Introduction
I have been invited to write something about my time looking after Cluny Library. There is not a great deal to be said about a room full of books other than its ability to inform and inspire, its literary reach and broad base of content. So, please indulge me as I can only write about the library in the context of Cluny itself, the marvellous Victorian house, devoted resident staff, glorious setting, its function and a little about how the library impacted my life over those years.

Cluny Hill at night photo Franco Santoro

Cluny library re-visited
Hard to believe I took care of the library for a quarter of a century, rather like some ancient retainer. Living in the Findhorn community during the seventies, I played a flamboyant and visible role during those ten years. I was content in this later period to be so low profile I was almost invisible – as librarians often are.

It was a fortuitous meeting with an old friend from those seventies years that precipitated my yank back into the realms of the so-called New Age, and my new role as a volunteer. Back then (early nineties) I knew I needed a change and didn’t know what that looked like. I’d immersed myself fully into contemporary Scottish culture and felt worn down by the past crazy decade. My sense of a spiritual life had been eclipsed by so much reality/drama, not exactly going underground; I needed every ounce of my spiritual resources. I realised I missed being around people who talked about spiritual stuff, shared their insights and had a sense of miracle mindedness, this no longer seemed arbitrary or disingenuous, just natural and inspiring.

I lived in the town of Forres, learning to live the life of an ordinary person, hopefully with a non-ordinary outlook. I had no wish to live in an intentional community again, but on that day, after said ruminations, bumping into my friend on Forres high street I was offered a place on a week-long workshop – at a much-reduced rate. Being a single parent with a young daughter, this “much reduced rate” made it possible to accept this very serendipitous gift.

The following few paragraphs may seem a bit of a preamble but brings us to the once hallowed grounds of Cluny, and its Library.

Cluny photo Adriana Sjan Bijman

The Art of Living in Peace Workshop was facilitated by a wise and elderly man, Pierre Wielle, who spent his life working for peace in the world. He maintained that when we learned to stop the war within our own minds and hearts, we no longer felt separate from others, or from nature. We then seek healing, live a more heartfelt life, and experience compassion for ourselves and others. His teaching, based in the University of Brasilia, was to provide the knowledge and techniques to each of us, so that we too, could facilitate peace workshops. He stressed how inner peace was not simply an absence of conflict but a state of grace, where forgiveness work could free us from the unforgiven past, becoming mindful to the present, to our intuitions and inspirations.

Pierre saw the only way to serve ourselves and our world was to embrace our humanity, our differences, cultivate empathy and develop a daily practice. There were fifty or so participants. The teaching and exercises were simple, honest. He embodied a purity and transparency that lifted us out of ourselves. I had forgotten how this was possible after my desert years and was struck by the fact that the community at Findhorn was still doing good things; here, in the early nineties, at least creating a context in which this could happen.

Pierre spoke a lot about the natural world, how we collectively have caused much devastation, because of our sense of separation from nature. At one point he asked us to point to where nature exists, a simple request like all his teachings. People pointed towards the sky, down to the ground, most pointed outwards. Then Pierre pounded his chest, saying with great passion “Look at you! You are nature! You are part of the natural order, and you don’t even know that?” There were a few of us that got it, but I was surprised how fairly enlightened individuals, kind, empathic, seeking to improve themselves, were yet living with a sense of being isolated from all that gives life and supports us. It made me wonder what hope there was for humanity.

It was a long time ago, and I forget the details of each day, only that the week passed joyfully. Finally, one thing that stayed with me was a Brazilian fable, told by Pierre.

“The forest was on fire, the animals had no knowledge of how to extinguish it, then along came a hummingbird carrying water from the nearby river in its beak and dropped it upon the flames. It did little but release some steam, but then flocks of birds began to carry water in their beaks, and soon every creature of the forest followed suit. One way or another, over a significant period of time and a lot of exhausting to’ing and fro’ing the flames were finally extinguished.”

We were given this analogy to help alleviate our sense of helplessness in the face of the looming crisis in our climate and environment. Each of us is capable of carrying our few drops of water (metaphorically speaking), that which nourishes and inspires us to motivate change in the world, knowing we are not doing it alone, but sharing the task with like-minded others.

One of the participants, a gifted creator of stained glass, had crafted some delightful hummingbirds that week. I bought one to remind me that although I did not feel the confidence to become a facilitator of peace workshops, I would find a way to make a contribution to peace and awakening.

After that week I found a new equilibrium, a sense of calm, as well as gaining a foothold into the place with some occasional voluntary work. I wanted to support its purpose. In return it gave me a window into a larger world; the chance to meet people from across the planet.

Cluny library lost its focaliser and I jumped at the chance. One of my main passions in life had always been books and I knew my way around a library. The first book I donated was Pierre Wielles – The Art of Living in Peace.

As mentioned already, a library is a quiet place of books. There is not a lot to say about it without being a bore, except to commend the authors, the power of its content and reach, and perhaps its lineage. Just after Cluny Hill Hotel was bought by the Community in the seventies, I recall how Peter spoke of the library. It contained Peter, Eileen and Dorothy’s books; the ones that served them over the years. They saw the library as an opportunity to introduce their guests to esoteric and spiritual matters. This inspired me to carry on this tradition; knowing from my own experience how books can help to change, and enhance our very being and outlook, even our direction in life.

Its current content was patchy with a lot of gaps. It seemed I had a budget of a hundred and fifty pounds a year to buy books – lovely. Many of the old classics remained: an abundance of Alice Bailey, Paul Brunton, Rudolph Steiner, J Krishnamurti, lots of ancient dusty tomes of indecipherable occult esoteria,a lot of Indian philosophy, Ramana Maharshi, Sai Baba, Raj Niesh! Paramahansa Yogananda, and more. There was Rumi and the Dalai Lama, who became a prolific writer of much wisdom in his later years. There was a host of British, European and American philosophers, so a good base to build on.

My intention was to bring the spiritual side of the library up to date with all the fine writers; enlightened men and women who were sharing their wisdom and insights now, shining a light on the challenges and opportunities of our time.

There were many books on world religions, sections on nature, travel, the arts, health and wholeness/nutrition, psychology, astrology, political issues, new economics, new age, mysticism, and other isms and the occult. A lot of the books were dated and in poor condition. There were bio and autobiographies, some classic novels, plays and poetry, women’s voices and matters – not enough.

Not forgetting of course, the early Findhorn Publications of Eileen, Peter and Dorothy’s books, David Spangler’s books and transmissions and there were copies, too, of The Findhorn Garden story, and books published by The Findhorn Press.

Peter Caddy with Findhorn Garden book photo Kathleen Thormod Carr

Over the years, thanks to book donations, brunch sales, charity shops, and putting out the call at conference book sales, the shelves gradually filled with quality work and never ceased expanding and refining.

For those unfamiliar with Cluny, the library was small, compact; around eighteen feet by ten feet, three walls had floor to ceiling mahogany shelving, it led into the sunroom lounge which overlooked the spectacular gardens of lilting topography and mature trees. Beyond, lay the manicured lawn of the town golf course, the wooded hills of Rafford and Pluscarden’s valleys.

Cluny Sun Room photo Lars Runken

Sitting in the sunroom with a good book and the stunning vista was very close to my idea of heaven, and a popular venue with the guests and residents.

The resident staff formed a dedicated group who took care of the house, and its guests. The upkeep of the huge Victorian building was taken very seriously and by so few staff; it was impressive. A core group existed of devoted individuals, who, it seemed, served the place for as long as I was there: Klaas, Stewart, India, Sverre, Niels, Ian and Jonathan. There were others who came, giving their best, sometimes staying for years; then there were the volunteers.

The homecare team were diligent in their fastidious and loving care of the place and the catering never failed to amaze and delight. These people who took care of everything, could, it seemed, turn their hand to anything. Some shared their many talents as workshop facilitators, as well as chefs, interior designers, and the hard graft of painters and decorators; as plumbers, electricians, gardeners, drivers of large buses and so much more. They were good humoured, kind dependable people who over the years I grew to respect; always there and ready to deal with this huge, magnificent responsibility that was Cluny.

I contracted Lyme disease in the nineties. My doctor insisted that I had M.E, that Lyme did not exist in Northeast Scotland, even though the event with the tic, and its bite was irrefutable. I laboured under this assumption for some time; the symptoms growing more severe. One day at Cluny, clearing out the book donation box, I came across a booklet written by a Chinese doctor. He charted the course of Lyme disease and its effect on the human host. At last, I had a clearer sense of what was going on. I still had to fight for a blood test. It came back positive. Too late to treat with antibiotics so I wrestled with this demon for the next eight years, (the bacteria can make its home in every organ, it hides in cell walls)!

I was fortunate to have a wealth of advice and wisdom on hand, in Cluny’s many books on health, nutrition and muscular mindedness – flooding into the library. The secret, I learned, to restore my health was to strengthen the miraculous immune system so it could destroy the invading, multiplying bacteria. It was by living a healthful, stress-free life, forsaking all compromising habits – no alcohol, no partying, no smoking. Eat simple, wholesome foods, embrace early nights, basically, live like a nun, or a small child (sound like fun)? A journey indeed.

I am forever grateful that Cluny library acted as an oracle as well as an advocate for all the knowledge and inspiration I needed. Thank you Caroline Myss, Deepak Chopra, Jack Kornfield, Pema Chödrön, Eckhart Tolle, and many others, who played a part in my healing over the years.

The library made few demands. Often, I worked there once a week, to keep it up to scratch; in winter, with less use, once a month. It was just there in the background of my life like a good friend. Feedback was always appreciative and supportive from the residents and guests.

The main purpose of Cluny was the workshop experience. I met many interesting, likeable people over the years. They came to learn something new; about themselves, others, the world, and to spend time with other like minded folk and hopefully, experience some joy/fun and perhaps make new friends and connections.

Many were hungry for a sense of community and the ‘community experience week’ was always popular. Sacred dance – the folk dances of Europe, collected by Bernard Wossien – was hugely attended each summer. ‘English language in community’, was very popular with the Japanese, mostly groups of young women who filled the place with their subdued chatter and charm.

I am unable to do justice to the depths and variety of the workshops, often led by notable ‘worthies’ on the new age lecture circuit; not to mention the exceptional conferences.

The workshops became more numerous and varied over the years. As an outsider, looking in, the atmosphere could be celebrational, always a mood of enjoyment and engagement. An overall sense of appreciation pervaded with being in such a beautiful place.

With so much daily stimulation the library needed to be able to cater to insomniacs. It seemed there was an appetite for armchair travel. Much requested authors were – Dervla Murphy, Paul Theroux, Colin Thubron, Gerald Durrel, Bill Bryson, Carol Drinkwater, and so many more. A different kind of library lived in the family room, many kinds of fiction, from murder mystery to adventure and romance and every kind of quirkiness in between.

Books were pouring into the donations box, many on the subject of climate change, the planetary emergency, full of dire warnings, prophecy and doom mongering; much of it well researched. Some of this material gave me pause for thought, making me look more closely at my life – its trajectory lacked clear intention other than day to day living, and my battle with Lyme disease.

The many books of inspirational writing coming out of America at that time (late nineties) challenged me to live the best life I could muster. Reading much of this material over the years opened my mind to a sense of expansiveness and greater self-confidence. This helped me to make significant changes for the better. Looking back, it seems Cluny library was a serious mover and shaker in my life.

I think it’s possible – in some way – to evaluate a community on the strength and content of its library and sadly – on its absence.

Any library worth its salt has the power to act as an oracle, to be a sacred space; expansive in its range to educate and open up the world of ideas, inspiration, wisdom, intelligence and so much more. It seemed to me, and to many others, a sad and philistine move when the library in the Park Building at Findhorn was dismantled and packed away in boxes. The library was originally anchored and blessed by Peter, Eileen and David Spangler in the seventies and seen as a necessary asset, part of the educational development within the community. Admittedly, it was in need of an informed and inspired upgrade, with the passing of time. Meanwhile, there is the irony of a converted telephone box on site that some kind person re-convened as a miniature pop-up library during Covid, and it is still going strong. Shelves were installed making space for all manner of literary and not so literary flotsam to gather within an area of around a square meter.

In late December 2019, our lovely Cluny focaliser Joanna organised a celebration dinner for the thirty or so volunteers, as a thank you. The glorious oak panelled, candle lit dining hall was filled with happy people, in festive mood; at the end of week-long workshops there was an air of jubilation. The food as always was delicious, a rich roulade of creamy cheese and spinach, with a mushroom sauce and roasted vegetables. Followed by baked Alaska and raspberry coulis, prepared by our chefs in residence, Stewart, India, Niels, Sverre and crew.

Cluny Dining Room photo Findhorn Foundation

I had a strange feeling about the evening, sensing an ending of sorts, mixed with sadness. The meal shared with friends was animated, noisy with high spirits. I put my mood down to Christmas and year ending. I had a fresh perspective in the new year, as everything in my life – our lives – was turned on its head with the approach of Covid and lock down. Perhaps I’d sensed it was the last time I would set foot in Cluny . . . The last supper.

If I dwell on it too much, the sense of loss is enormous. Everyone who had a loving relationship with the place, its lovely gardens, holy trees, the sacred power point, its bricks and mortar, they too will have a Cluny sized hole in their hearts. For me, there is only one answer to this sense of loss, and that is to fill it with all the good, and loving memories of those times, of that place . . . Cluny.

Anniese Worth Giuntini

I live very simply in this land I love. On returning to the area with my daughter Jade, I found joy in volunteering in the life of the Community; until Covid, then everything changed.