Camino de Santiago/Arrival

March 24th

“This is what Yahweh asks of you; only this, to act justly, to love tenderly and to WALK humbly with your God.”  (Micah 6:8)

I have arrived in St Jean Pied de Port—the beginning of what is.  Mindful of Micah’s words, I’m drenched literally and figuratively as the rain falls on this evening’s beginning.  Tomorrow I have a full day to explore…to walk patiently and to take in every site, sound, smell…TOUCH!

I MUST return to this morning’s arrival—
I was able to move through the airport like an unnoticed shadow.  In my limited Spanish, I was able to find a cab.  My TRANSPORT—an unbelievable angel.  I do think I saw him tuck in his wings—
He was the first, in Spain, to speak with deep sensitivity, “BUEN CAMINO.”  I nearly cried as I headed to get aboard a train.

I made it with minutes to spare.
The whistle blew and we chugged to Pamplona.

The landscape was an easel painted with NEW hues—green grass, pink buds, muddy water and drooping eyelids.  I dozed a bit trying to fight rest, but then gave in.

The next taxi ride—my final transport to the destination sought.  Upon arriving, THIS angel hugged me—“Buen Camino.”  It felt like a father’s embrace—no awkwardness…a shared glance and his wings took flight.

Here I was—my room adorned with feminine imagery, artifacts, wall hangings…HOLY MOTHER.

I breathed a sigh (not so heavy) when I was told at the pilgrim’s office that the road over the Pyrenees was closed.  The weather had been too inclement—snows buried the trails.  All pilgrims were alerted to the dangers of climbing the mountains so I would not lay my eyes upon the Mother and child blessing me, watching over me as I headed out on Thursday.

BUT, for me…a chord strikes ‘loudly’—knocking me from what I thought was ‘balanced.’  Every root within my being has grown without ‘seeing’—in the darkest places movement ceases AND I trust ONE is there.  I TRUST the SHE who is EVER PRESENT…the carrier, the nurturer of EVERY ‘living’ first—humankind included.  She said yes—having been changed in a moment.  We are NOT certain how it came to be, BUT she bore what grew inside her dwelling—just as every child is born from the womb that has held it…not always with love, yet love is born and reborn a first time over and over.

I hear the drops tapping the window roof over my bed—they carry me to sleep.  I need do nothing but lay this temple down.  Good night!

 

When the heart awakes from sorrow…

It pauses a moment
between each beat.

Listening…
Listening to the sound
every chamber held as it chose
to remain flooded through
the ‘aches’ of grief.

And—
even so…
the chambers expanded… (without seeing).
In time, MORE room was made
by the tremendous ‘weight’ held
till one day
not really certain ‘why’
or how come.

Well…the heart knew
all along—
If ONLY I lift this latch
and then a next and a next,
the delivery of stagnant
blood held itself back
for a single breath.

Then it coursed its way
through veins come ALIVE.
Arteries danced to the rhythm
of its flow…

The heart once broken
NOW ‘crushed’ by love—

Love squeezing and squeezing
until the heart realizes it never stopped beating.

Awake—
The heart has made a friend of
sorrow…

They cannot stop ‘laughing’ with each other
embracing all that is
until the beating stops.

AND—then it understands
how fully it HAS lived.

 

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