The Path to Salvation

Images and emotions

Life paths differ.

Some are straight and clean. Some are like a tiny lane, and you may miss them. Others are steep woodland paths studded with rocks or small stones ready to stumble you.

Some roads are so lonesome. Hers was this type of road.

Three months ago, she was the happiest woman in the world. At least she felt like she could spread her lean hands and fly! She did not need real wings then — her heart was flying!

Then she lost him. She lost both of them. First —it was the loss of her baby boy. Then, her spouse left her. He abandoned her. He blamed her.

She was incapable of being a mother.

He never articulated this, but after she turned from the hospital, he looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust in his eyes.

The physician said it was not her fault. It was no one’s fault.

Her husband blamed her. Implicitly. Calmly. But she was sure.

He did not touch her. He did not kiss her. He did not say a word to make her feel a bit better. She felt cold. He did not hug her to warm her.

He left her sleeping alone in their big family bed.

When he left, it was a relief. She did not know the man he became. Maybe their whole life was one enormous lie. Maybe all joy and happiness were imaginary.

She had just her paintings.

The brushes and paints waited to express her emotions. The shades in her paintings were dark. Extremely dark! She used all the black tubes. Then, she used all green and blue tubes of oil paint. She created more and more darkness. It was swarming with her grief.

Days were passing. Then months. And after that came the chance for salvation.

She started the engine of her car. The monotone voice of the GPS dispersed the silence in her mind.

When she saw the monastery, something squeezed her heart and made her take a deep breath. The place was magical. There was an invisible haze of… peace. Yes, peace. She needed peace.

A short and thin woman dressed in black reached her.

She smiled kindly, ‘Good afternoon, dear! Are you, Eveline, the painter?’

Eveline nodded. She agreed to go to the monastery and see some icons that needed to be restored.

The woman continued, ‘I am the mother abbess of the Klisura Monastery. My name is Helena. Nice to meet you, Eveline!’

‘Nice to meet you, Mother Helena!’ answered the young woman.

Eveline knew that the monastery was a nunnery. It was one of the reasons to go there. She would be surrounded just by women — the nuns who lived there.

Another woman dressed in black reached them. She was young, maybe the same age as Eveline.

‘I am Kalina.’ said she with a soft voice.

The young nun Kalina accompanied Eveline to the smaller chapel named “St. Nikola” where the icons were.

Eveline looked around with owe.

The place was lovely! The garden was enormous and full of blooming flowers. It was obvious that many caring hands were looking after them. Everywhere, the lanes were so clean. Everything was in its place.

Kalina and Eveline entered the chapel. The young artist immediately noticed the harmed icons. Rainwater from a roof leak damaged them. It was painful to look at the destroyed images.

She immediately decided to stay and repair them.

She had nothing better to do.

‘Tell Mother Helena that I’ll take care of the icons. I will need some weeks to work on them.’ she informed the young nun.

Working on icons became a new page in her life.

It was time to find peace within her harmed soul until she repaired the icons. It was time to find again the meaning of the colors. There were not just those black shades. She needed all the colors to revive the images of the icons.

The silence was truly healing. The atmosphere in the chapel was what she needed. Painting kept her hands busy. At the same time, she could think. She had to find some answers.

Sometimes, in the early mornings and the evenings, Eveline helped in the monastery kitchen. Then she sat down to eat some simple food with the nuns. They talked about the Christian holy Bible, and serenity filled her soul. Another time, they discussed simple themes like gardening and cleaning.

Then Eveline heard about the dying roses. The rose bushes were sick.

She did not know why, but she felt sick, too. She had seen their beauty, and her artistic heart could not accept that they might be harmed.

Eveline did not want to see another death. She could not bear new losses.

It was the first time she joined the conversation in the kitchen.

‘You may find a botanic specialist to cure the rose bushes.’

After some days, Eveline saw him. She had a lovely view of the garden from the chapel where she worked.

The Gardener (as she named him in her mind) was early in the garden. He was a young man, perhaps about his thirties, but his hair was almost white. It was a weird contrast. Eveline glanced at him from time to time. She could not resist herself.

He was concentrated on his work. The Gardener cleaned the area around the rose bushes, took a small pump sprayer, and carefully dispersed a liquid over all the branches and leaves.

Then he disappeared somewhere in the garden.

Eveline continued repairing the icon in front of her. A strange eagerness captured her heart. She wanted to ask the Gardener if the roses would have a chance to survive. It was a matter of life and death for her.

She could not understand these strange reactions of her mind and heart, but she did not want to reflect on the emotions too much. She felt her soul was ready to burn with pain. She felt so vulnerable and alone. She had just her art and the peace of the monastery.

If the roses would die, their death would ruin the peace of the place.

Then she met him in the kitchen. It was a few hours after lunchtime, but Eveline did not want to stop working and hoped the Gardener would come to the rose bushes. She had decided to go and ask him if he would save them.

‘Hello!’ he said when she entered the kitchen.

She nodded.

He looked at her painted clothes, ‘You are not a nun. I am Nikola. Who are you?’

It was symbolic. He had the name of the patron saint of the chapel.

‘I am Eveline. I am repairing the icons in the small chapel. I saw you this morning. Would you save the roses?’

Her voice almost broke with the last words she whispered.

‘I hope so.’ the man said.

‘I don’t want them to die! It’ll break my heart!’

Eveline knew it sounded too dramatic, but the man did not laugh at her.

‘I have just them!’ Nikola answered,‘ Just the plants. They are my life. I will take care of them. Don’t worry!’

They had their late lunch in silence.

In the evening, Mother Helena came to the chapel. She looked at the two repaired icons and smiled. That young lady knew what she was doing. There was no sign the images were ruined. Everything was smooth and bright.

‘You are a great artist, Eveline!’ she exclaimed.

‘Thank you!’ the young woman felt the ice in her chest was melting.

This place was magical. These women dedicated their lives to God, and there was something special in them.

Then Mother Helena touched her shoulder, ‘He is like you, child.’

Who was like her?

‘The new gardener, my dear! He runs away from his past, too. His wife took their child and escaped…’

‘Oh! That’s why his hair is white!’

The other woman smiled. It was the strangest thing Eveline could say.

‘Perhaps. Sometimes, suffering puts its scars on our bodies.’

Some weeks later, Eveline finished her work in the small chapel, but the best thing was that the roses were healed.

Nikola saved them. They bloomed — lovely and strong.

А new friendship blossomed between the rose bushes and the path to the small chapel.

The path to their hearts was already clean. It was time for a new love.

https://www.bulgariamonasteries.com/en/klisura_monastery.html

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