Your suggestion to think about what my way marks are and if I might need new ones caused me to think about how I start my days and whether that was a satisfying way to set the tone. I think I’m going to try starting with meditation and journaling rather than the crossword puzzle.
Thank you, I needed those words tonight. It brings to mind the wonderful John Muir quote in which he says he hates the word "hike", because what we out to do is "saunter". I don't have access to the exact quote, but he gives a derivation of saunter, saying it's rooted in the French name for pilgrims en route to the Holy Land. He says we are to saunter, to walk with reverence through creation.
Janell, I was going to mention this too. What I recall is that saunter may come from the words for saints and terre/earth. I love the image of saints sauntering in no real hurry, but in reverence.
Thanks for this! I appreciate your reflections on peregrination and pilgrimage. They brought back the unexpected delight I found on the Camino, not knowing what I would see around the next bend, and recalling that one of my best days was the one where I got lost for a bit. You've named some other walking paths on my bucket list—Iona is at the top.
Thank you very much. I spent a week on Iona and your reflections and the authors you referenced brought me back quickly to that holy time. It is something I deeply need to reconnect to. You write beautifully.
I grew up as the 2nd child of 4 so time alone for me was next to impossible. I jumped from that time to marriage and quickly had my first child before my husband and I celebrated our 1st anniversary. Soon thereafter in less than 10 years, I had 3 more children. So again, time alone just didn't ever happen. Since that time, with my children grown and my husband no longer my husband earlier on, I continue to value time alone.
I've taken many trips in the middle to late part of my life. Most of the trips are to visit family and to places I've traveled to before. But in addition to those trips, I relish the time when I've ventured off to parts unknown, and mostly alone.
When I was 50, I took off for camping in upstate New York at Woodstock '99. I brought along a tent and set it up among strangers. For 3 days, I enjoyed music and the company of a wide variety of people, many my age, re-living their younger time at the 1st Woodstock in '69. If anyone knows about any of the history of Woodstock '99, then you know that besides really great music sets, there was trouble. Sanitation just didn't happen after day 1. The younger among us got somewhat out of control and set fires, here and there. It was unseasonably "Texas Hot" for this area so living in a tent was uncomfortable. Food prices were through the roof and one could go broke just purchasing bottles of water. But despite all this, I learned a lot about myself...that even though I enjoy creature comforts, I can survive, at least for a little while, without them.
After this trip, I've not hesitated to take trips to places that peak my interest, whether or not I know anyone or have been there before. None of my trips have been as rugged or wild or primitive as Woodstock, but I've used the experience at that event to claim my fearlessness, even today.
Besides the birth of my children, and the death of my sister, my attendance at Woodstock when I was 50 has been one of the most pivotal events of my life and I'm so glad that I continue to not be afraid to travel alone to new places and new experiences.
People wonder why I continue to travel places alone. I'm no shrinking violet so most places that I go to alone, I can choose to not be alone if I want to reach out. Thankfully, I've met some wonderfully open and friendly people no matter where I go. But being alone with myself offers me the time for introspection, reflection, and contemplation...a silent retreat, if you will. Very valuable and beneficial for me.
This is a bit long with apologies but you struck something deeply meaningful with your reflection.
In 2021, two of my husband's and my dearest friends decided to move permanently to Portugal. A couple of months after they left, I was finding out some more about Porto, the first city they tried for fit, and stumbled into something mind-boggling. El Camino Portugués is part of the network of pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela. This particular part of the path bifurcates outside Porto and you can take either the coastal route or one that winds through hills from Portugal across into Spain. My friend M. and I made plans to do the coastal pilgrimage in September of 2022. I started working out immediately to make sure a fragile hip would have the stamina for the trip. I also negotiated with my parish to take a whole month off to make the pilgrimage. I would go very still and quiet every time I considered what I was going to get to do.
Then Omicron happened. Then, both my brothers who have lived in Europe all their adult lives, were very blunt as the war in Ukraine wore on during the spring and into early summer: "don't come," they said, and I listened. Disappointment doesn't begin to describe how I felt. Yes, and... I kept going deeper into myself and into silence, trying to find something essential about what I had set out to do on that pilgrimage that wasn't going to happen. I couldn't let go of the sense that surely, there was a way to honor the hope I had harbored. Some of it was about adventure: to go into unknown places and to push myself. Some of it was new certainty about myself and my capacity to find my way. A lot had to do with with living in a body that is aging for sure, and so much stronger than I ever gave it credit for. In the end though, there was simply the going. The quote I used my senior year for my high school yearbook (in 1978--aaargh) was Antonio Machado's "se hace camino al andar": "way is made by our walking"--what you alluded to, MaryAnn, in your essay.
The first part of September, my husband and I built a new, lovely coop in order to grow our chicken flock. Then, on September 13, I flew into Portland, ME, picked up a rental and drove to the first of three waypoints, a town called Damariscotta, a jump-off point to Mohegan Island. Over the next two weeks I hiked, and hiked, and hiked, especially in Acadia National Park. I went by myself and I am sorry I didn't get to experience the goodness of companionship. I also know now that what I most longed for as I started, was long stretches of silence.
Merton once said, "“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” The 18 days I spent on that pilgrimage to no place in particular, allowed me to lose myself in utter beauty and to find myself in the fullness of my incarnation, with all my daily aches, pains, and blisters, with my really strong and capable legs, with that willingness to say yes to solitude and life that was both mine and part of something far bigger, more holy, more grace-filled...
Your suggestion to think about what my way marks are and if I might need new ones caused me to think about how I start my days and whether that was a satisfying way to set the tone. I think I’m going to try starting with meditation and journaling rather than the crossword puzzle.
Thank you for the Celtic spirituality focus!
Glad you're along for the ride, Nancy!
Thank you, I needed those words tonight. It brings to mind the wonderful John Muir quote in which he says he hates the word "hike", because what we out to do is "saunter". I don't have access to the exact quote, but he gives a derivation of saunter, saying it's rooted in the French name for pilgrims en route to the Holy Land. He says we are to saunter, to walk with reverence through creation.
Janell, I was going to mention this too. What I recall is that saunter may come from the words for saints and terre/earth. I love the image of saints sauntering in no real hurry, but in reverence.
I’m so glad you both flagged this. I meant to include it in the post but got sidetracked! Which is like a mental peregrination, eh? 😊
🤣
Marvelous image!
Thanks for this! I appreciate your reflections on peregrination and pilgrimage. They brought back the unexpected delight I found on the Camino, not knowing what I would see around the next bend, and recalling that one of my best days was the one where I got lost for a bit. You've named some other walking paths on my bucket list—Iona is at the top.
Thank you very much. I spent a week on Iona and your reflections and the authors you referenced brought me back quickly to that holy time. It is something I deeply need to reconnect to. You write beautifully.
Thank you for reading, Pat! I'd like to return to Iona soon, it's been 10 years now.
I grew up as the 2nd child of 4 so time alone for me was next to impossible. I jumped from that time to marriage and quickly had my first child before my husband and I celebrated our 1st anniversary. Soon thereafter in less than 10 years, I had 3 more children. So again, time alone just didn't ever happen. Since that time, with my children grown and my husband no longer my husband earlier on, I continue to value time alone.
I've taken many trips in the middle to late part of my life. Most of the trips are to visit family and to places I've traveled to before. But in addition to those trips, I relish the time when I've ventured off to parts unknown, and mostly alone.
When I was 50, I took off for camping in upstate New York at Woodstock '99. I brought along a tent and set it up among strangers. For 3 days, I enjoyed music and the company of a wide variety of people, many my age, re-living their younger time at the 1st Woodstock in '69. If anyone knows about any of the history of Woodstock '99, then you know that besides really great music sets, there was trouble. Sanitation just didn't happen after day 1. The younger among us got somewhat out of control and set fires, here and there. It was unseasonably "Texas Hot" for this area so living in a tent was uncomfortable. Food prices were through the roof and one could go broke just purchasing bottles of water. But despite all this, I learned a lot about myself...that even though I enjoy creature comforts, I can survive, at least for a little while, without them.
After this trip, I've not hesitated to take trips to places that peak my interest, whether or not I know anyone or have been there before. None of my trips have been as rugged or wild or primitive as Woodstock, but I've used the experience at that event to claim my fearlessness, even today.
Besides the birth of my children, and the death of my sister, my attendance at Woodstock when I was 50 has been one of the most pivotal events of my life and I'm so glad that I continue to not be afraid to travel alone to new places and new experiences.
People wonder why I continue to travel places alone. I'm no shrinking violet so most places that I go to alone, I can choose to not be alone if I want to reach out. Thankfully, I've met some wonderfully open and friendly people no matter where I go. But being alone with myself offers me the time for introspection, reflection, and contemplation...a silent retreat, if you will. Very valuable and beneficial for me.
I love this reflection and your learnings!
This is a bit long with apologies but you struck something deeply meaningful with your reflection.
In 2021, two of my husband's and my dearest friends decided to move permanently to Portugal. A couple of months after they left, I was finding out some more about Porto, the first city they tried for fit, and stumbled into something mind-boggling. El Camino Portugués is part of the network of pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela. This particular part of the path bifurcates outside Porto and you can take either the coastal route or one that winds through hills from Portugal across into Spain. My friend M. and I made plans to do the coastal pilgrimage in September of 2022. I started working out immediately to make sure a fragile hip would have the stamina for the trip. I also negotiated with my parish to take a whole month off to make the pilgrimage. I would go very still and quiet every time I considered what I was going to get to do.
Then Omicron happened. Then, both my brothers who have lived in Europe all their adult lives, were very blunt as the war in Ukraine wore on during the spring and into early summer: "don't come," they said, and I listened. Disappointment doesn't begin to describe how I felt. Yes, and... I kept going deeper into myself and into silence, trying to find something essential about what I had set out to do on that pilgrimage that wasn't going to happen. I couldn't let go of the sense that surely, there was a way to honor the hope I had harbored. Some of it was about adventure: to go into unknown places and to push myself. Some of it was new certainty about myself and my capacity to find my way. A lot had to do with with living in a body that is aging for sure, and so much stronger than I ever gave it credit for. In the end though, there was simply the going. The quote I used my senior year for my high school yearbook (in 1978--aaargh) was Antonio Machado's "se hace camino al andar": "way is made by our walking"--what you alluded to, MaryAnn, in your essay.
The first part of September, my husband and I built a new, lovely coop in order to grow our chicken flock. Then, on September 13, I flew into Portland, ME, picked up a rental and drove to the first of three waypoints, a town called Damariscotta, a jump-off point to Mohegan Island. Over the next two weeks I hiked, and hiked, and hiked, especially in Acadia National Park. I went by myself and I am sorry I didn't get to experience the goodness of companionship. I also know now that what I most longed for as I started, was long stretches of silence.
Merton once said, "“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” The 18 days I spent on that pilgrimage to no place in particular, allowed me to lose myself in utter beauty and to find myself in the fullness of my incarnation, with all my daily aches, pains, and blisters, with my really strong and capable legs, with that willingness to say yes to solitude and life that was both mine and part of something far bigger, more holy, more grace-filled...
I love every word you write, Rosa! No apologies needed.
Thanks for this trip to Iona. I needed today after a crash & burn ending to the family beach trip. Iona, indeed.
I'm sorry things didn't turn out as you'd hoped and planned... Hugs.