Each year, as I plan the talks I will give on retreat and create practices for our group, I go where the Spirit leads, which is always exactly where we are meant to be and not always where I set out to go. That is part of the beauty of any retreat and of the spiritual life in general. If we are so set on where we think we need to be going and what we think we need to be doing, to the point that nothing else is considered, we are following our own spiritual plan, not necessarily God’s plan for us. We often have to get out of our own way and open ourselves up to possibility in order to see the next step on the path.

In this year’s retreat, the ­presentations and practices spanned the Catholic treasury of prayer. We practiced lectio divina (sacred reading) but also visio divina (sacred seeing), using icons, images and even nature. We dug down deep into silent contemplative prayer, something that harkens back to the beginning of our faith tradition, and used methods based on Centering Prayer, which comes out of “The Cloud of Unknowing,” a 14th century anonymous book and, in more recent years, the work of Trappist Father Thomas Keating. We shared how adoration is its own form of contemplation, one that puts us directly before Jesus in the Eucharist, adding a singular beauty and power to this style of prayer. We wrote poetry and created spiritual collages; we did yoga and went for meditative walks or paddles; we ate silent breakfast and sat in silent prayer as community.

But sometimes fear wins out. One person, ahead of the retreat, questioned how this could be a Catholic retreat if it included optional yoga (stretching). And then one person, new to Pyramid, questioned why this retreat was “so Catholic” and said that she didn’t know any Catholics who were talking about adoration, Liturgy of the Hours, lectio divina, or Thomas Merton — a mainstay of the Stillpoint community since my Pyramid experience was forged on the spiritual ground of Merton in the Mountains under the guidance of the wonderful and brilliant Walt Chura.

If one out of 30 people thinks the Stillpoint Retreat is not Catholic enough and one thinks it’s too Catholic, it’s probably exactly where it’s supposed to be. But what struck me even more in both of those instances was the opportunity that’s lost when we make assumptions and close ourselves off to possibility rather than see where the Spirit wants to take us.

When I went on my first silent Merton in the Mountains Retreat at Pyramid 12 years ago, I almost backed out when Walt told me we not only needed to remain silent but were not supposed to read, write or make casual eye contact. I decided to forge ahead, and I am so grateful I did. It opened my eyes to how many obstacles I put between myself and God, and it led me to a part of my spiritual journey I otherwise would have missed.

Don’t shut down wonder. God has so much in store just on the other side of fear. The Spirit is always teaching us, if we are willing to find our still point and just listen.

The next Stillpoint Retreat at Pyramid Life Center will be Sept. 5-7, 2025. What the Events page here for details.
This column originally appeared in the Sept. 12, 2024, issue of The Evangelist.

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The retreat is $175, all-inclusive. What does that mean? You’ll get rustic accommodations at the always-beautiful Pyramid Life Center with its mountains and lake, island and waterfall. It’s a beautiful gem in the lower Adirondack Mountains, the kind of place you never want to leave and you always want to come back to. In addition, that price includes homemade meals, kayaking or canoeing, swimming (if it’s warm), and all retreat activities — from daily talks and reflections and optional daily yoga sessions to journaling and collage-as-prayer, plus a Saturday night bonfire, weather permitting. Plenty of free time is built into the schedule for doing your own thing, in solitude or with a retreat friend.

Here are a few comments from some folks who joined me for the Stillpoint retreat at Pyramid in years past:

“Who would think that spiritual renewal could be so much fun? You get the best of everything at the Stillpoint retreat! Meditation, prayer, inspiring talks which lead to sharing, time to hike, kayak, attend Mass, yoga. Lifetime friendships are made all in the backdrop of splendorous Pyramid Lake! Cannot wait for next year!”  — Karen

“Mary has chosen an ideal destination of beauty and seclusion at Pyramid Life Center in the Adirondacks, for a weekend of respite from everyday bustle and strain. She gently introduces multiple avenues toward peaceful renewal including her own insights, well-chosen readings emphasizing self-nurturing and acceptance, acknowledging gratitude with everyday life occurrences, yoga, sharing, and silent mindful reflection. There is freedom to explore or relax in the natural splendor of the lake, the hills and surrounding wooded trails, with loon song, brilliant stars and the scent and cradle of the woods.” — Margie

“This weekend was a gift! Thank you to Mary, the other retreatants, Brian and his staff for a wonderful experience!” — Ann

“This weekend’s Stillpoint retreat left me reflective, spirit filled and in a better place than I was a few days ago! Thanks to Mary, all participants and PLC staff!” — Cherie

“Mary- it truly was an amazing experience this past weekend and you planted so many seeds with your knowledge and passion. I’m already doing my homework and looking up this and that and continuing my stillness in my routine. I am grateful and wish many blessings for all.” — Kristen

“Thank you, Mary, for another phenomenal retreat! I will hold it in my heart through the year.” — Eileen

Registration link is HERE (opens in a new tab). Scroll down until you see the Stillpoint listing. See you at Pyramid!

There’s a chair with your name on it. What are you waiting for?

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The tipping point was a trifecta of positivity that came flooding into my life all at once: more than a few really nice emails from readers of Catholic New York; my return to regular yoga class and at least a bare-bones prayer life; and, the icing on the cake, a five-day lake vacation to Hadlock Pond in the lower Adirondack Mountains.

As I kayaked across the crystal clear water, watching a hawk circle overhead and a heron standing in watchful silence at the end of a dock a few feet away, I suddenly felt myself breathing again. I realized that I’d been holding my breath for close to a year. At least that’s how it felt. Finally, there in the silence and solitude, I felt myself exhale.

I began rhythmically praying with my breath two favorite lines from Scripture – “I am with you always, until the end of time” and “Be still and know that I am God.” As I crossed the lake in a moving meditation, I began to feel the latter quote morphing into a personalized version of that verse: Be still and know that all is God—people, animals, creation. At first it was a silent mantra, but the next thing I knew, I was saying it out loud in time with the movement of my paddle. With each repetition, I felt lighter. From there I found even higher ground, a thought that would not fade: We live in abundance. Always. Not wealth, not success, not power, but abundance. Our God is not a God of scarcity. He is a God of blessings and feasts, too much, excess.

So often we approach life from a place of lack, even if it is imagined lack. We hoard what we have, clinging tight to things we’re afraid to lose, be it a job, our youth, our possessions, even our faith. We worry there won’t be enough of whatever it is we need because we think “enough” comes only when we hit a certain level of success or saintliness. But God gives us more than enough simply for showing up to this party called life. He gives us blessings in abundance, and the thing we tend to forget is that when we stop worrying so much about what we need or what we deserve or what we want, we open up a great big space for abundance to rush in. And without even realizing it, what we need is suddenly right there before us.

St. Therese of Lisieux wrote: “I find just when I need them, certain lights…and it isn’t during my hours of prayer that these are most abundant, but rather, in the midst of my daily occupations.”

Can we begin to see abundance, sense abundance, even when we’re not on the mountaintop, or, in my case, on the lake? In the midst of our daily activities? Even in the dark valleys of struggle and strife?

It’s not easy, but what if, by some slim chance, you could let go, just a bit, and not worry about tomorrow and see the abundance in the right now. There is abundance somewhere, even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re saddled with worry, even if it’s hidden beneath piles of bills. Stop holding on so tight and see what happens. Loosen when fear tells you to cling. Give when you might be inclined to withhold. Put a dream out into the universe and see what God does with it. And don’t forget to breathe.

This column first appeared the Aug. 4, 2016, issue of Catholic New York. 

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The majestic Adirondack Mountains and the vast Atlantic Ocean are both easily reachable from my home, so this line from the Gospel and the fuller Gospel story (Matthew 7:21-29) elicit some powerful imagery for me. In an instant I am on the beach, where the shoreline constantly changes because of gentle winds or powerful storms. With the crash of even the smallest wave, sand gives way beneath your feet and you can lose your balance.

What are the shifting sands in your life, the things that throw you off balance? Too much work? Too much social media? Not enough silence? Our world moves so fast and is so focused on “flash,” it’s easy to think we’re building fabulous lives on immovable mountains. Then along comes illness, financial strain, a child in trouble, and we realize we’ve built sandcastles, beautiful on the outside but with no support underneath. Where do we get the right building materials?

Jesus gives us the blueprint. It’s not enough to hear his words; we have to act. That can be difficult, but in the end it’s the only thing that will keep our house standing when the tides turn and we are faced with an unfamiliar shoreline. And action begins in silence and stillness, where we find the strength and direction we need. Guided by the Spirit, we can become like shoreline and mountain all at once—moldable but unshakable. — Mary DeTurris Poust, June 2014

This reflection was originally published in the June 2014 edition of Give Us This Day (Liturgical Press), but I thought it made a nice general reflection for this time of year when many of us are heading to beaches and mountains. I am blessed to be one of the regular (every three months or so) contributors to Give Us This Day, which is a wonderful publication and spiritual companion. If you don’t already subscribe, click HERE to see what you’re missing.

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It’s really too much to put in a single blog post. I don’t have it in me to write that, and, trust me, you won’t have it in you to read it. So, instead, every day this week I’ll try to share one short reflection on my retreat with a photo or two. But before I do that today, let me just urge you to try a silent retreat. Some day. It is a powerful, powerful experience, especially if you can do it in a place of such incredible beauty, as I was blessed to do this weekend.

The photo above was my favorite “resting” spot during retreat. To get to it, I had to hike up a small hill, past the chapel, and then down a hill to a little dock that was isolated from everything else. I would sit in this chair and stare at the changing colors of the sky, the swirling clouds moving so close overhead they felt like they were within reach, the shimmering water that reflected the light so dramatically that sometimes it looked like it was raining when it wasn’t and sometimes it looked like a swarm of small birds was hovering just over the surface when they weren’t. But more than anything else, what was I found here was such incredible peace, for hours at a time, so peaceful sometimes I found it difficult to leave when I knew I had to head to the dining hall for a meal.

One of the things that really struck me on this weekend experience of nature at its finest was how different it was from my recent vacation to the equally beautiful Jersey Shore. There I woke every morning and ran down to the beach to watch the sunrise, and I took photo after photo of the most spectacular scenes. Every day was different, everyday left me in awe and sometimes in tears. And I wanted to share it and post it and record it.

But here the sunrise was so subtle that you’d easily miss it if you weren’t paying very close attention. Unlike at the ocean, the sun itself was hidden from view, so there was no Aha! moment. It was more of a slow burn. Like I didn’t realize it was coming, almost thought maybe it was too cloudy for a visible sunrise, and then suddenly I’d notice the clouds getting a pinkish hue to them. Slowly, slowly the pink deepened and spread and it was obvious that behind that mountain a sunrise was occurring, but all I could see was the reflection of it. And for the briefest moment I thought, “I wish I’d brought my camera,” and then I remembered what this weekend was all about. I wasn’t there to capture the sunrise. I was there to let the sunrise capture me.

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