CARRION de LOS CONDES to CALDADILLA de la CUEZA
Traveling with NO-bodys
They come from Germany, Brazil, Idaho, Florida, Australia, and Seattle—
They traveled from Switzerland, Netherlands, Chicago, Italy, Finland and Connecticut—
They arrived in St Jean Pied de Port from Argentina, California, Korea, UK (London), Spain and France, their homeland, to begin the Camino de Santiago
Every ONE comes with a ‘personal’ intention for walking. The question IS not what one does in LIFE, but rather, “WHY DOES ONE WALK?”.
There are a ‘host’ of answers—truly Holy Communion…
Some walk to find themselves. Along the way they befriend one soul after another—a way NOT to listen to what their hearts seek? It doesn’t matter…it’s their Camino.
Others walk because they’ve lost a child or their soul’s companion.
Some ‘face’ a terminal illness—if their days end on the Camino…their life complete.
Others walk for religious reasons, AND many for NO religious reasons at all. In fact, they’ve lost their belief in God, BUT they’ve returned to walk this Camino again and again because it has changed them.
AND, there are those who walk for spiritual reasons…each foot step a prayer…
A whispered “NAMASTE’ sparks and endless smile and no other words seem necessary.
So, I’m here, walking with the most incredible NO-bodys.
It’s not important if you own a business, run a company—
It matters NOT if you’ve authored a book or recorded numerous albums (did I say albums? Now, that’s dating me).
No one really cares if you’re a scientist, a doctor or an engineer—
It doesn’t matter if you’re a mother or father, sister or brother—
We, a ‘collective’ community of pilgrims, join hands with ancient pilgrims of our past who first walked this walk—
Their NAMES…SO MANY—UNKNOWN…
Simple, EXTRAORDINARY no-bodys walking The Way–
What is it we’ll find when we reach SANTIAGO or beyond?
It hardly matters…what matters most is this present NOW.
We, No-bodys, seek NOTHING more.
Sea of Silence
Into a sea of silence
I sink deeper and deeper.
Beds of coral reefs
of infinite colors…
schools of fish
I wonder who
is truly looking
Down, down I go
and still no bottom.
I hear the sounds
of the underworld
as my lungs fill
with breath—a gentle inhale
and I continue
Lighter and lighter
letting-go of the
there is nothing
but my eyes
FROMISTA to CARRION de LOS CONDES
The Sun became a Candle
the service began with the ‘lighting’ of a candle.
I walked towards the west—
the sky a deep jasmine blue
awaiting the night’s descent.
The soles of my feet moved with
the revolving of the Earth—
for a moment I knew ‘we’ were spinning.
Every step forward
brought the flame behind me
higher and higher.
The sky was a kaleidoscope of
If you ‘blinked,’ what was before
your eyes—NOW gone.
And, an astonishing array of hues
melted together into ONENESS
as if someone ignited a box of Crayolas.
The choir of sparrows began their
chirping and the crows piped in.
The warmth of the flame
caressed the morning’s dew
as soft patches of fog clung to their final vapors.
The procession was endless
and moved from all four corners of
I began to dance…
my stick, my gentle partner.
I thought for a moment that I heard
I turned staring directly into the flame—blinded.
Does the Sun laugh, I wondered?
This morning—I believe it did…
AND, nothing could diminish its light.
I’ve walked within forests
traveled upon rivers
with foaming white waters—
I’ve reached mountain tops
spreading my arms
like eagle wings
and I’ve savored desert floors
where the vapor in the air
my only morsel of water—
I’ve danced under a bed of stars
the moon lighting the stage
beneath my feet.
It is in these places I know
I AM home.
I’ve been to the market places—
the fast pace…
the hustle & bustle
of business…(in its many disguises).
Noises echoed off the walls—
music is played—still, not a
single word heard in
I’m caught ‘in’ the moment
like a rabbit in a snare.
AND, I’m rescued by the ones
the ones who
amidst their own weariness
STOP to help.
I observe the passerby
too involved checking off
lists of what to buy…
no time to HELP
or too BLIND to
in front of them (why should
they worry or be involved?!)
I want to run
back to the dusty roads—
the rolling meadows.
But, I’m in this
valley where the shadow
of death looms…
adds up its daily earnings
watching the DOW rise and
plummet in the market
—it CASHES in
while solitary workers
show up for his/her shifts
running a few moments
behind because they just
punched the clock from
their other jobs…
For THIS week—
they pray they have enough.
They go without
and are grateful for what is.
Who really is teaching whom?
I’m here in this
present place…the chill of winter
fills the air
with an EXHALE of care.
I STILL have so much
Camino de Santiago—Day 16
CASTROJERIZ to FROMISTA
“…I am reminded how much my own life has been squandered in posturing. The presence that comes from making something LOOK RIGHT on the surface, while ignoring the underlying lack of integrity and the feeling of discontent that follows. Tamed person (man/woman) addicted to the approval of family & friends masking the wild person (man/woman) desperate for the freedom that comes with AUTHENTIC living while painting a larger canvas…”
(pg 148/ A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago)
For the past several days now I have walked the landscape called the MESETA—the peace & quiet of crop fields. As I journeyed through this region, I have been especially mindful of the Parable of the Sower (and of my dear kindred Soul, Grace, who walks with me).
In many ways the parable I’m recalling, plays itself out in reverse of how it is shared. It is the springtime of the year—so much is beginning to bud with NEW life. There has been so much greenery and the wheat fields are FULL—they grow on the better soil.
I press forward and come to rough, stony earth, my feet feeling every bit of the broken terrain as does my spirit. A strong will transcends my being—pushing me, driving me, as the BLISTERS create NEW soles.
The parable of the sower ‘sinks’ deeply into me—scenes of my life reveal my walking ‘in’ each terrain AND each terrain a part of the journey…my life. I’m always growing and then there are the moments when NOTHING seems to be happening yet, in reality, EVERYTHING is happening…I’m simply NOT ripened to SEE.
My bruised feet, broken, leaking—healing themselves each day.
THIS Temple, in HARMONY with the soils I walk, brings me HERE to Fromista and the Church of Saint Martin. Three hundred nine figures can be seen within these stone walls—various images of vegetables, geometric shapes, animals and monstrous human representations. They contain stories, fables, endowed with meaning, and yet, lost in our contemporary culture.
Parts of the elements contained within the figures represent stories from Scripture leading to Christian doctrine. Motifs were used to speak to the people who understood what we would call pagan expressions. Still, it was through STORY…connection to the Universal MYSTERY…that I stand here NOW believing in what cannot be transmitted in words, but through every breath I take I am a part of CHRIST’S unending liturgy of Life.
A flickering candle
sets a blaze
to a hidden place.
draw the light
while an unexpected
rush of air
moves the wick
ever so slightly.
Now the flame
is a whirl…
An attempt to breathe—
a desire to sit and be.
A moment of STILLNESS…
again, a wisp of air
‘swirling’ the secret place within.
it is ALL prayer—
THIS is the grace of BEING
Do Reindeer Fly?
From star to star
throughout the sea
pursing on and on.
Their ears pointed—
cusping the laden air…
their noses picking
up the scent
of celestial beings
‘looking’ on in delight.
white like pure cotton
whisked the moon
behooving its golden glow.
As morning drew,
one by one
into the silken valleys.
They sipped upon
drops of dew—
their soft brown
hides glimmered in
the sun’s first light.
So, do you really
do not fly?
Go out into
AND…if by chance
you come upon
a shooting star…
BURGOS to HORNILLOS del CAMINO
Outside the Church Doors
Outside the doors of the
Cathedral…there she sat.
The stony pavement beneath her—
cold and damp.
She held a small basket
in her hand…
She spoke not a word
and barely raised her head.
I dropped a coin
into her basket…
I just happened to have one
A soft voice spoke, “Gracias”…
Something ‘inside’ me barely could
look her in the eye…
Who really was the pilgrim here?
Who of us knew the meaning of
the word humility?
I’ve NEVER sat ‘hoping’ my cup would
she sat for an entire day trusting
that enough persons would come along so that
she’d receive just enough to feed
Does she have family?
I don’t know…
The ‘mammoth’ Cathedral NOW before me—
Inside a treasure chest of silver
BUT, no bread to break.
Christ tipped the tables—
He’d begin by feeding this woman.
That woman is ‘the temple’ where the
Divine does dwell—
She’s adorned in what is probably
her only wear
AND, she “GIVES THANKS.”
I softly hear above, the NOISE of
the clanging bells…
You cannot harness a myth—
yet, you can read
in between the story lines—
Not necessarily to create
a rule or a system—
still, you can choose to ‘see’
how myth invites
a deeper more intimate way
~~~of creating life
~~~of being in this world
and yet not of it.
When I say not of it (the world)
I do not mean “Creation’s” way
Living Creation’s seasons teaches us
EVERY way of living
in this world.
By not being
of this world is not
to fall into the clatter
—the NOISE of opposing sides
hurling unsavory remarks…
When one strips away
the conformity to any ONE ‘system’
one dances to the delicate balance of regaining the SOURCE
MOST especially within.
One lives by a flow pouring
outward yet it never escapes
from within for it
UNDERSTANDS (yet not completely)
a bigger mystery holding life
ever so firmly
and still so gently
ATAPUERCA to BURGOS
“In a gentle way, you can shake the wor(l)d.” Gandhi
The ‘space’ was EMPTY
only the coverings remained.
what could this possibly mean?
The last several days
played over and over in my mind
like a bad dream—
I wish I could wake and it would
ALL be as it was…
But He said—
He said so MANY things.
I set aside EVERYTHING
to follow Him.
His messages, stories so simple—
those who you’d think would not get it
‘GOT IT’ and when we were alone—
Together, HE explained ‘THE MEANING’
behind words…some-TIMES I got it.
Right at this moment
NO-thing makes sense…
Hiding is the ONLY safe thing to do.
I followed Him—
NOW He’s gone…what NOW?
I’m no longer the SAME
And still I AM who I am…
He showed me how simple truth can be—
how easy to love without the expectations
of a return…
I’ll try to live this WAY…
it will NOT be easy—
the world, many of its people won’t
The world, ‘creation’ gets it…look how
simply it moves with the seasons
I ‘see’ HIM…He’s NOT GONE
He is in ALL
These words flowed from my heart. I walked this morning—a painted orange hue landscape behind my back…in front of me the light of the moon casting silhouettes along the country side. A flock of sheep—undisturbed…a few ‘clangs’—the little bell dangling from their necks. It was as if the service began. I AM in ‘c’hurch with a small ‘c.’ The fragrance of spring flowers opening—sweet incense to my nostrils! I climbed a stony path…it seemed to go on forever. ‘Stickey,’ ever faithful, and Pilgrim Perk holding up her end. I looked up at this moment to find a single cross at the top of a hill. It did NOT speak of VIOLENCE…it spoke of an END to HATRED & WAR and it stood—LOVE being its ONLY message.
Last night while dining, I met a mother & daughter (she might have been eleven). We had passed each other along the way these past few days—glances exchanged, a simple understanding…’we’ are walking…
THIS eve the mother spoke. She would take a bus to Leon as the road was a bit too long for her little girl…not the physical demands, but the mental fortitude one needs to walk the Camino. The mother spoke…”Today, when we reached ATAPUERCA (the place where the earliest human remains were discovered in Europe dating back over 900,000 yrs.), we danced.” The expression on the child’s face ‘glowed’—THE MOTHER…holy is she.
Prizes & Punishments…
save the rewards and
the prizes for the arcades…
Leave the judgements and
the punishments for the law…
Let us try to imagine
AND live the transformational
No…I’m not saying to do
away with the stone tablets
they were broken ‘enough’
to allow the light to
seep into ‘unfinished’ lines…
“The Poor in Spirit“…
know they do not have to die to
get to heaven—they live ‘within’ it.
“Those who mourn“…allow their
tears to flow into a deeper river
of unseeing—the comfort is not
having to have answers.
“Inherit the Earth“…the meek
already settled in this
“Hungry and thirsty“…embrace a
communion of a lasting kind—
their fullness leaves leftovers.
“Merciful“—how blessed to extend
and expect no return.
“Pure in Heart“—eyes wide open…
‘seeing’ the Source in all living beings
AND recognizing when they look
in the mirror they dwell in
“Peacemakers“—sons & daughters…
no longer children…instead ADULT
sojourners walking a path blazing—
illuminated trails of hope into
“Persecuted for Righteousness“—
you live in the heavenly dwelling
place inwardly & outwardly…there is
no longer any great divide or
Nothing to lose
Everything to gain.
IT already is yours—
The only expression you’ll be able to
extend is the love
that now fills you and empties you.
Inspired & Adapted from Mt 5:3-10
The Sermon on the Mount
“Will we have served our purpose for this incarnation? It takes so many thousand years to wake, but will we wake for pity’s sake.”
(pg 120/ A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago)
This morning I set out ‘mindful’ of the long stretch ahead…the journey reminded me of the road to Emmaus. I walked in the deep solace of SILENCE—the chill in the air brushed my face and the wind picked up its face (we gazed at one another) as ‘we’ began to ascend the mountains. I say ‘we’ because three IMPORTANT women were with me this day—my mom, my friend Helen (affectionately called Peanut), and Alberta (her endearing name, Nunny—my greatest teacher, kindred soul and friend).
I walked with my mom. I am her youngest…her baby. I stayed close to her as I was growing up…we were ‘companions.’ I have two older siblings—a sister and a brother. It seemed that I had two sets of parents as I grew…I mean this in the most loving sense. MY sister, seven years older, ALWAYS had a HEART— bigger than an ocean. She wanted to give ‘good’ things and she loved me for who I was. My mom has a deep affection for her first born—it’s a bond I cannot explain, but have come to admire. My sister and I could not be ANY more different…she is the epitome of a girly-girl while I’m the extreme tom boy—still am…boots, mud, sneakers—the WILD. Surprised I’m walking THIS Camino? NOT A DOUBT.
My brother…if my mom’s father ever got to ‘see’ his grandson, he would never have given him back to my mother and father. My brother was my guide in my growing-up years. He looked after me, talked to me about life and the road ahead…temptations that would enter my path. When he left for the service (Navy), my heart broke. No one ever left our family. I MISSED him.
My mom’s three children are her prized possession. If she could keep us with her, she would, BUT she’s ‘stretched’ through the years. We are still HERS, but she shares (ha!-ha!) SOMETIMES!
My dad and she just could not make things work—they tried, but their lives lived separately seemed to work for the best in later years. My mom is a care-giver…even if you don’t need care—she’ll HELP you. She cannot STOP offering what is hers. There was a time in our relationship that we ‘parted.’ We both needed to grow apart in order to find our way back—AND we have…I know she is present daily. We all have our own ‘MOTHER’ stories. As an adult, I realize how richly blessed I am by my Mother’s love.
I journeyed with Peanut (Helen)…Alberta’s mom. Peanut and I connected more than 30 years ago during this exact time (The Easter Season). We had ‘some-thing’ special immediately and I also shared this bond with her life’s LOVE—Mikey. They welcomed me into their lives—taking me in while I studied in college and in the seminary. Oh, the stories—ENDLESS! So many joys…memories that have made me who I am today.
Mikey has moved on from this world and Peanut is 96. Talk about an amazing woman. When her LOVE died, her world collapsed. Grief can be a STINGER that NO TIME can heal. Her spirit and faith go on…I’ve never seen such resilience. I’ve watched as the years have taken so much from her and still she prays—“Just for today God, just for today—it’s all I ask.”
I watched and admire her as she gave up driving, her home, as she transferred to an Assisted Living facility where everyone LOVES her. She’d fallen far too many times—the walker was given up and a wheel chair replaced her mode of transportation. She found ways to make her rounds…to roam…to visit and help others less able than she. In her mind, she is INDEPENDENT. To watch her raise ‘her’ temple from that wheel chair is a feat beyond words. She’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, AND she has a heart bigger than I can describe (I’m blessed that she has shared some of her heart’s most intimate treasures with me). She is ready to move on from this world. When her number is called, she will REMAIN in my heart…a place ONLY she/Peanut will fill.
(While I was on the Camino…she was on the Camino with me every step of the way. Peanut listened to Alberta explain where I was each day. The day I returned HOME—I spoke with Peanut three times—each time she was delighted to hear my voice as if hearing it a first time in a long while. Her gentle words—“YOU’RE HOME, NOW NUNNY IS NOT ALONE—” a mother’s heart for her child—so, so endearing! That night Peanut was hospitalized and we almost lost her. She’ll NEVER return to the Assisted Living—she’s preparing for her Eternal Camino…again with ageless GRACE).
I traverse the terrain with Peanut’s daughter, Alberta…Nunny—
I met her when I was a student in college…attempted to avoid her course at all costs. Rumor had it that SHE WAS TOUGH. I do like a challenge…in my final semester I registered for a seminar she taught, HEMINGWAY, FAULKNER & FITZGERALD. Needless to say, I was lassoed into an amazing world of writers. It was also a time in my life when I was fed up with religion…I saw too much AND I stole away by myself with God…this was GOOD!
One day, because of some life altering circumstances, I took to the chapel…ALWAYS a place of refuge for me. BEFORE I knew it, I was not ALONE. A hand was on my shoulder and I heard the gentle words, “About time you prayed, MATTUCCI.” Nunny & I bonded that moment. I did have to ‘test’ the waters a bit—so we went out for a bite to eat on a Friday in Lent. I purposely ordered a ham submarine. Nunny did not bat an eye. We laugh about it to this day. She was/is so many things for countless young people—especially me. She SAW in me SOMEONE who had SOMETHING to offer life.
‘Our’ story is a collection of endless chapters—each day another page is written and often more than one. We are community to & for each other AND love inviting others into our ‘holy dwelling’ place.
It is because of Nunny, that I AM here NOW—at this MOMENT. It has been ALMOST two years that I have cared for her after she experienced a series of falls. She is NOT a complainer…takes after her mom—women with strong constitutions, BUT one fall too many and she was NOT able to walk.
The first surgery led to rehab, but gains were NOT happening…a knee replacement was scheduled. Nunny, being a cancer survivor, thought this would be a WALK in the park—it has taken a long time for her to get to the park. Many a day, her spirit adrift, her exercises slowed, but she did them. Through ALL these personal challenges, she continues to love and care for her mom—even from 700 miles away. Her devotion and love for Peanut is like an ocean that has no shore. She made a promise to her dad—AND she continues to fill it even at a great price. Yes, Alberta is my greatest teacher. She is honest and wise; she is truthful and follows her instinct even when others would disapprove because of her unwillingness to go along with ‘unjust’ maneuvers…(Before her father died he asked us both for forgiveness—he knew).
She bears this weight amidst EVERYTHING else she carries, AND she NEVER stops LOVING. Even when sharp remarks are made, she does not waver. I have held the tears…tears I sprinkle along this path….because she, so like the mother bird, again & again pushes me from the nest and says, “Go fly—return with stories of your adventurers…I’ll be right here WAITING…”
I’m not naive…one day her chair will be empty. Many persons don’t like to talk about death. Imagine—we’re and Easter people afraid to speak of death—ALLELUIA…
I’m so NOT alone on this path—this overall path called LIFE. If death opened its door to me tomorrow, I would miss so many of my soul sisters and brothers, BUT my life…ONE incredible STORY.
April 4th (Holy Saturday)
SANTO DOMINGO de la CALZADA to BELORADO
“…Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water, clean floor. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water, clean floor…”
(pg 120/ A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago)
Clouds and a soft rain blanketed this Saturday. I recalled a story by Diarmuid O’Murchu at an Easter Triduum Retreat I attended several years ago—
A little girl sat in a classroom filled with many young children. The teacher decided to question the children…she asked if they knew the significance of each of the final days before Easter. “What happened on Holy Thursday?” All the children raised their hands explaining what took place on Holy Thursday…all except for one little girl at the back of the classroom. The teacher was overjoyed by the children’s excitement, but made a mental note of the little girl’s lack of response. “Well, what happened on GOOD Friday?” There was a pause—BUT then bodies leaped from their desks except the little girl in the back of the room. Now, the teacher was concerned and could not concentrate. Before thinking, she asked “What happened on Saturday?” Now, she herself, was not certain. Not a hand rose, BUT in the back row the little girl raised her hand. The teacher, mystified, paused and said to the child, “Your know what happened on Saturday?” She nodded her head and responded— “That is when Jesus descended into hell and went to get his good friend Judas!”
There was NOT a dry eye among the retreatants. Today, as I recalled this story, my eyes were not dry. Suddenly from behind, I was joined by a young man who walked beside me yesterday for part of the path.
He taught me two Spanish words:
1. ULTREIA…meaning WALK and 2. SUSEIA…meaning ‘up’…one pilgrim wishes the first word to the other and the other pilgrim responds SUSEIA.
He knew enough English that for some time we broke open parts of ‘our’ stories—
Then we began singing, “It’s amazing how you can speak right to my heart…without saying a word you light up the dark…you say it BEST when you say NOTHING at all.”
We both began to laugh and then walked along quietly.
My path came to an end for the day, but he was going on. He was 28 years old…lost his father two years ago. He stopped…removed his Camino shell from his pack, and handed it to me. He found one with an eagle painted on the inside. He gave me his shell…the one he carried for his dad AND he found a new one today.
AND…with that I was mindful of a dynamic bond of women I’ve come to call ‘Soul Sisters.’
My first ‘gathering’ with these women took place at Mercy Center…Madison, CT.
Edwina Gateley celebrated this retreat. I attended several more programs she facilitated. The unique part was that I re-gathered with women from previous retreats led by E. Gateley. One retreat, in particular, again at Madison (my true Baptismal Place), connected me to a special Sister, my kayak pal. She offered me the use of her kayak. Out of the clear blue she simply said, “Go for it.” That was all I needed—I rose early, the sun still finding its way. I sat in the kayak, it held me like a womb, and I pushed off. Out I went, paddling with all my might, further and further from shore, I finally STOPPED…I cried out, “I AM HERE—where are YOU?” Silently, the little kayak began rocking back and forth, back and forth and SHE sprayed me with a mist of sea water and seemed to say, “I’ve waited for you my child—I’ve been waiting all ALONG.” I saw before me a feminine face and my heart strings tugged and pulled and said, “Don’t GO. Don’t make me go back.” I did not understand what happened. All I thought I understood began to CHANGE…my life NEVER could go back…and still it WAS the same.
Many of the women I met were changed by this Feminine FACE and , I believe, our bond was/is the face of God that we see in one another.
I inherited a unique name from these, my Soul Sisters…it was/is affectionately ‘The Plumber.’ A group of us decided that every Monday at 9 a.m.—wherever we were, whatever we were doing we would pause MINDFUL of our connection and breathe a prayer into the Universe. I decided to post a thought or poem on those Mondays—to be used or not used. I could NEVER foresee what has unfolded. Gradually, I extended the Monday messages to the Soul Brothers in my life AND others looking for ‘COMMUNITY.’ I was encouraged to place my reflections and photography into the weekly missives which I post on THURSDAYS. Reaching out to others has moved my life. The number of recipients has expanded, and others are playing it forward. The blessings I receive are endless. What others share with me, and not share, has become a spring of life flowing waters. At the end of each week, I collect NO check. But the payment I receive—NO treasure chest could hold—
In gratitude for you, Soul Sisters & Brothers.
The MOST fitting words tucked in my journal this day:
“The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds.”
Vincent van Gogh
“And—my plan for my life
is to make paintings and drawings,
as many and as well as I can—
then, when my life is over, I hope to depart in no other way
than looking back with love and wistfulness and thinking,
oh paintings that I would have made!”
April 3rd (Good Friday)
NAJERA to SANTO DOMINGO de la CALZADA
It was a GOOD Friday morning—I set off missing a “Way” marker and had to back track. At just the right moment with the sun NOT having yet broken the horizon’s line—I looked back and noticed two pillars in the sky…one to the right, the other to the left—they were RAINBOWS. In between the center, lay the COSMIC MYSTERY (at least for me).
This day, this Friday remembered, celebrated by Christians around the world…for me what HAPPENED was likened to the same mystery beheld.
Heaven and Earth, Two Thieves on a cross…in that solemn moment CHRIST brought Heaven and Earth together. Note—when Heaven and Earth were separated it was not whispered as GOOD—NOW each day so good because there is no LONGER any division, no dualities—ALL IS ONE~~~ (Genesis Note).
My tears are joining this resurrection day. The landscape stretched beyond my sight line, and I see the snow covered mountains in the distance. I’m pondering much AND meditating on Richard Rohr’s explanation of the three temptations that Christ faced after being baptized by John, then going off into the desert and JUST before beginning His public ministry. Time and again I have tried to live the message—AND I’m still trying…
Christ’s first temptation…having fasted 40 days, Christ was hungry and the Tempter knew this—so insisted, “Turn these stones into bread.” Jesus gives up SUCCESS. Go away Tempter…
The Tempter knows the Scriptures (So many do, or think they do—and wound more hearts than they spread LOVE). The Tempter says, “Throw yourself down…you won’t dash your foot.” Jesus gives up the need to be RIGHT. How often in dialogues…to get in the last word, bantering continues. AGAIN, Jesus says, “Go away Tempter.”
The tempter, losing patience, but ALWAYS persistent, takes Jesus to a lofty Place. “All this can be YOURS…only bow to me.” Jesus gives over POWER and the Tempter goes away…for a while.
I’m so taken by the words ‘A WHILE.” I am peace-filled at present. I have so little except what I carry and even this is MORE than I need. It is a long way BEFORE I return HOME, but I know SOME-THING will come quickly trying to take away this PEACE…
I AM a collision of stars
smattering dust throughout the Universe.
I AM the red clay of the Earth’s
dwelling awaiting a solitary breath.
I AM the tree in the center of the
garden they call Eden—my fruit is
for ALL to eat.
I AM the living man & woman made in
the likeness of Unity…behold the
I AM the descendants forming the
Milky Way—our numbers grow with
every passing and ‘we’ become a
I AM the burning bush set upon a
mountain and I grow within the flame.
I AM the stone held in the sling
and soar through the air once
I AM the woman who gave away
her child so it would not be
split in two.
I AM the lion in the den—
my jaws sealed.
I AM the mother who simply said,
“Let it be done to me.”
I AM the father who listened
I AM the voice in the desert making
WAY for SOME-THING new.
I AM the Ones who followed,
letting-go of everything, not really
understanding BUT knowing what
‘we’ MUST do.
I AM the One He loved…I
anointed His feet with my tears
AND knelt below Him as He
refused to pursue any form
I AM an empty tomb
pulsating with life.
I AM Spirit blowing where ever
I will and alongside those who HEAR.
I AM the very beginning
and the very end.
I AM a strand of pearls
time has forgotten.
I AM ‘awakening’ in the HEARTS of
those yearning, discovering I AM.
I AM as YOU are
we are separate and yet
Camino —Day 8
April 2nd (Holy Thursday)
LOGRONO to NAJERA
“…THERE IS NO WAY TO HAPPINESS—happyness is THE WAY!”
(pg 104/ A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago)
This morning I set out under the stars—the eve before this day I was wakened from a sound sleep to DRUMMING. I rushed to the window and looked down into the streets below…a procession was under way. A large number of men CARRIED the Sorrowful Mother who was adorned by flowers while drums were beaten by others who were draped in costume. I could smell the sweet incense rise. Behind the MOTHER, two men carried the cross. Singing heralded the festivities and the music lulled me to sleep…
I was joined this morning by a few pilgrims. Suddenly, we were interrupted by a young man who insisted that we were OFF the Way. I pointed to the arrows, but he continued to insist. A police car came up the roadway and I waved the officers down…they assured us that we were FOLLOWING the WAY!
I whispered a blessing for the young man—whatever his intent…I’m trusting an ‘inner’ way—
The sun rose from its easel painting scenes I’ve NEVER experienced (again, it is a first time for me—or is it?) A pristine body of water lay before me. Young boys were casting their reels—OFF from school because it is HOLY THURSDAY…little fisher men. When they were out of sight, the path took a curve around the LAKE and there…a family of SWANS. A tear formed and then another—I WAS SO HAPPY. After my grandmother (affectionately called Nanny) died, the swan became her messenger to me. How fitting—on Holy Thursdays I would visit 7 churches with her (tradition). She was NOT a learned woman, but she exuded KINDNESS to me. She always let me be a child growing up…I didn’t always have to be responsible. I walked with her to church EVERY Sunday…I couldn’t wait until she gave me my quarter to go and light a candle. She NEVER demanded that I be anyone but who I was. Church attendance was NOT a weekly solitary EVENT. Nanny began each morning in prayer—on her knees…she did the same before she tucked herself in at night. I was mindful of her ‘gazing’ out the window. She was somewhere else and often I’d say to myself, “I WANT TO GO THERE!” When I sat beside her in church, she’d look at me and say, “We are here for ONLY ONE reason—the ONE who has RISEN.” I thought I understood, but what did I know?
Today, WALKING, everything is RISING—including me. THIS IS THE CHRIST message dwelling in my holy temple.
I felt Nanny’s smile in the dainty yellow flowers. Before her time in this world came to an end, she was unable to speak because of a stroke. I would lay my head on her belly, her fingers in my hair… (I felt them again as the wind blew). I raised my head looking into her eyes and she folded her hands in prayer—this uneducated woman…A Theologian who ALWAYS believed. She needed no SAVING. GRACE was sufficient in her living and her dying. “What ‘sweeter communion’ could feed me this day?”
Songs began to flood my mind—“Joy is like the Rain” and the one of young Mary going off to her cousin Elizabeth, the one who also held a child in her ANCIENT WOMB. Yes, MT Winter, a professor at Hartford Seminary, my mentor, was instrumental in cultivating the feminine in the ‘body’ of so many of us (sisters) in the Women’s Leadership Institute (WLI). These women are in my mind and in my heart as I walk the Camino and I sense their “being” with me.
Today I recalled MT’s book Eucharist with a small “e”…fitting this day as I walked into church and as I sat for some moments THINKING about that “PASSOVER” meal—living it in a NEW way after MT put flesh on it for me as she does in so many instances in my life (without even realizing).
I felt myself in that room with Christ and His friends who gathered with Him. When He says “THIS IS MY BODY,” He meant everyone in front of Him…He meant ME and YOU! We are the LIVING body of Christ and EVERY TIME we eat it, it is a banquet of LOVE. Often I forget that what I consume becomes a part of me and I a part of it—the connections are ETERNAL.
How , how can I NOT be HAPPY…?
A small acorn
from a tree
into the bedding of
the cushioned earth…
The tiny acorn
‘sat’ for what
asking, “What NOW?”
The winds had been
it was a gentle breeze
which ‘moved’ the acorn
on its head.
the acorn had in its site
the Giant Oak Tree
from which it
Camino de Santiago—Day 7
A walking stick…it has become for me MORE than JUST a stick, (I’ve named her STICKEY—creative, huh?), but she likes it. She has a cord near her top. She prefers I loop my hand through it so we seem connected TWICE. My grip is firm, yet gentle. AT different moments I feel as If I’m choking her especially up those steep ascents, stony pathways. It is then SHE rises to the occasion all the more. I dropped her once…maybe deliberately wondering if when she touched the ground she’d turn into a snake. SHE didn’t and I was most grateful. We have a WAY to go…don’t know what I’d do if she slithered away. (Ha!Ha!)
This stick ‘picked’ me back in St Jean…I picked it up putting it back down and she leaned ‘into’ me. It has been my constant companion…a piece of wood—it carries me.
My thoughts were so MEANING-filled today. I pondered the ‘day’—WEDNESDAY of Holy Week. I was in deep thought about Christ, the man, who knew what lay before Him. Tomorrow He would share the PASSOVER with his friends and a room was needed.
I re-called a room where two years earlier I gathered with 28 other pilgrim brothers & sisters…our final night together after having WALKED the Camino Mary Magdalene (The Sacred Feminine).
James Twyman (Peace Troubadour) sent an invitation to journey with Benedicte Meyer (guide) who would journey with us to MYSTICAL dwelling places, holy caves, temples and secret landscapes others would prefer not be known so as NOT to create “SHRINES” for thousands who would come to WORSHIP. Christ said simply, “Follow me.” What has happened to that message?
Today I remembered each individual on that pilgrimage. MANY have become a part of the very fabric of my life! My soul brother James is ‘singing’ into the world A Course in Miracles. I’m not hearing him in these moments, BUT I am ‘seeing’ the Cosmic Miracle of Christ—ALIVE all around me, beside me, within me. My soul sister Benedicte told me I had to go this ‘path’ alone. Sometimes I think I can see her running along the rocks, skipping in fields of flowers…
I WANT to name each of you, but I only have so much paper on which to write. (Ha!Ha!) I see you, and feel the essence of our ‘communion’—I AM because you are.
Most of us were intimate strangers NOT seeing what was to be. It was that Camino that gave me the courage to set out on the Divine Masculine Camino (The Way of St James) and my being is wedded to the joy found along the trail of Mary Magdalene and NOW of St James.
The moon, Luna, has set Her face in the sky while it is still light…in a few days she will be FULL. Already I feel the energy and whisper—most especially to my Camino Family, “I LOVE YOU all to the Moon and back.”
Camino de Santiago—Day 6
How do I begin to pen what has MOVED me when so much within me is STILL MOVIN’?
I walked in so much BLISS today. I stopped, gazed upon the rising sun enveloping the landscape as tears rolled down my cheeks drenching the soils beneath my boots. “Thank you God for this Life!” So many persons came into ‘focus.’ I clicked snapshots and became ever mindful of a teacher in my life, Jan Phillips. I took my first ‘real’ photography workshop with Jan AND since then I’ve not stopped SHOOTING! I gave thanks for her with every ‘image’ that came before me…that whispered, “NOW, click NOW.” I’m mindful of ‘all’ the women Jan has ‘brought’ together. Many of those ‘sisters’ remain etched in the fabric of my life…
(MOST especially the women from the International Women’s Writer’s Guild)
Jan’s life is “loving kindness” AND it was she who told me things about myself that I heard before, yet didn’t believe. Now I do…
“Because the One I love lives inside you I lean as close to you as I can…”
Yes, that refrain remained with me as I walked…silently I hummed, and hummed, and hummed. I’m amazed at how my legs have strengthened…my blistered feet callousing over letting me know that we’re going to do this, Sandy.
I don’t know a single pilgrim without BLISTERS…needles & thread are sold out, tape is a priceless commodity. Blister bandages are worth more than gold.
I laugh to myself when I think of the pilgrims who traversed this land—NO way markers, NO REI Backpacks, NO Merrell boots, NO walking poles, NO ‘food’ stops to purchase a pilgrim’s lunch or a hot coffee. These early pilgrims did NOT have dry-fit clothes, sunscreen, rain gear—AND they walked…not to punish themselves, but as a journey of forgiveness (and THIS could be understood in many forms).
I reached Los Arcos in the afternoon…there was some on-going construction so MARKERS to the center were a bit skewed. Out she came…the most beautiful “Crone,” bending to pick some fresh lavender. Her hair was soft as snow, and as she rose, she looked into my eyes and said, “Buen Camino.” SHE walked with me enough of the way to get me to the path.
I walked to the church. The doors were locked so I went beyond the arch to capture a photo. An older gent greeted me with “Buen Camino” and I inquired as to the time the church doors open. He spoke no English and my Spanish was ‘poco’, BUT we understood each other. ‘Cinco” he responded. He put his hands together in prayer…gently took my shoulders in his hands…kissed my left cheek and then my right. What could I say but MUCHAS GRACIAS.
I walked back through the arch and noticed a little man coming out of the church. I addressed him, “Sir,” just before he locked the door. “Come, come in for a momento.” He said he’d be back. I ENTERED and ‘the BEAUTY caught my breath.’ I heard, ‘it is the same BEAUTY that is inside you…’ and the bells began to toll.
I did not ask the three individuals whom I met if I might take their photo…I WISHED to hold the images of these persons in my MIND’S eye as Eckhart’s words spilled over my OPENED soul… “May your eyes be the eyes through which God sees YOU!” I’m seeing God EVERYWHERE and the most majestic temples that have held my breath ARE the natural landscapes…no doors, no windows, NEVER locked—always there even for the eye that forgets to STOP to see!
The sun was vibrant today. I sat in the square and ordered my first coke and a pizza with pepperoni…yes, I did. I ate the WHOLE thing and licked my fingers. No, I did not forget my manners—well, perhaps I did for a moment.
Some know—if ever this be read…I’m NOT to eat the food I devoured. A long story. In 2005, I was diagnosed with Systemic Mastocytosis. What in God’s name is that? That was my response when the diagnosis was presented to me. So many serious turning points at/in that moment in my life.
While my faith has always been my guide & strength, stressors were ‘beating’ me. I found my way or a way found me to Dr. Mariana Castells (Brigham & Women’s Hospital, Boston, MA) and to a society tirelessly, supportively, compassionately working on a cure for this dis-ease.
I’ve overcome countless hurdles under her care. Presently I’m in a benign stage ever aware to care for body and soul…AND, I’m living gratefully. I might have a mast cell incident later, a few extra red speckles under the skin—BUT, the pizza was worth it—mmm-GOOD!
I could wait no longer to walk this Camino. I came upon some impasses that attempted to ‘block’ this pilgrimage, but there are ‘special’ people who helped make this journey possible for me. I AM supposed to be here in this moment because there will NEVER be another moment like this—the rest of my days. NEVER!
A Season of Change
draped in gold, orange & red
begin to fade.
An array of colors
captures the hearts
of endless leaf ‘peepers’
appearing from all directions.
the duplicity of this time…
we marvel at beauty
and in reality we behold death.
Yes, the season of summer vanishes
while it ushers in a time of rest.
Some of us will seal our windows,
close our doors,
for that long
season of winter.
(did I really write the word?)
Will we, like the caterpillar,
begin to artistically weave
trusting in the unknown
that AWAITS us?
Will we find the moments
to be still
and allow our color
when spring bursts,
discover our own
Can we prepare ourselves
to ‘dim’ down
when it is the TIME?
Shall we build our
what holds us
will also allow us to
Camino de Santiago— Day 5
March 30th (Easter Week)
PUENTE LA REINA to ESTELLA
Estella is Spanish for STAR. AS I set out this morning walking under the stars, I walked into a fellow pilgrim who lost his direction. We walked ‘together,’ and yet solitary, under a night sky soon meeting the dawn.
We, the pilgrim and I, looked out at the land which stretched on and on like a rolling carpet…at the rush of the river, we heard the pregnant silence, and took in the scent of spring in the air—fresh wild flowers, tilled earth, fertile fields, olive trees…
I’m so mindful of this Monday. I feel as if I’m in Bethany…the place where THAT woman would rub ‘spikenard’ on the feet of the One whom she LOVED. (What a sacrament) She believed EVERYTHING He said and it was she who began the preparations. I was lost in this moment as if I could smell the sweet perfumes in the air, AND then I began to sing aloud…
“To dream, the impossible dream, to…this is my quest; this is my star…To dream the IMPOSSIBLE DREAM.”
Yes, I was taken in by Don Quixote—the gallant knight who would bravely go to defend the honor of his Dulcinea—he, and only he, saw ‘Heaven’ in her eyes. At first she thought him mad, (perhaps he was a tad), but he would not allow her to see herself as anything BUT beautiful. No one ever told her that, but certainly enough men had their way with her. She wondered in her mind what he was really after—LOVE.
Is this a story so different from the one we listen to this week? The message we hear is the transformative gift of love. It ALWAYS comes with a price… (Not a monetary one).
I’ve walked with some young people whose dream is to study in America—their parents gifted them this CAMINO before they were to begin ‘THEIR SCHOOLING.’ They did not choose a Caribbean Cruise or a visit to Disney World. They chose to walk…their reasons—“DREAMS.” I listen to them speak and marvel at their JOY…at their attempts to embrace ‘quiet.’ Each stops to ‘look’ upon…into churches…YES, THOSE dwelling places—
Again and again I am taken in by the structures of the churches, the architecture, the talent of the builders, behind the ARTISTIC expressions NEVER to be duplicated, AND all I see speaks to me…SHOUTS to me—
“As are YOU, as are YOU, as are YOU and you and you—”
We are all temples of Divine Mystery. We are LOVE and THIS week my soul feels this GOOD NEWS, but I experience a certain melancholy because today there is so much noise. As I write, a machine began operating outside my hostel window, BUT I can HEAR the church bell toll…
I pray the church bell never stops ringing in my ear. That bell has many ways of clanging…a chirping bird, a horse’s whinny, the rush of wind, and yes, the sound of the machine…
I hope false ‘gadgets’ don’t take away the reality that angels do walk with us. It is so easy to miss them when what we seek is ANYTHING but love.
Camino de Santiago—Day 4
The Hill of Forgiveness/Alto del Perdon
For Whom the Bell Tolls—
Your being stirred me, Hemingway..
I heard the bells clanging outside my window—
“I HEARD”~~~Pamplona had its mystical moments for me as soon as I stood outside its cathedral— (that was yesterday eve). Today—all the temples.
Atop the Hill of Forgiveness, wouldn’t you know it—I found a donkey. He wasn’t real, but he did ‘whinny’ confirming the one who rode a mule this day—2,000 years ago…to the Holy City of Jerusalem. It stood atop this hill. The wind blew mightily ‘opening’ the gates to what now faced me—ME!
I’ve come to ‘forgive me’ on this little hill high up in reach of the clouds. I had come to forgive my ‘knee’—
It gave out some years ago ‘changing’ my entire world. My hopes, dreams, desires all thrown as if out a window.
I was a Peace Officer. I made it through the physical rigors, written exams, polygraph tests, oral boards, interview one, Chief interview. I became a Police Officer. Suddenly, injury took away my life’s dream.
The knee injury I sustained took away my ability to ‘run’— I used to run…it was my prayer as well as my escape. You can call prayer a bit of an escape, but it also let me work through ‘topsy-turvey’ life dramas…now the ability to run was taken—GONE!
For months my knee was in a permanent bend…I walked with crutches. My mind raced and I cried, “could I ever walk again?”
These were trying times…every fiber of my being stretching, breaking, until no elastic was left.
I was adrift at sea without paddles, but I learned, re-learned to use my hands. Now I was sketching portraits of persons. Unbeknownst to me, at first, they became ‘images’ of people from the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament. Their faces emerged on my blank canvas. I sketched many faces of men and women who exemplified persons to me in this life…a new understanding, or an old understanding found a NEW way to be born.
This was Sandy—artist, writer…creator…sharer of story—AND I learned to walk. I had to retire because of my injury, but the time of rehabilitation allowed me moments of grace. I had to face me and say, “No—not anymore…this is WHO I AM.” I walk NOW in gratitude for this knee which carefully guards me, and it, with each descent and every ascending curve.
My knee speaks—“slow down, stop, look out a while” and my being honors the message. I never was ‘angry’ with the knee—I simply wanted/continue to want to play and the knee responds, “Don’t you ever stop…together we’ll always find a way.”
Many persons who traverse this Camino walk with injuries, serious diagnosis, grief and an abundance of ‘things’ weighted on their backs. Each day I walk becomes a little easier to make because I am able to forgive.
I have little with me. Yet, it is ALL I need. I’m mindful of all I do own and I shudder asking myself, “What for?” The ONLY ‘gift’ I want most in my pack is LOVE. I’m mindful of those back home ‘walking’ with me in spirit. I’m astonished and bathed in my own tears of being. I wish I were able to tell each person how he/she appeared in my mind when I looked out at something
as it showed up in that moment AND…
I knew it was she…a statue hidden in trees. I slowed down…I’m not certain why, but when I reached Her, I sat down. Her words to my heart…”You child, have beheld my Son…NOW, I behold you, my daughter. Go, bring love into the world. Care no longer what others think, feel or say because you embrace a feminine face of God. You embrace God in all things for God LIVES in you…Be NOT Afraid.”
The remainder of my walk put me outside/in front of one temple after another.
I stood facing each structure and whispered, “I’m a temple, too” …and as I passed each church, the bells rang.
There was only one church whose bell did not ring out, BUT the tiniest dog appeared as if out of nowhere, ‘barking’ in delight. When I finally arrived in Puente La Reina, I stepped into the church countless centuries old. ‘Inner’ stirrings began again and I was mindful of Hildegarde, Jullian, Mechtild…Holy Women who KNEW God. These women lived the message through their lives amidst grave injustices…still they LOVED. This day—I give thanks for those women and today’s women (EVERY WOMAN) who finds the courage to be who she is meant to be in the world, cutting all the cords binding her by contrived, manipulative tools holding women in ‘A PLACE.’ Our place is in all things beside our brothers, and this day as I write my last words and begin to sketch PUENTE LA REINA—renamed the Queen’s bridge—Dona Mayor commanded the Romanesque bridge be built to support safe movement for medieval pilgrims,
Before the Dawn…
there is a hidden space
unrecognized by time.
It is a silent irrational moment
where the blaze of darkness
begins to fade and
light unleashes its belt
releasing hues of majestic pleasures.
cradled in their nesting places
arise with songs—
prayers…no words able
Frogs bellowing in ponds
limit their ‘loving’ croaks
while the stalking predator
goes to its den
feeding its young pups
with the captured victim.
the sounds of traffic…
the tamed world of
As the day presses on,
there is the lowly OTHER
walking amidst the
sounds of production
down the hill
the puddles left
from the night’s
I was soaring
directly in the path
I was forging,
a silky black ball
a painted white line
down its center.
The little stinker had
its face caught in a cup.
onto the sidewalk
AND now this
tender creature was
I knew I had to
help—BUT, I did
not wish to be
sprayed by its
I raced home
window cleaner extension pole
and set off.
Camino de Santiago—Day 3
Zubiri to Pamplona
The Real Work
It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work.
And that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings..
Wendell Berry’s words resonate throughout the pages of my journal…they sing in and through me.
I woke early (NOT anything NEW). It was still dark, but in 10 minutes the sky would shed its light and I would set out in the unknown darkness—The Way just ahead. I sang the prayer into the dampness, echoed Micah’s words, (6:8) “This is what Yahweh asks of you; only this, to act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God,” and breathed a silent thank you In and OUT. C.G. Jung came to mind and stirred my unconsciousness—THIS was so good. I went back in time when I was a little child in love with WORDS, but I did NOT know how to write them, YET. My message was always a love note to my mom, and when I handed her my make believe writing on paper, she would sit looking into my eyes and let me read aloud ALL I had written. From where did that TIMELESS memory return?
Paging ahead…my years stretched out before me. I wrote poems, reflections on LIFE…so many stories. I paused countless times this day remembering them—a box of trail mix…a unique blend of so much—
Amidst great joys, there was sorrow. A wise soul read ‘THOSE’ poems and whispered, “It’s time to LET THEM GO!” I really don’t believe I understood the depth of those three words, BUT I watched endless pages of my story dissolve in FLAMES. They were gone, but my STORY LIVED.
My pen sat idle for a long while until Professor Bailey, my college instructor, taught a Scripture course and shared the gift of verses. He asked us to memorize certain verses—NOT simply to ‘give’ them or utter them to persons WHO NEEDED THEM. No, they were for us…for us to sit with, reflect about and ponder—BUT what he asked of us most was to keep a journal (each day) and he would collect them at the end of the semester.
I accepted this invitation—not like something I had to do, but every fiber of my being wanted to write. The exercise I embarked upon meant I had to pause—it was NOT a quick, “Oh, I’ll splash some words,” BUT a conscious undertaking of what was stirring in my CORE— (did I truly know?)
Spirit nudged and the day to hand in our journals came—it was our FINAL…
A week passed…I took some respite from writing BUT the quiet pause, the silent meditations, the time for DOING nothing unraveled…it’s STILL unraveling.
The day to receive our journals dawned and Prof. Bailey stated he was pleased. “There was one journal I read through entirely…I could not put it down.” He turned to me, handed me my journal and said, “Well done.”
Tears fell from my cheeks. I walked in THIS moment—lost in time and now re-found…
I’m trying to write each day…I have been walking the Camino three days and finding words to describe my journey is far from an effort, BUT there is so much I am experiencing in between, so much more to say and NOT say.
During this day’s walk to Pamplona, a few blisters emerged. I punctured the one behind the toe…Yes, the nail will go, BUT I’m not one for pedicures so it will not make a difference. My feet fit nicely into my boots. I’m not too worried about heels—those WHO really know me understand that when I’m teaching I’d much rather be in my New Balance sneakers or cowboy boots! (Ha!Ha!)
I did leave out a cute story that took place the first day of my Camino walk. There was a beautiful miniature horse and I wanted to click a photo. I thought the strap of my camera was around my neck…oops! The camera unhinged and I watched it make its way down the hill. YES…I went after it. It is still WORKING (for how long…oh, well)
AND, I did get a photo of the horse.
Back to Pamplona…I walked with and beside several pilgrims today…a silent gift we were for each other. We walked—young, old, middle aged—SOME rushing, some slowly tracing their steps.
Each person has a personal reason for walking. I’m still seeking temples…I’m seeking the temple within. NOW, in front of me, stood the HOLY CATHEDRAL of Pamplona. A rush of emotions filled me. I knew I had to go “IN…” into this Cathedral which has been standing since before the 12th century. I entered as if I were ENTERING my SOUL.
The MOTHER—EVERYWHERE—and Magdalene over her BELOVED. His life was taken, BUT the story lives. The pregnant witness I’m taking in is birthing itself each day in everything I see and don’t see. The soft scent of spring flowers perfumes the air and I’m mindful tomorrow is Palm Sunday. Perhaps, I’ll ‘see’ a little donkey—one related to the same ONE that Christ sat upon. He was NOT seeking KINGSHIP—
if He were, do you really believe He’d have chosen an ass…?
Christ simply said, “Follow me”…and so I’m trying—
I thought my life in this world—my work DONE…AND, NOW in THIS MOMENT, my work—to write and scribble a few sketches in between—
I don’t know the path tomorrow, but I’ll journey…this present NOW.
My mind is swimming and some of life’s greatest ‘rocks’ in the pool of my journey gave me a chance to become me in this moment…
Stop for a
Hold your thought—
Use your imagination
to create wonders
Truly ‘our’ mind
is a treasure chest.
It has the capacity
to re-write the
pages of history
and it has
by those persons
with vision—strands of pearls.
The ability to sit
quietly and ‘see’—
to bring to
life a world of
Oh, how the mind
waits for us
to use its
Yes, it waits
while often we
answers not taking
the time to think.
They are vessels—
longing to set sail.
The sea upon which
we set out
ALL our thoughts
fit no matter how
Still, there is the MIND
‘lost’ in its thinking—
fragile though it be,
it SEEKS expression,
What is it you’re
Camino de Santiago—Day 2
Who is the man above AND why is he here in this journal?
Let me begin by saying that this morning’s WALK began with my shadow way out in front of me…
Seems my shadow might know me better or it’s walking ahead ‘checking’ out the terrain—the ONE beneath my feet and the terrain of my heart. I’m writing my heart—words flowing in each step…I’m mindful of the man above—ERNEST HEMINGWAY. He spent time writing in Roncesvalles (he spent time throughout Spain—writing)…tomorrow I journey to Pamplona.
Hemingway…the riding of the bulls…I don’t think I’ll ‘grab’ hold of any horns while there, BUT…with me, one never knows. Walking along with my shadow, I reflected on Hemingway’s work, The Old Man & the Sea. I’m not on a fishing trip here, BUT wait—perhaps, I AM. I’ve cast myself into the wind—my line is dangling so very freely. There are moments I ‘capture’ SOME-thing…the sound of the bells dangling from grazing sheep in the fields…from the cows as we stop and stare ONLY a moment…a field with horses grazing…the morning air painting their breath steaming from out of their nostrils…birds chirping each its own symphony—playing on simply because they can. I hear footsteps from behind—Pilgrims… “Buen Camino” and off they go. Every once in a while the reality of a car down below curving a bend in the road…I don’t see it but I know it’s there. A river runs by knowing its flow and pouring itself over the edges because the thawing snow adds to the current. I’ve captured so much in this solitary day, AND yet—I’ve captured NO-thing. I’m fishing with a line connecting me to ALL things and at the same time possessing NOTHING. I look at my life, and when I think something “MINE”—like the old man and the sea…he caught the BIG FISH…so big he could NOT hurl it in, I sit back and reflect. He carried the fish alongside the boat attempting to get it back—seeking a PRIZE, but in the end what HE thought HIS was devoured. When he ARRIVED, there was NO catch to be seen. Would anyone BELIEVE his story? Would anyone believe my story or care about the words that spill from this pen? It doesn’t matter…
THIS MOMENT…I’m following my shadow…the very font of life dwelling inside me silently laughing and crying—
“I AM HERE…I AM HERE…” what matters is the BEING—being present, rushing nowhere, getting nowhere except the reality from which I came. It was my time to be there and now I’m here in this moment THAT passed, that played itself out never again to be.
I’ve lost my watch
this is good…
The hands I NOW count on
need no circular face to wind around.
My body clock
wakes me before dawn
catching the moon and its stars in
Before the rising of the sun I’m
out…the chill of the air causes me
to bow—I cup my hands in
and LIGHT begins to RISE.
I trust in this time—
the sun pushes itself in front of
Me…I walk in its zenith
and even when the clouds appear
I know it there…NEVER diminishing
its fiery flame—such power…
I’m drawn to the sun’s warmth
from THIS glorious distance—
it touches me AND IF I ACTUALLY touched it—I’d be consumed.
the hands of my body’s clock
know the world is closing its eyes…
its tired face just now over my shoulder…
It rolled over my shoulder a while ago—
somehow in all my ‘thinking’ it passed…
Sometimes life has a way of taking
ME out of these prophetic moments
AND this is good…
I wouldn’t wish to think I’ve grasped
life because when I believe I have,
I’ll have to go and buy
a watch to start all over again.
Now, my body’s clock
No longer needs the seconds
or minutes or hours to say
Be imitators of ALL things good…
Be the sound of the morning bird
who spreads its beak
spewing out melodious song
simply because it can…
Be the mighty oak tree
stretching its branches to receive
the warmth of the sun—
which carries the wind
and is drenched by rain…
which holds the snow appearing
frozen and yet
so ‘rooted’ beyond our ‘seeing.’
Be the endless ocean
carried out from shore to shore
which ebbs its way and
its rhythm changes with the
Earth’s gravitational pull
and twirls itself in the in-coming
tide ONLY to rush back out
of tiny speckles of sand.
Be the dry parched desert
cracked and broken
awaiting that one single drop
to REVEAL just how
ALIVE it is.
Be the doe grazing in the valley.
Be the mountain lion hidden in the
crags of the rocks.
Be the ant climbing effortlessly
from its hill.
Be the hawk soaring alongside
the river bed.
Be the innocent child taking the hand
of the One guiding its way.
Be imitators of Love
who see beyond
all faults and failings
and cannot stop forgiving.
Be the tear
that washes away all wrong.
Be the smile
that brings to life
the gift of laughter.
of ALL things GOOD…
it is a WIDE open door—
“GOODNESS, that is.”
Four Years Old
Four years old—
and, she learns
the lesson of her
A perfect world
NOW muddled in mystery…
and her tiny world
has become a bit
try to comfort—
their own understanding
of loss unanswered.
But now it is
their little girl…
they are trying to console…
AND what they
say or do not
say lays the
very foundation for
how this beautiful
‘SEE’ the unfathomable
wonder of life
and of death.
This child’s innocence
takes us back to
our own unanswerable questions.
Sit with your own
and from those early
‘create’ what the rational mind
has attempted to erase.
Play in what no longer
has hold of you…
If tears flow, dab your page…
let them muse
into the picture.
Never allow anyone
to remove your
MAGICAL moments of questions,
of wonder, of vision…
Dedicated to Sophia.
Camino de Santiago—Day 1
St Jean Pied de Port to Roncesvalles
I stepped out ‘into’ the morning—the sun MAKING its WAY splashing hues of pink and orange upon the snow covered mountains. The air—pleasantly crisp and I sang the tune which came to me and which I penned a while ago in preparation for THIS very moment… (and every day forward).
Christ all around me
Christ beside me
Christ within me—Alleluia
Christ all around…all around me!
Christ beside me…beside me!
Christ within me…within me!
The words barely broke through my lips—tears held for a simple moment.
This CHRIST I knew was WALKING with me. NOW, if you’re NOT religious I said to myself, I’m NOT speaking of that CHRIST. AND—if you are religious YES, I’m speaking of THAT Jesus WHO TRANSFORMED the world in His humanness.
He dared to walk a path true unto Himself—
Could I try in this time to ‘look’ ‘inward’ and ‘see’ ‘outward’ the divine incarnation in EVERYTHING? Yes, even in me—THIS living breathing temple…
A couple hours into the walk, I felt calm, peace—a certain adrenaline rush ‘bursting’ through me. My dearest Buddhist friend entered my HEART space, “Every single step you are taking Sandy IS exactly where you are meant to be.”
Such freedom. And, I ask, “Who am I?” “Who am I God in relation to/with YOU?” This is who I AM…I’m not changing language to be politically correct. This is MY WALK with
the ONE I love.
I’m walking through Heaven’s door—openings EVERYWHERE. I’m so mindful of this HERMIT’S desire…I’ve cared and loved persons a lifetime OFTEN loving me last or NOT talking the moments to LOVE me.
I’m certainly not anti-social. I embrace the energy within me that draws persons closer & closer & closer.
I know when I’m breaking open story—referencing Scripture, I see in the eyes before me such a desire AND then my desire BECOMES a flame. It’s as if I cannot stop pouring out a LOVE message from the ONE whom I often see to be a MIGHTY TREE…roots down, down, down, unseen, untouchable. They plunge ‘into’ the CORE of the Universe and call—“hurry, hurry—you’re so, so close.” I’ve hung in the branches, changed by the seasons AND this TIME the story is being told to me.
I’m trying to listen—
I’ve listened to others—TRULY listened.
So often it exhausts me—this ART of truly LISTENING.
Yes, I know what the presentation I share GIVES—it’s a lure and persons want connection, community. AS much as I feel it, I RUN to SILENCE because I am drained by the barrage of NEEDS (pastoral care/spiritual direction in daily doses).
And I cry OUT, “It’s yours.”
“IT’S IN YOU”—“BELIEVE”—why all this UNBELIEF?
Endless returns to retreats that last a few weeks—and then persons go back to their WAYS awaiting another chance for a fix. ‘You have it inside you’…I say to myself as I walk.
The scene has changed…
Snow has blanketed the path…mud sucks my boots into the soil—my body aches—every part of me feels its ALIVENESS.
While I said I would be silent, he came upon me. He needed to share with me his physical aches. I listened and then STOPPED long enough to thank him for joining me. I paused for a few moments to gather my ‘bag’ of SOLACE! He pressed on and my entire BEING lifted into the clouds…
The pack on my back carries my earthly needs…we are ONE and I call her Pilgrim Perk. The name has endearing qualities for what it carries. I’m going to hold this sentence as SOME things simply need not be written.
I walk alongside countless others. I knew I was stepping in the same tracks made by hundreds, thousands of pilgrims who made THIS WAY…all for their own reasons.
I sensed those who departed this world lurking behind trees, singing in the rush of the majestic river that has run alongside me ALL day.
I know I’m NEVER alone because the very nearness of those I sat beside, as a Chaplain, are ALWAYS near. They don’t speak audibly—still I sense their BEING. I look up—the mix of snow and rain falling, drenching me to the bone. Although the sky lay hidden and the night’s stars have yet to beam, I’m mindful of our brothers and sisters who lead us to a Native American Spirituality. From their depths, they ‘see’ the stars NOT as stars, but as CAMP FIRES. Our ancient ancestors light The Way…teach us to listen and let go when time calls.
For NOW—LOOK to Luna…don’t get caught on the finger pointing to the LIGHT—behold the Light. As I close my eyes this very NIGHT—even with my lids closed I see, I feel, I’m embraced by a LIGHT and my ONLY prayer is one Eckhart so eloquently stated,
“THANK YOU” “THANK YOU” “THANK YOU!”
Dr. Alexandra Dyer—Roman Catholic Woman Priest
Fear often leads individuals to commit acts of inhumanity.
Countless persons sit in church pews, sing ALLELUIA and believe in building HIGHER walls
to keep out the poor, the hungry, the abused, the NAKED.
There are those with VISION, listening to their conscience…
RISKING to live the transformational GOSPEL MESSAGE.
While many channel Good energy, chaos rears its head.
Courageous individuals stand up—
stand out—listening to their CALL.
The sin of ‘Sexism’ is not an illusion…
more voices need to be HEARD so that more hearts may be OPEN.
Please pray for Dr. Alexandra Dyer—Roman Catholic Woman Priest
and her assailant (a fearful soul).
Alexandra sustained 3rd degree burns when a Drano-like substance was thrown in her face.
The perpetrator remains hidden.
The flaps over my
pupils rise like
a lens of a camera
preparing for its
in a sea of
The shadowed outline
they stand aloof.
allowing my feet
to touch the floor
and, as I rise,
a sudden ‘creak.’
it is NOT the floor
No, it’s the crack
of an ankle bone
or a shoulder joint
as my arms reach
upward embracing silence
held within my
with the realization
that this ‘body’
has gifted me
another day to dwell
inside its tent.
How we have played together…
AND it gently,
although at times
harshly, reminds me
of its aging.
pauses in this
of the mindfulness
I’m still blessed
aware of those
nearest to me
to a new life
beyond this present
I have no idea of that PLACE.
Still, one day I shall awake
and be here
If one day I
should come up
search a while—
ONLY a short time.
AND—if I should not
return, ‘seek’ me
in your heart.
Trace ‘our’ memories shared—
You know me well
an EXPLORER of sorts.
You may think I tread upon roads I
should not have—
you might say it was
BUT, I’ll say to you that—
my MISTAKES (as you call them)
have been my greatest jewels.
THESE mistakes have
brought me to my
truest self~~~the diamond
deeply tucked in—
WAITING to emerge.
I found this…
trust I have—
ANYTHING could happen
in life at anytime,
in any place.
Why I’m not here NOW
and you still remain—
I don’t know…
AND, does it really matter?
Dedicated to Denise Thiem
(Pilgrim on the Camino 2015/ Missing)
March 25th (One day before I walk)
Across from me…
An empty chair—
I sat across from it
as breakfast was served.
A first meal—
An array of fine spreads—
and, a pot of fresh coffee.
I bowed my head—
at first, in disbelief…
and then, in gratitude.
The table before me
NOW an altar—
And—the chair in
front of me
was no longer empty.
In less than 24 hours I shall begin walking The Way…
Mindful of Holy Mother…in the unseeing mystery, I set out upon St Jean Pied de Port to explore.
The sun split the clouds, the rain stopped (for now). My eyes could not stop scanning ALL the vistas before me.
The cobblestone street beneath my steps led me to The Church of Our Lady—
St James stood before me holding a staff. The arch I would walk under/through tomorrow pulled me like a string.
I, a fine piece of thread, began rolling into a spool of fabric. What will I LOOK like in the end? (NOT physically, but yes, physically). Will my color change from day to day? Will I become more resilient, strong, able to break by a simple pull only to graft myself back in?
No fears—only a certain sadness as the church doors were LOCKED. I took a few steps and saw a woman drawing nearer. She held what appeared an ancient key. Something in me spoke before I thought, “Mam, is that the KEY to the church?” She nodded, “Yes” and told me, invited me, “COME.”
I followed—she opened the door and welcomed me to enter. She gave me permission to walk in first. I almost declined, but some THING nudged me through.
Deep darkness…in the corner I saw candles burning. The woman turned on the lights, AND there SHE was.
I wept like someone released the flood gates. From where did all these tears come? BEFORE me, the WOMAN holding the seed of Her womb.
I, too, a seed of CREATION’S MOTHER’S womb. Each of us is born ‘into’ life…a maternal thrust inviting us to BE. I tried to pray…all that kept coming was THANK YOU, THANK YOU, and THANK YOU!
I felt like the MOST beautiful dandelion. Yes, a magnificent weed in the garden of life fully blossomed…my seeds already whipped by the winds into the Universe and all that is left…a heavenly stem. This is not sad…its ending has prepared for this beginning.
In the words of Meister Eckhart, “I pray God to make me free of God…that we (I) may gain the truth & enjoy it eternally.”
I’m in the eternal BELIEVING and disbelieving. I’ve left so much of me behind seeking the me in SILENT WONDERMENT…already I’m seeing so much I know NOT how to take it all in.
The ‘me’ back HOME a LIVING rescuer…No wonder my background…Chaplain (at the age of 25, and even before that during my early years growing up) and a Police Officer for a short time.
The wise words of a member of the Board of Chaplains haunts me—“Sandra, it will be a fine day when you choose a path where you’re NOT caring for the rest of the world!”
Caring for OTHERS has always come naturally to me. While I am able to share my past with all the moments that brought me here—persons who stretched me to breaking points, this is not about these stories…it is about me and who I’ve become and continue becoming. I would NOT change one thing…everything has been gift—yes, even the losses. I know I’ve hurt some, disappointed others, but I can honestly say it WAS NOT deliberate. I ask forgiveness and I give back forgiveness…trying, trying, trying to BREATHE in and out—LOVE.
It is here that I know God or by whatever name you wish to call the One dwelling inside YOU. I am the fruit of the womb. I ‘TASTE’ for this moment for I am ripe, bruised in certain places and still sweet…a few sour patches adding a new flavor to my lips licking just enough for today.
So many faces pass by me this day—The greeting, “Buen Camino” a sacramental blessing ALL can share.
The changing faces of the land, the sky, the sun, the clouds…it feels as if I’m playing
hide & seek—
“Come out, come out wherever You are…”
AND again the Source of life—right there.
I light a candle in the Church of Our Lady—the glow still in my eyes. May I be a small flicker of its flame as I prepare to GO.
A book picked me from a shelf the eve before my walk (A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan)—Its beginning spoke these words to my soul…
“Poets claim that we capture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden (or temple) in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years.”
“The unknown element in the lives of other people is like that of nature, which each fresh scientific discovery merely reduces but does not abolish.”
Marcel Proust—In Search of Lost Time
so many emotions. I tried to close my eyes, BUT then a sudden LIGHT—then gone. Was something playing tricks on me? There it was again, AND this time She lingered
awhile…LUNA’S crescent face above my bed. I whispered GOODNIGHT and She faded behind the clouds.
“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.
When the heart awakes from sorrow…
It pauses a moment
between each beat.
Listening to the sound
every chamber held as it chose
to remain flooded through
the ‘aches’ of grief.
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
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.
The heart has made a friend of
They cannot stop ‘laughing’ with each other
embracing all that is
until the beating stops.
A Seeker of Temples…One Pilgrim’s Journal on The Way to Santiago
What’s In the Temple?
In the quiet spaces of my mind a thought lies still,
but ready to spring.
It begs me to open the door so it can walk about.
The poet speak in obscure terms pointing madly
at the unsayable.
The sages say nothing, but walk ahead patting
their thigh calling for us to follow.
The monk sits pen in hand poised to explain the
cloud of unknowing.
The seeker seeks, just around the corner from the truth.
If she stands still it will catch up with her.
Pause with us here awhile.
Put your ear to the wall of your heart.
Listen for the whisper of knowing there.
Love will touch you if you are very still.
If I say the word God, people run away.
They’ve been frightened—sat on till the spirit cried “uncle.”
Now they play hide and seek with somebody
they can’t name.
They know he’s out there looking for them,
and they want to be found.
But there is all this stuff in the way.
I can’t talk about God and make any sense.
And I can’t not talk about God and make any sense.
So we talk about the weather, and we are
talking about God.
I miss the old temples where you would hang out with God.
Still, we have pet pounds where you can feel love
draped in warm fur,
and sense the whole tragedy of life and death.
You see there the consequences,
and you feel there the yapping urgency of life
that wants to be lived.
The only things lacking are the frankincense & myrrh.
We don’t build many temples anymore.
Maybe we learned that the sacred can’t be contained.
Or maybe it can’t be sustained inside a building.
It’s the spirit that lives on.
If you had a temple in the secret spaces of your heart
What would you worship there?
What would you bring to sacrifice?
What would be behind the curtain in the holy of holies?
Get there now..
“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
George Berkeley Anglo-Irish Philosopher
“Who are you, O God? And who am I?” Francis of Assisi
…AND, so it begins (although it began months ago). A seed planted in the deepest recesses of dark earth pushed, pulled, tugged, cracked and finally died. It was ONLY then a shoot thrust itself through the soils—
Somehow it knew in which direction to stretch and NOW it has broken ground…
This seed knows this place as if it passed this way countless times and still this moment is a first.
An ‘angel’ uprooted this seed bringing it to the place that would TRANSPORT this lifeform, this human being to its first ‘carrier’ (this would NOT be the destination).
The second ‘angel’ (so sad if you do not believe in them) was from Africa. He did not wear a suit and tie but his smile was wider than his face, his t-shirt and jeans made him ordinary. BUT, he was far from this. He embraced the first angel…she did her take and now he put the vehicle in drive transferring me to the airport. Now—here I AM.
Soon a silver bird with metal wings will carry me to a foreign place, a foreign land, a foreign people and language—and it is I who am the FOREIGNER.
I will become an angel unto myself and transport my being onto the fertile earth of the Camino de Santiago.
A solitary stem ‘preparing’ to spread its roots like a vine connecting with thousands, millions of ancient ancestors who walked the Way—each on a spiritual quest to discover or perhaps embrace WHO they were, who they ARE in the God who from before beginnings walked into the cosmos and whispered, “THIS IS GOOD.”
Fairytale, myth, mysterious truth, a cloud of unknowing—it hardly matters.
I’m stirred by the words of George Berkeley, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Alone, yet far from lonely…I am that tree and I will fall into step each day—500 miles. My soles will ‘join’ her wet, barren, moist, rocky, carpeted, mossy, muddy, snowy floor AND it will NOT matter if no one else HEARS.
I AM seeking Temples. Perhaps, I seek a Temple. I will pass countless stone cathedrals, BUT the Temple I seek to embrace most intimately is the ONE inside my very being. I hear it pulsating as I pen these words. I am filled with a HOST of emotions…divine hunger preparing to consume the Source ALREADY meeting me saying NOTHING. Yet, in the NOTHINGNESS I’m hearing—the seed planted, grown, transplanted, FALLEN from Eden realizes it was NEVER truly cast out of this pregnant womb ONLY it burst—is endlessly becoming the FRUIT of its womb RIPENED by the eternal I AM creating and re-creating NOT only yesterday, BUT NOW, yes—this very moment.
Tomorrow’s labor pains are just feeling the contractions—all original blessings as Matthew Fox dared bring to light—the same light Einstein sought to discover again and again AND when Meister Eckhart echoed, “I pray God to make me free of God that we may gain truth and enjoy it eternally.” How silly those long ago who missed his deepest desires.
I end this day with a final thought before a NEW beginning. I heard it said by a Balinese Dancer, “Someone out there is waiting for you, so LIVE your life so they might find you.” What if the someone IS me waiting for me—silently…without recognition, attention from others, without accolades or applause, without wondering, WHAT WILL I DO WITH THIS, THIS__________________?
I’m waiting for ME to love the me embracing this PRESENT moment.
The Blank Terrain
dabbed the white terrain…
it was then I began to walk
upon stones and
curving muddy trails.
The ink drizzled through
and toppled over mountain peaks.
When I stopped
I capped the pen.
I removed my boots
propping my legs upon
a wooden fence.