Gorma Tales of the Camino: Brother Jon and the Cows
Gorma was walking a cobblestone road leading to a tiny village when she came upon a thin monk, bald-headed, robed in the colors of the countryside. His face was calm and peaceful, and he carried his few possessions in his bag.
What Gorma noticed most of all, however, was how slowly he walked. The monk’s pace was so slow that Gorma caught up to him in ten quick steps, so she greeted him hello.
The monk broke into the widest, most cheerful smile Gorma had seen in many days of walking. “Oh, Gorma, Gorma, hello hello! How is your Camino?” His name was Brother Jon, and Gorma told him it was most pleasant, and so they walked together for a minute or two. But no matter how slowly Gorma walked, she could not walk as slowly as Brother Jon. Gorma began to suspect that he was not moving forward at all, but as Brother Jon never stopped walking, this could not possibly be the case. It wasn’t simply stepping in place, because he did in fact move forward, but she could not see how it was happening.
Gorma tried to ask Brother Jon how this trick was done, but he quickly changed the subject, saying, “Oh, Gorma, Gorma, I have such concern! I cannot find the monastery cows! They are the wealth of the monks here, all we have. We use the milk to make delicious cheese that we can sell in the village market – but this morning, as I was tending them, the cows wandered off the grass and down the road, beyond the village, and over the hill. And as slowly as I walk, I don’t know how I will catch them in time for milking tonight.”
“How do you know they went so far, Brother Jon, when we are not yet even to the village gates?” Gorma asked, for she suspected there was more to this story than wandering cows, and more to Brother Jon than met the eye.
“Oh, Gorma, Gorma, I see things some do not. I have the sight of all who walk so slowly on the way, so I can see what was, what is, and what might be in days to come.” He pursed his lips together in a thoughtful way. “But – it seems my vision lately is so dim, clouded dark as night, my steps are slowed the more for fear I cannot find my way. So while I worried about my sight, I lost the cows my brothers entrusted to my care.”
“Oh, I see,” Gorma answered with compassion now, for those who see what could be possible but cannot take the steps to reach it yet, are often mistaken for the ones who have no real vision at all. So Gorma knew. “But Brother Jon: is it not the pace of all the mystics ever born to walk the way so slowly as you do? For you are not just walking – you’re connecting time with meaning, all your steps a meditation, and a prayer. What does your vision tell you, Brother Jon?”
“Oh, Gorma, Gorma, all my sight is dark this day, as dark as if no moon shone in the night. I cannot see the way now, all is empty, all is darkness, all is black.”
“Trust your vision, Brother Jon.” And as she said this, Gorma took her walking stick, Saint Thomas, and with it touched his sandals, so that they almost seemed to glow upon the road. “Your feet must tread a path that only forms as you start walking on. Step forward in faith, sweet Jon, and follow thus, until you find the sight your eyes so plainly see.”
So Brother Jon walked through the village, meditating with each careful step upon the curious words that Gorma spoke, to see what he might see. Step by step, evening approached, the whole day spent in mindful steps, and Brother Jon came to the mouth of a deep cave. He stopped, afraid, but his sandaled feet most clearly urged him on, until finally, he stepped into the cave.
Now all was dark. Brother Jon heard a dripping, faintly now beside him, now behind, and so he stopped again. The silence was so very full it sounded like a whisper in his mind. Looking all around, he could see nothing, only blackness, so he reached into his bag for tools to make a light.
With the strike of that small flame, the flickering light revealed a long and empty space, filled with air and quietness. The flame went out.
He struck again another flame, and this time could see just rock and earth, a cave of time and long-awaited meaning. The flame went out.
So striking for that small flame one last time, he raised his eyes to heaven for a prayer.
And there upon the ceiling of the cave, he saw a herd of wild and beautiful cattle, painted there 10,000 years ago. Red and black, the cows and bulls lay curled, or stood and grazed upon the ceiling. And as he slowly, slowly stepped, his achingly slow steps, Brother Jon thought that he could see the cattle moving. In fact, so slow as he had allowed his mind to be, he could start the see the whole herd softly walking.
So he slowly lead them home, these most beautiful and oldest of all cows, and when the other monks looked up, they saw just Brother Jon and the milk cows returning as the sun was sinking, walking back along the cobble road.
But Gorma knew that he had found the sight he never lost, deep in the depth of the darkest cave, where all that was once wild and dangerous can be tamed with a quiet mind, a spark of vision, and the courage and faith to look up when all you know tells you otherwise. This is the path that is no path – until you step forward, trusting yourself, and the way you walk upon the world.
Gorma walked on, quiet and smiling. She arrived at the next albergue just in time for a bed, for which she was very grateful, and she slept deeply. Outside, the night was inky black, dark as the soundest sleep, in the softest bed, in the longest, quiet night. The perfect night for dreams.
Buen Camino, Brother Jon.