How did the place find us? Gemma's story Nathan's story

 

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Gemma writes: As a teenager, near the beginning of my own spiritual journey, I was searching for a place that would allow me to transform my life from confusion to clarity. I never found such a place. But that search awakened in me a deep wish to create a place where sincere seekers would be allowed the time to be in a space of not knowing. A place where by being intimate with nature and silence, and supported with one-to-one guidance, anyone could open to clarity and find rest. Fifteen years later, the need for such a place, where one can find oneself, still seems urgent. People’s eyes tell me of their confusion, dissatisfaction and longing.

Seven years ago while I was living in a small village called Folgueroles, an old friend told me that a friend of hers named Joan had just found a property where people could be in touch with nature, silence and spiritual teachings. The land was in my beloved Garrotxa, the part of Catalunya where I spent many weekends as a child and where I first had the experience I call “seeing God.” As my friend described the property, I thought: “This is the place I want to live in when I grow up….”

Last summer, I was having a coffee with that same old friend. We were catching up on the news of the people we both know when she accidentally mentioned that same property. She said that the friend who had bought it seven years ago might be open to selling it, since they were no longer using it very often. The next minute I was holding the ringing phone to my ear, waiting and then finally reaching Joan.

A few days later, Joan and I went together to see the place for the first time, and since then, I feel a great joy every time I realize that we may be honored to take care of the land, trees, air and water in that beautiful space… and to invite there many people whom I know will be transformed simply by being there.

 

Nathan writes: Since spring of 2005 Zohar and I have been searching in Spain for a place to create an Open Centre. We had heard that Spain is full of farms for sale, surely we would find a place to offer rest and connection with nature, and of course we found many places, many almost perfect places. I remember sitting in a secluded orange grove just below a gently flowing spring eating the perfectly ripe fruit from the trees, thinking "this is it."

The dream shattered though as we were told that the house belonged to 5 different brothers who were not talking to each other, and that the delightful orange grove belonged to a complete stranger who had no interest in selling at all. And later, after seeing the most amazing stone house somehow lightly balanced over a tunnel coursed by a powerful river, and hearing that the owner was out of reach for the last decade in the jungles of South America, we began to realize that every dream has a cloudy lining.

But we carried on visiting places, exploring ruins and making new friendships. One day Gemma was sitting with an old friend, and while chatting with her over some freshly baked bread her friend said, "You know where would be a perfect place for your project?" Not just Gemma’s ears but her whole body pricked up. Then her friend said, "Oh no, I shouldn't have said that, “Oh no, it’s a secret, no, no, just forget it." But it was too late and Gemma proceeded to cajole the information out of her. Gemma seems to know the entire population of Catalonia, and to have lived in every possible habitable place there. So we can imagine with little surprise that the next step in the story involved a mutual friend, called Joan, who was living in a village Gemma once inhabited. It turns out that 7 years before Joan had accepted the task of finding a property for his master to offer spiritual retreats, and for the last 2 years since his master retired, the place has been out of use. A meeting with Joan was quickly arranged. As Gemma drove the small car, borrowed from her brother's girlfriend, up the winding roads to view the property, Joan spun fully round in his seat to face Jaya, Zohar and me squashed together in the back seat and said laughing, "I have done all the work for you."

He continued as we walked along the drive up to the house: "I have visited over 50 properties in this area, and talked to owners of more than five times that many, and this place is unique." By this point we were already in full agreement with every word that came out of Joan's mouth, and he carried on: "I had a long list of criteria that each property must fulfill; it had to be at the end of the road, so no one can drive past you; but be well connected—right now we're just half an hour from the Girona airport; it also needed not to be over looked by neighbors; look, you cannot see anyone, and no one can see you." The place was completely surrounded by forest, and the main house and buildings were in the center of the land which stretched up to the top of the surrounding hills packed with trees. We had been more used to the very dry and rocky surroundings of Catalonia to the south and Zohar, looking around, asked, "Everything's so green, does it rain much here?" "You know," said Joan with a smile, "they call this area the urinals of Catalonia. When I first came here it was the silence that let me know it was perfect. I spent the whole year here and never heard a single motorbike. Some people cannot handle this much silence." Then he added, "Although lately in the summer evenings I've found the sound of the crickets is getting louder." As we were led around by the energetic Joan, we kept lagging behind eating figs off the tree by the end of the drive, or getting caught up in the tasty grapes by the out buildings, and later being drawn out the back door of the beautifully finished kitchen by the invitingly juicy persimmons. After we had viewed the countless bedrooms and bathrooms in the house, visited the future meditation hall, been given a lesson in modern German water filtration systems and storage, and been introduced to the incredibly comprehensive irrigation system, Jaya chirped in, "This has nearly everything on our wish-list" "Nearly?" Joan asked "Yes, it doesn't have a football field." "But it has an ex-professional football player," Joan said, pointing at himself and laughing. "Come I want to show you something more." As we descended through leafy paths, Joan reminisced about clearing them by hand, and explained how in his master’s tradition tidiness is very important. I recalled how everything was in its place in the tool shed, every key in the house labeled, and how the beams and mattresses in the bedrooms were wrapped in protective coverings. This is a place being well cared for, I thought.

Eventually we could go no further; a tree had fallen blocking the path, to our right was an impassable slope and below us to our left was the stream running through the property. Joan told us about the mysterious machine that had been our destination—how it pumped water up hill without external power, and then we stood for a while listening to the sweet sound of water falling below. He turned back uphill and told us the amazing story of how a broken leg ended his career as a football player, and how he went from losing everything to finding his master on the Island of Ibiza. We were reaching the end of the tour so we asked Joan, "What is the price of this property?" "This I do not know. Until recently this place was not for sale. Because you inquired about this place, I explained about you to my master and asked him if we would sell it, and he told me, 'It is not for sale...but to them we will sell it.’" Joan smiled; he seemed content that this place he loves so much may become a center for spiritual practice again. "Come," he said, "we have time, let me take you to the waterfall."