel said something about waiting in there before meals and borrowing books. We passed what I think was referred to as the rectory (or maybe the rectory was the dining hall), a room where the monks prayed before meals, I didn't catch if I was supposed to join that or keep clear.

Brother Daniel swiped my key in front of a sensor to electronically unlock a door to our right. We walked into an ante-room. It had an arched hall with stairs going down, and a larger stairwell going up to the left of that.

We went up the stairwell, the steps were wide, marble, and they curved around a hundred and eighty degrees, spilling us into a high ceiling, open, reading area. An ornate chair in the corner, a large window on the side wall, on the rear wall, a giant painting that looked old and priceless. We turned to head up the next spiral staircase, I saw another equally impressive, large painting hung on the opposite wall.

We reached the next floor. It was carpeted, these were the guest quarters. Brother Daniel showed me a den. I could drink coffee or tea in there and read the local papers they laid out daily, it was also a spot to possibly sit and chat with fellow guests.

He drew my attention to the right of the stairs, toward a door to a small room. It housed a sink as well as tea and coffee supplies. He opened a different door, on the left of the stairs, it led down the hall of guest rooms.

My room was room ten. Brother Daniel demonstrated that I use the regular turn key part of my key in the door to enter my room. He ushered me inside. It was quaint and quite nice. Bath towels and soaps lie neatly atop the bed. An information booklet lie next to them.

Brother Daniel said he’d leave me at this point and his number was in the book if I needed anything. He stepped out and the door pulled shut behind me.

I stood in my room, marveling at my place on earth. I noticed a partridge in the tree outside my window. Was it a pair tree?

There was something about the quiet of the halls, the rooms, the entire place. The silence was anything but deafening; it sang a lullaby of serenity of sanctity. Hush little baby, don’t you cry....

I sat on the narrow bed and took in the entirety of my sleeping quarters. I was glad I came.

!steemitworldmap 50.4914 lat -3.7772 long Song of Silence Buckfast Abbey, England, d3scr