Madre Grande Monastery

A Sacred site for healing, teaching, ceremony, and celebration

                                                   A Most Perfect Home

There once was a tribe of people who were in search of a Most Perfect Home. They wandered through the wilderness, facing many dangers and hardships, but always learning and living from the land. They were a lost and driven people, compelled to move by the longing of an ancient memory, the beckoning of a wondrous Vision, the Promise of a Most Perfect Home.

They were a kind and caring people, honest and true to themselves and each other, sharing their food and resources in good times and bad. They were loving and peaceful, resolving their differences without striking or killing each other, seeking to understand and heal, not conceal or hurt.

After many years of wandering and searching, the tribe came upon a Great Mountain in the wilderness. The top of the mountain shined warmly with a gentle yet clear Light. The Light danced with shimmering beautiful colors, soothing and calling to the people.

The Light filled the people with wonder and awe, and the tribe longed to reach the top of the Mountain. It shined like paradise, like their Most Perfect Home.

The Mountain was very steep with crumbling cliffs at the base, surrounded by dense thickets of sharp brambles and thorns haunted by shadowy strange beasts. For many years the tribe sought an easy and safe way up the Mountain, for many years they failed. The people were afraid of the sharp thorns crumbling cliffs, and lurking shadows, and they turned away from the Vision, they forgot the Promise of a Most Perfect home.

“The way is too difficult!” they cried out, “We should not seek to climb the Mountain. We are not meant to reach the Light.” The tribe was caught between the dangers and hardships of the wilderness and their fear of climbing the Great Mountain.

Some members of the tribe saw the people’s fear and decided to use it for their own gain. They promised to protect the frightened people, to keep them safe and lead them to the Most Perfect Home, and the tribe listened and obeyed.

The leaders appointed guardians to study and protect the secrets of the Great Mountain. They proclaimed the top of the Mountain sacred, and ordered that no one may attempt to climb to the Light. The Light was too pure and good for all but the chosen people, the guardians decreed, and the chosen people must do what the guardians told them to do. They must believe what the guardians told them to believe.

Many people of the tribe stopped seeking the Light at the top of the Great Mountain, convinced they were better off not knowing, believing their leaders were wise and kind. The leaders and guardians grew wealthy and powerful and thought themselves better than the common people of the tribe, who became comfortable in their ignorance, accepting of their fate and condition.

The tribe returned to wandering in the wilderness, as they had always done, but they could not leave the Great Mountain. They could not completely deny the Promise of their ancient memory, they could not escape the beckoning of the wondrous Vision. The tribe began circling the Mountain, moving blindly forward year after year, generation after generation, on a path that took them only where they had already been before.

The base of the Great Mountain was immense, but the number of people in the tribe grew to encompass the entire girth. As they crowded together they began to argue more, fighting over resources and territory. Some people began making boundaries and hoarding supplies, depriving others of food and shelter. Some people were cast out of the tribe, ignored, despised, unloved.

The people began to settle differences by hurting and killing each other, by stealing and cheating and lying. Many people suffered and died. The base of the Great Mountain became a place of great terror, horror, and savagery, the slaughter and destruction continuing for generations. In time, the people destroyed the wilderness that was their home, turning much of it into a barren, poisoned, wasteland. Words of warning and protest were shouted, dreams of peace were praised and promised, and oaths of mutual aid and cooperation were sworn. Still the people fought and killed and stole and lied.

But with every generation a small number of courageous determined Seekers crawled through the thorns avoided or befriended the shadow beasts, and climbed to the top of the cliffs, forging narrow trails for others to follow. Some would emerge from the thorns high upon the cliffs, and call out from the Great Mountain to the people of the tribe.

“Behold! I have found a way. We can reach the Light at the top of the Great Mountain! Your flesh may get torn and bruised, but your soul will be free.”

An arrow through the heart was often the answer, and a voice fell silent. But more Seekers came, and the message was not silenced. The people saw and knew. The Light at the top of the Great Mountain was within their reach. The ancient memory and wondrous Vision were real and attainable.

But the paths were still narrow and dangerous, and many people were afraid. They became ashamed of their fear, and their shame turned to anger and resentment toward those who were not afraid, toward those who sought the Light. At the will and command of the leaders and guardians the people did horrible cruel things to each other, for the honor of their tribe in the name of the Light. The people betrayed their ancient memory and denied the wondrous Vision of the Most Perfect Home. They lived only for themselves.

Climbing the Mountain became a secret, forbidden act, a taboo punishable by capture, torture, and death. But some people overcame their fear, escaped the danger, and climbed. And they looked back in love and sorrow at the tribe circling the Great Mountain, endlessly lost in fear and greed and hate. The tribe was a teeming mass of tiny little creatures, fighting and struggling in a wilderness turned wasteland, afraid to stop moving, afraid to change direction, afraid to look up or gaze about. All the while, the Most Perfect Home of their ancient memory, the wondrous Vision, was right within their grasp.

The Seekers turned to the Light, struggling further up the Mountain toward the top, without fear or desire, knowing now that they had been living in the Most Perfect Home all along. It was not a home the tribe had been seeking as they wandered in the wilderness, it was the source of their being, their reason for living. It was God they were seeking– Love– and Love would always be with them.

One by one the Seekers descended from the Great Mountain and quietly returned to their tribe, surrounded by Light and filled with Love. They took up the task of healing and making peace among the people of the tribe, sharing the wisdom and strength of the Light, giving freely of their Love. They did not fear for their safety, they did not desire reward. The Seekers became the Light, became the Love.

They had each arrived at their Most Perfect Home.

TPreacher Man Hippie

On this page you will find the musings and scribblings of Martin Hippie, who often fancies himself a poet and a writer.    These writings are essentially "free samples" of his work, with the really good stuff available through our Store

This page will be a work in progress, with various offerings appearing and disappearing over time.  If you like what you read, please check back occasionally for more, and by all means, feel free to buy some of his books.

 Hippie's Written Words


                  Song For Madre Grande

    The longer I sit the further I go
    The less I think the more I know
    The weaker I get the stronger I grow
           it's a paradox to me

    The more I lose the more I've found
    The deeper the silence the greater the sound
    It's only a hill but it's hallowed ground
           it's a paradox to me

    She's young at heart but her bones are old
    She's patient and kind but a bit of a scold
    She picks me up and she knocks me down
    She shatters my world and she turns me around

    She hides among the trees and stones
    She shifts her shape she changes tones
    She's quiet and stern she's a mystery
    But her beauty and love flow endlessly

           She's a mother good and true
           In her arms I'm born anew
           Madre Grande I sing for you

    The darker it gets the brighter she shines
    She opens my eyes when I'm willfully blind
    She soothes my soul and she clears my mind
           She's a paradise to me

    The greater her truth the smaller my lie
    She takes away all my alibis
    I'll remember her gift till the day I die
           She's a paradise to me

    She's young at heart but her bones are old
    She's patient and kind but a bit of a scold
    She picks me up and she knocks me down
    She shatters my world and she turns me around

    She hides among the trees and stones
    She shifts her shape she changes tones
    She's quiet and stern she's a mystery
    But her beauty and love flow endlessly

           She's a mother good and true
           In her arms I'm born anew
           Madre Grande I sing for you


Holy Man Hippie

Flower Child Hippie

Grandpa Hippie.

                                              The Faceless Children

The children appear to be of different ages, many carrying various items such as books, bags, jump ropes, balls, and pencils. They're each wearing different kinds of clothing and have different hair styles, just like any ordinary group of kids. These children really wouldn't be outstanding were it not for one small detail-- none of the children have any faces.

No eyes, no noses, no mouths. The front of each of their heads is void and featureless, totally indistinguishable from one another. These children are completely incapable of communication, perception, or expression. They are not happy, they are not sad, they are not human.

The faceless children marched into my consciousness from the cover of a government brochure. When my son was six-years-old he brought this information home from school. The single page leaflet concerned the law requiring all children-- if they are to be claimed as a tax deduction-- to have a social security number. The text is simple and straightforward, telling you when, where, and how to register your child.

I stared at this brochure a moment, disturbed by what I saw and read. In a chilling thought it occurred to me that the faceless children in the drawing are the same children being described in the text. My children, your children, our children.

We are now required by law to turn our children into numbers. We are coerced into taking away their identity and sense of self just as they are beginning to develop as individual human beings. The are numbered, filed, and traced by computers before they have the ability to choose for themselves how to live their lives, before they discover what makes them unique and special as human beings.

It could be argued that the child will most likely get a social security number anyway, so no harm is done. But this is ignoring the basic threat-- the inherent danger-- of turning human beings into numbers.

Our government now tells us that if a child has no number he or she is not tax deductible. They are not recognized as being legal dependents. They are, in the eyes of the system, apparently not human beings. A human being without a number no longer has a place in our society. What better way to illustrate this nightmare-come-true than a line of faceless children.

Perhaps I am only over-reacting. Perhaps this simple drawing on a government pamphlet is not a true representation of the kind of children our culture is producing. Perhaps the bureaucracy has valid reasons to number children and place them into computer files.

There is certainly nothing new about turning human beings into magnetic ink, most of us know the feeling all too well, but our children deserve better than to be processed as numbers before they are recognized as human beings.

I would like to ask these faceless children what they think about all this. I would like to know how it feels to be changed into a number and forced into an impersonal, authoritarian system in the name of "Social Security", but I know they could not answer me.

They have no mouths to speak or laugh. They have no eyes to see or cry. They are faceless, nameless, and stripped of dignity and humanity. They-- as well as their faceless parents-- are probably not even aware of what is being done to them.

I wonder if these faceless children can think or feel at all. I wonder if they even know who they are, or if they even care. I wonder who's children they are.

Our children? Or the government’s children?.

                                   Veterans Day Peace Ceremony Speech
                                                                        Rockford, Illinois
                                                                     November 11, 2001

On September 11th I found myself curled up on the ground consumed by grief, an aching emptiness my heart that my tears could not ease. Since that day there have been several occasions when I have cried out in pain and anguish, literally brought to my knees by the sheer horror of reality. I am left emotionally and spiritually eviscerated by the injustice, cruelty, greed, suffering, and indifference in the world. I reach out to God with a desperate plea, “Why!? Why must it be this way?”

It just does, that’s all. It just is.

Reality can be cold and hard and cruel almost beyond the ability of our hearts to endure, and yet we are given a commandment by God to love one another. In the midst of so much fear and anger and hate and violence, we must love one another.

What else can we do? In all of eternity, who else do we have?

I believe in love. I have felt it’s healing power in my life, and I have witnessed genuine miracles out of nowhere. I have been blessed with an abundance of good and beautiful things and experiences, but most of all I have felt the love of my family, friends, and even brief acquaintances and total strangers. They have each given me something to believe in, something to comfort and guide me on my life’s journey. Together we share the light, we ease the burden, we feel the joy, wonder, and fulfillment of simply being alive together on the Earth. This is the way life should be, the way life can be, the way life will be for all people, someday.... someday.

This is my dream. This is my Vision of peace and love. It is so real and deep and powerful in my life that without it I would certainly die. My life would have no meaning, and my soul would cease to be.

I do not know why the world is the way it is, why people do such hateful terrible things to each other. I do know that the Vision of peace and love I see is as real as the physical world around me. It is as tangible as light, as relentless as gravity, as necessary as the air we breathe.

And so, in the midst of all the chaos and pain of millions of torn bodies and shattered souls, I will quietly and humbly hold up the only thing of lasting value I have to offer to a suffering world. I offer a beautiful dream, a peaceful Vision, a single candle of hope. I offer my love.

May peace prevail on Earth. Let us love one another.