My Traveler’s Heart Finds Rest and Nostalgia at “Oakridge”: A Pilgrimage
We are in the midst of a global pandemic. This is not news. There is much sadness and devastation. And then there are those of us lucky enough to have jobs, yet we still need to rest, and, yes, even take a vacation. I plan vacations at a high level and in intricate detail, and I make no apologies for that. If you know me, you know that I spend a significant portion of my discretionary time planning and researching my/our family’s next trip and maybe even other friends’ trips. I get a lot of pleasure in the planning, finding a good deal, and even the researching and reading of other people’s reviews, all on a very small budget. It is all part of the process for me, and the anticipation of the trip is almost as good as the trip itself.
I am a double immigrant. Born in the UK, I immigrated to Australia with my parents when I was three. I grew up in a sunburned country. Australians love to travel. My twenty years there were formative. My early experience of travel made me hungry for more. Now in my 50s, I have been to thirty countries, and I still have places I would like to visit. Travel has become a way of life for me just as yoga has become a lifestyle (you can read about how yoga became a lifestyle for me here). I met my American-born husband in the 80s (at an aerobics class in Australia when he was backpacking), and I became a US citizen in the 90s after realizing we would be living in the States as our home base. It is true that I have travelled my whole life.
So where does one go to rest, or on vacation for that matter, during a pandemic? Pre-pandemic, I was planning on visiting my family in Australia. The best deals were from Los Angeles (LA), so my husband and I decided we would take a week visiting old friends in and around LA. Needless to say, I did my research and got us some bargains, even the rental car. Several friends were all very happy to have us stay with them. But that was BTP (Before the Pandemic).
As our vacation time got closer, we realized it was a terrible time to be visiting friends. That’s the back story to us finding ourselves staying at a budget hotel an hour and a half from New York City (NYC) – pretty much the opposite of my initial plan, geographically and otherwise. The location of the hotel put us within striking range of visiting our son, Jacob, who had recently moved to Brooklyn to start a job. We wanted to celebrate his birthday with him and be close enough to drive there easily. When we arrived, I started looking more closely at a map to find out where we could eat. Luckily, we were only a block from a really good, Italian-owned, New Jersey diner – how great is that?! The experience was so good, we ate there twice. And as I studied the map more closely, I realized we were within 30 minutes of Oakridge, NJ, the birthplace of the biannual retreats that led to forming Christians Practicing Yoga and this website and blog. However, it had been thirteen years since I had been to Oakridge, and it was no longer a retreat center. The details of where it might be were fuzzy in my memory. I knew it had been owned by the Catholics (when we were there) and then sold to the State of New Jersey as park land. I needed more information to be able to find the exact location.
In remembering how formative the retreats have been for me, I told my husband that we were close to Oakridge, and I wanted to take him there so he would have more of a shared experience of my very important biannual retreats. I emailed Father Tom Ryan, our founder, Paulist priest, and prolific author. He got right back to me with enough info to find the location. The area was called Mt. Paul after the Paulist priests and the center was for Paulist novitiate – men beginning their calling to priesthood. It was a special place for Father Tom as he had begun his journey to priesthood at this very location. Also, years later when it became a retreat center, he gathered Christian yoga practitioners together there for five days every other year. It is now Kean University’s Skyland Campus which sits on State Park land.
With the help of our GPS, we got there in about thirty minutes. It was a glorious day – sunny and 75 degrees. I had nervous anticipation of seeing what we all fondly refer to as just “Oakridge”. We pulled onto Mt. Paul Rd. It now has large signage for the university. We were immediately met with a gate that was closed. But there was a tiny parking lot with one spot left (we took that as an invitation to stay). We packed up our swim gear and lunch into backpacks and set off on foot along Mt. Paul road, hoping we would be allowed in.
Not fifteen minutes later, we came across a new structure that explained the name “Skyland.” It was a tall, three story building that had a skywalk (through the treetops) that went all the way to the retreat house (now university). The skywalk was closed but it was beautiful. How stunning it must be to hang out high in the trees and observe the wildlife and other natural beauty, (including bears which were regularly reported when we were there years ago. The university itself (formerly the retreat center) looked just as I remembered it. When I saw the lake, memories of lazily swimming off the dock and walking in the woods as well as meeting many of you that subscribe to this blog flooded back.
My husband and I decided to walk around the lake, probably only a mile or so. Everything about the situation was perfect – the weather, only a handful of other people around, nothing else on our agenda than to enjoy the day and go-with-the-Spirit. As we walked the lake trail, I was reminded of being on a pilgrimage. The word often conjures up holy places like Jerusalem or Rome, or perhaps walking the Camino de Compostela – the Way of St. James in Northern Spain. But here we were in New Jersey, an hour from one of the US epicenters of a global pandemic, experiencing God’s presence in the woods that had been long saturated with the prayers of the saints.
It seemed appropriate to linger, meditate, do some yoga asana, swim, rest. We had a time of prayerful thanksgiving for the day, our family, and all that had transpired in the hearts and minds of all those who had traversed these sacred grounds. Some of you were there with us in spirit, your memories, the giving and receiving of knowledge and practice, and the great hospitality shown to us. On the way back to the car, we circled the building and saw the lake room where we used to practice our twice daily yoga together. The building looks like it is in great hands.
We got to spend Jacob’s birthday with him and then we spent a few days on City Island in the Bronx. The little apartment we rented was right on the Long Island Sound. We swam and paddle-boarded, did our yoga, and rested. As we headed north of the city to visit friends (outdoors at a distance), I again realized we would be just 15 minutes from our second “Oakridge” venue at Graymoor Spiritual Center (GSC) in Garrison, NY in the beautiful Hudson Valley. With the first Oakridge being so beautiful and woodsy, my husband was quite keen to see GSC too – besides, we were on a roll. The weather wasn’t quite so cooperative, but our timing was pretty good. As we pulled in and the rain began, we took refuge at St. Christopher’s Thrift Store (right at the edge of the GSC property). We love thrift stores and spent a happy hour there seeking out treasures from other people’s castoffs and knowing the proceeds go to supporting the St. Christopher’s recovery community at the GSC.
The rain cleared, and we headed to St. Francis Chapel, the beautiful vista of the valley, and one of the most compelling statues of Mary cradling the crucified Jesus in her arms with the empty cross in the background. It brought me to my knees. We stood silently looking out at the misty mountains for quite some time taking in the vastness of the valley and again being aware of standing on holy ground. We circled around to the labyrinth, and I painted a verbal picture for my husband of a morning prayer and yoga session, when we formed a single line, hand in hand, and walked from the St. Francis Chapel the hundred yards or so to the labyrinth while Dana Moore played the flute and Sister Cecilia led us in a movement practice. I remember it to this day – taking my practice to a new layer of meaning to use my whole body and breath in praise to the Lord.
As we headed around the mountain back to our van, my husband put his arm around me and whispered, “Thank you for sharing these special places with me.” And we set off into the misty valley for home. It wasn’t the vacation we thought we were going to have, but it brought some meaning to a context my husband had only heard about. As fellow CPY member, Sally Grillo, has pointed out to me at an Oakridge retreat, “I tell my husband and boys that you are all family to me because of this shared experience, yet they have never met you – which I guess is weird that I feel so connected to you here.” Sally’s words had inspired me to figure out how to bridge the gap, at least for the geographic piece and our connection to place. A pilgrimage can do that, and it doesn’t have to involve leaving the shores or walking 500 miles to do so. How do you experience pilgrimage? I’d love to hear your story.
