I have been going about it all backward. Who I am is how I move through the world. I believe this. I should be questioning the value of my own personal dogma when it comes to how I should be moving through the world.
Sometimes our own bodies are the battlefield – the lines invisible, or shifting unpredictably.
Then again, maybe sometimes the battlefield as a metaphor can’t help at all to sooth our frantic hearts.
And all the armour is just… too heavy for the human body.
Or maybe peace is the sturdy framework for creative
disorder? I think of the fortunate children who are “at peace with themselves” – noisy as hell, but secure and daring.
Maybe there is a natural rhythm to persisting and relinquishing. Like breathing out and breathing in. And a pause of consideration: What have I learned now? What do I want now?
There is little in the world that can be likened to a 30-kilo hound who presses his forehead into yours for two solid minutes, then flops onto your rib cage with a sigh, trusting you aren’t going anywhere for another chapter or two.
But sometimes I don’t recognize myself because I see myself too clearly. As though – like Dorian Gray – I stumble upon the honest portrait where every ugly thing I have ever done to others is etched on my face.
This takes another kind of acceptance to live with. Another kind of resilience.
Let the wind move through – give over, and do not brace against the tern’s sharp trill.
During this virtual Camino, I’ve been increasingly drawn to return to a play I’d put aside. I understand now it isn’t the play itself calling me, it’s the prospect of doing my part in creating an ephemeral community. That is what theater does…
The 12th leg of the virtual Camino, and our guide tells us our focus is to use our imagination – and just keep going. Apparently this leg of the trip is rather dull. And so is the day. In a way. I have been moving through the day at a steady gallop from seven-thirty to…
When I move from warrior 2 into an extended triangle, my hamstring sends out a high pitched pain that I have never felt before.
I have lost control. And now I need a word that will tell me how to release this fear from my heart.
Stage 10 of the #VirtualCamino2020 Today the guide takes us to a monastery. And she talks about ancestors. The dissonance that plays between my associations with these ideas – solitude and connection – is pleasant. I often write about the sense I have of being untethered in the world. The fabric of my family is frayed and…
Stage 9 of the Virtual Camino – Day 10 of writing along the way… Our guide describes the wet weather in France today. So I am twice delighted by the sun on my deck. Back at work in my parallel – also virtual – endeavour to teach, my companions and I help one another along….
For now, we make wide circles around one another as we pass. We smile, though.
It is nice to know that, in the end, our footsteps will beat the path clear again this year – individually, yes. But still collectively.
Day 8. Our guide talks about non-judgement. It is difficult not to call this a beautiful day. But I know that’s not the point. A friend wrote about how the phrase “uncertain times” is popping up a lot these days. But I keep wondering when the “certain times” were? I wrote a poem once with…
It’s surprising which old injuries become apparent. But one foot in front of the other on to the next place of rest: because there is no other way. You can sleep on the cold, hard ground if you must. But you can never really eat the stars.
I’m not really able to summon gratitude for the weirdness of this day, for the sunset, or for the labyrinth-for-locusts. But I am truly delighted by them all.
It’s all an uphill climb now. I know it will level out at the top, with a nice view. But I’ve also climbed enough hills to know sometimes there is a second crest you don’t see coming. Steeper still.
It is hard to admit but in a strange way, this near-certainty of a so temporally-specific relationship allows me to love them unconditionally. In the sense that it allows me to give freely of myself and my energy with no expectation of any kind of return. The way strangers so fearlessly love babies.