Darlene Eisner

In the north of Romania , near the borders of Ukraine and Moldova , lies an area of outstanding beauty , both natural and human made . Clustered within a few kilometres of each other are the Painted Churches of Bucovina whose art and architecture reflect not only the beauty and harmony of that region but are steeped in history , having been founded in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries .

Maybe it was the long row of lilac bushes , maybe it was the silence interrupted only by birdsong , maybe it was the sense of peace and holiness that pervaded the grounds , but the Moldivita Monastery holds a special place in my heart . Why the lilacs ? The various purple shadings and the pungent sweet fragrance were particularly reminiscent of my childhood home , surrounded as our house was by profusely blooming hedges of common lilacs . Not only my home in Manitoba , but here in Romania the old-fashioned , uncultivated strongly scented lilac was everywhere .

And then , standing on the edge of the garden … ahhh … the silence , broken only by the breeze moving the leaves of the trees surrounding the ancient stone-walled garden of the monastery . The trip through northern Romania was fast-paced as my travelling companions and I were trying to take in as many of the famous and ancient wooden , painted monasteries as possible in three days . This brief moment to breathe in the silence was very much lifegiving and nourishing to my soul . The black-robed Romanian Orthodox nun strolling along the path towards me likewise exuded the peace that only a slower pace of life can give . Hovering over it all was the strong sense that this garden had known much prayer and meditation , where busy activities had been put aside in favour of peace and calm . A strong sense of the holiness of the place enveloped me and I welcomed the chance to stop and quiet my heart and mind . My heart worshipped , and my spirit calmed down .

The rough wooden benches and rustic seats carved from logs scattered around the edge of the garden seemed to call me to come , sit , ponder . I did not have time to accept the invitation . That is the way of the world and those of us rushing through it . We are always moving on to the next thing , the next place . The pathway into the monastery ' s lilac garden led through an ancient burial ground . Perhaps the wording on a tombstone in the cemetery , roughly translated into English , encapsulated it all : “ Traveller , if you step on the ground that is made of my dead body , do not be proud . We have gone to our home and you are only a visitor .” Taking liberties with the thoughtful inscription , I later wrote in my journal : “ Traveller , you are stepping on the ground of this earth but briefly . You are only a visitor . Calm down and take time . Come , sit , and enjoy the moments you are so briefly given . Sit , visitor , and enjoy the life you have this day . It is a gift .” news & views SPRING 2024 | 45