Morning Ritual

When we do what we love, again and again, our life comes to hold the fragrance of that thing.

Wayne Muller

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am -

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

I feel the breath of it

on my skin,

hear its music,

the sound of waking birds,

filling my ears.

My mind is quiet.

Worry has not woken.

Only wonder walks with me,

as I watch the moon

departing,

and the first light of dawn

breaking over the fields;

into the trees.

No matter what the day

before has brought me -

No matter what dreams

haunted my sleep -

I wake in the dark of morning

and wherever in the world I am

I walk outdoors.

Morning calls.

Sunrise through barbed wire and a thorny vine

I hear the sound of birds singing above me

Texas sun blazing through the bare oak branches

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A starling sings from the top of the utility pole, silhouetted against the gradually lightening sky.

Every morning it’s a little different - a haze on the horizon softens the edges of light

A big buck staring across the field toward the rising sun

Above the trees in the big Texas sky

The sacred is not in heaven or far away. It is all around us, and small human rituals can connect us to its presence. And of course the greatest challenge (and gift) is to see the sacred in each other.

Alma Luz Villanueva

I had to make a road trip to Texas this week - it was quickly thrown together, and it could have felt rushed and stressful, except for my daily pre-dawn walk outdoors. There is always this quiet time before the sun rises, when I can be outside and walk in peace, before worries or plans begin to fill my mind. I go out in cold, in rain, in snow, in wind, in heat -whatever the weather. It is harder to do somedays than others, but I never regret doing it. It is a ritual that comforts me by making every place I go feel familiar. Wherever there is a morning, I am home.

Hope your week was beautiful too. See you next week.

The waning moon in the early morning hours, just before sunrise in Texas

El Camino de Santiago

Truth is one, paths are many.

Mahatma Gandhi

Day one. The Path begins.

Prologue

My mother asked me for a truth

She knew would hurt her in the telling

And I told her, and it did.

The Way

I began to walk this storied path

Heavy hearted and confused,

Humbled by seeing myself

A little more clearly.

A truth unspoken for years -

Was just dishonesty.

I began to walk

But I was not a pilgrim,

I was just a traveler walking an old path

For the exercise; and to see a bit

Of the world I hadn’t seen-

To experience a little beauty.

Then I listened to the stories,

Told by other travelers.

Saw the weary man,

Who walked

Hundreds of miles from the north –

And I began to sense the power

of the road I was on.

As we climbed a steep rocky trail

I heard a man say

There was a place up there

To lay your burden down

symbolically

In the form of a stone -

At a cross in the woods

With a pillar of other stones

Beneath it.

.

We found the spot,

Sunlight streamed through,

lighting the cross.

A woman I had met walked up,

and placed her stone there,

bowing her head - letting it go.

Was her burden lifted?

I don’t really know,

But soon after that

I went looking my own stone.

Calla lilies bloomed along the roadside.

A humble pile of stones and a cross made of broken limbs where pilgrims symbolically lay down their burdens

Day 2 - Ponte de Lima - The Medieval and Roman Bridge and its church, The Igreja de Santo Antonio.

Along the route, there are many mementos from pilgrims who have passed through. Words of encouragement on a stone…

burdens symbolically left behind under a cross in the woods.

Day 3 We walk to the remnants of an ancient civilization overlooking the sea and the mountains beyond on our first day in Spain

the ancient ruins overlook the more modern fishing town of A Guarda below

The walk led us through sculptures of the stations of the cross to a little town on the top of a hill.

Back down at sea level, horses grazed along the Coastal Camino

while signposts and red breasted birds pointed the way

We arrived in the colorful fishing town of A Guarda for a lunch break.

We ended the night at one of the Paradores hotels (a nationally owned chained) in the town of Baiona.

On Day 4, We took a boat to the Cies Islands - pictured here is the long winding pathway we walked to see the lighthouse.

My fellow travelers lead the way

A mist in the distance created a magical blue haze over the islands and mountains.

On Day 5 We began the final trek into Santiago de Compostela - stopping at the little church of Santiago Apostol, where a kind volunteer stamped our trail passports and offered us a moment to rest and appreciate the beauty of the altar and its sculptures.

A final walk through the woods into the city.

When we reached the square, after passing through an arched tunnel where a man played the Spanish bagpipe to welcome pilgrims, the sight of the Cathedral made me burst into tears. I didn’t expect to feel that way, but it washed over me all at once. There was something really special about this journey - even if I only experienced a part of it. New friendships were forged, and an older friendship deepened. People come here for all different reasons, but everyone I met was changed by it in ways they didn’t expect.

On the 6th day, we walked back to the town from our hotel on the outskirts of Santiago, back to the church to get a tour of the Cathedral and its Museum. The sun was just beginning to crest over the trees and the old part of the city in the distance.

On this path let the heart be your guide.

Rumi

Thank you so much for being here! I will see you next week!

P.S. I want to thank my friend Kat for walking this path with me! It wouldn’t have been as special for me without her.