Like it or not, part of me will always remain in the convent, even though I've been gone for over over forty years. The first five years were the strangest and most intense. It was a time of indoctrination. The same images crop up every time my mind meanders back. Of long, polished hallways with life sized statues looming in the shadows. Of towering ceilings and endless rooms. I still remember feeling so very alone, although the building was occupied with sixty to almost two hundred women. My lips automatically clam shut in conformity to the all pervasive Rule of Silence.
Even now, although I thought I hated not being able to talk whenever and wherever I wanted, I prefer stillness to having a radio, CD player, or TV playing in the background. I relish the feeling of quiet—especially as I write. Living in a hushed household is something I had no idea I’d appreciate all these years later.
Sometimes I like it quiet, though I enjoy listening to birds, the wind in trees, my cats purring or snoring, the wind chimes.
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