Previously:

When Samuel is ordered to see the Prior he panics.  ‘I can’t move. Though I might be told to kneel on the spot and get a penance, my sandals feel glued to the floor.’ 

Could this be the root of my phobia of authority figures? Every time an employer says, ‘Can I see you?’ Or ‘We need to talk.’ I freeze up, expecting the worst. 

And ofttimes, it indeed, has been something to grip my pounding chaotic heart. I’ve been ‘let-go’ or told I should consider moving on. Is that what will happen here?

Is it self-prophesy or fallout from my penance days? It makes sense. The horridly unfair sentence or the canonical, monastic word, penance, paralyzes me.

Has some sticky substance like honey been previously spilled upon the stones below where I walk? Just a few steps farther and I will make it to the rough wood bench I have been directed to. What will I do if I can’t mentally unfasten my feet?

It’s as if Sylvester somehow senses my terror. He passes conveniently near me, dropping his prayer beads. Without a word, but a look, I snap out of my fugue, give an assist, to retrieve them. 

As our eyes meet, I know what his are saying. There’s a quirking at the corners of his mouth, strangling a smile. Sylvester is an inner dowser like Cordelia. 

It dawned on me, he would eventually be reborn into the 19th Century in the United States as a girl named Somara. She would become a new dear friend in the little time I was in England. I miss her laugh and her voice.

“Well, Brother Samuel, I do not have all day. Aren’t you here because you just served a penance for dallying? Do you need a further one? Have you learned nothing, Brother?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

I carry myself to the indicated bench as fast as my now, freed feet are able to follow each other. Seated, I am silent. So is Prior Richard. I am sure I can see smoke seeping from orifices in his smoldering skull.

If I am dismissed, kicked out, where will I go in the 16th century? I know no one, nor am I remotely acquainted with these times. I don’t think I even studied it in school.

I had uncomfortably taught this era to sixth graders, yet remember none of it. Here, I am finding many answers to questions I always had, regarding the inner dialogue surfacing during those classroom discussions. As I stood in front of my students, unearthing that subject, must have felt all too familiar.

I expel a sigh of resignation.

“Brother Samuel, because you wear a white robe, indicating you have a novice brain and soul, I will overlook what just happened. But you have been warned. When I address you, you are to kneel on the spot, with your head lowered, until given permission to raise it. Is that clear?”

I don’t know if that was a rhetorical question and I‘m expected to remain silent, or on the other hand, should I speak with words of acknowledgement? 

I choose the latter, but I am slammed with the realization I do not know the appropriate way to respond. What do I call him? 

I don’t think ‘Sir, yes, Sir.’ would be correct, although the situation is very similar to the Army, or maybe more like the Marines. 

“Yes, Prior Richard.”

“You may leave.” As I raise myself from the bench, he is not finished. “And Brother Samuel, I do not want to have to see you here again. Is that clear?”

With every inner organ trembling, I shakily bow my head and say, “Yes, Prior Richard.” 

He gestures for me to scoot and scoot I do, not without signaling Brother Sylvester a ‘thank you’ one more time. I put as many stones as I can as quickly as I can between me and that ominous ordeal.

When I have distanced myself enough from the trauma, my mind returns to wondering what it must be like for Sylvester to have to examine and add to all those figures in that book. 

Hopefully, he is able to see them as just numbers and not as dollars and wealth as he returns to his board bed, and boorish meals. I feel a special sadness for him and affinity toward him.

I’m consoled to know he will fare much better, as my new friend Somara, in the 21st Century as she works with someone else’s accounts and concerns, and happily returns to a warm welcoming home, with good cuisine, comfortable furniture, and a fine cushy bed.

When did man’s thoughts become so hardened? It is all dependent upon balance, and Sylvester replaced that in my soul today in this 16th century. But Somara has already done that many times for me, in the 21st century.

********

When I put my hand in my pockets, I am reintroduced to a ‘little friend’ I met on the first day in this Monastery. Remember, I had thought it was a bracelet with a cross on it.

I am supposed to be using it many times a day; I think about eight times? We were told to daily, say some prayers, asking for indulgences. 

Indulgences are something necessary as a way to reduce the amount of punishment we have to go through to pay for our sins. 

It seems as though someone would have to invent sins in this place. We actually check with each other for ideas for sins to confess.

There is another session called Chapter of Faults where we are told of some infraction someone or someones may have committed. We are to kneel to acknowledge the offense.

If no one kneels because they are unaware they have done any such thing, about five of us from our set will ‘hit the floor’ to ‘bail’ the ‘guilty’ brother out. 

The other thing I have been unable to grasp, is why all this punishment and penance, if God has already allegedly forgiven us? Didn’t He have His Son die for our sins?