The Way

I’ve always been a walker.

In school days before cars and drivers licenses, I’d walk for miles.  Sometimes alone, sometimes with friends.  There were only a couple of girlfriends who were really up for the distance.

I recall a walk through suburban streets with a close friend around the age of 14.  Our footsteps stirred philosophy and metaphors as we began to liken life to the road.  Sometimes there were crossroads, sometimes detours.  As we walked the road of life there would be days of easy streets and rough patches with plenty of potholes.

The walk that day was vivid.  The black asphalt beneath my white Keds.  The olive trees and tidy pansies bordering short-trimmed lawns.  The goose-bump feeling of discovering a key to unlock one of life’s great secrets.  Life was a journey!

I was 29 years old when I began to read about The Camino.  The ancient pilgrimage path that runs through Northern Spain fascinated me.  I decided that I would walk the distance.  El Camino de Santiago would be my next adventure.  Or so I thought…

That same year I conceived a child and embarked on an adventure with no airfare required.  Books on the Camino were traded for “Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Years.” I had come to one of those forks in Life’s road and the greatest journey of my life began.

courtesy of Wikipedia and UNESCO World Heritage Site

The pilgrimage still beckons.  Over the years it’s been small whispers that remind me of a calling.  But since last week’s ultrasound report, that path through a foreign land has come front and center.  Maybe it’s a case of the cliched ‘bucket list’ surfacing on cue when a health issue arises.  That big endeavor shelved for later takes center stage with a leap, exclaiming “Carpe diem!”

Or maybe these fantasies of cobblestone streets, rolling hills and Spanish train stations are merely fantastical reprieves from the reality of second opinions and potential medical bills.

Regardless of why I’m dreaming, there’s a sense I’ve been on that Spanish path before – that one day I’ll go again.  Was I a pilgrim in another life beneath the Milky Way?  I don’t understand what pulls me toward the Basque country. But then some of the most interesting things in life don’t lend themselves to logic.

Driving in the car the other day, Jeb says, “I want to go somewhere they speak a different language.  Somewhere we’ve never gone before.”

And I’m thinking, “Oh, I’ve got a place in mind.”

That night, I take a pause from the Google search phrase “holistic treatment of dermoid cyst” and have fun with “children on Camino de Santiago”.

This may be a grand vision, but great forests all begin with seeds.

And as I dream, I’ve come across a documentary in progress.  Below is the trailer for a film that follows a few brave pilgrims as they make their journey on this sacred trail.

Babies in Big Bodies

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

I’m gifted a one hour window at the end of my day to throw off emails and throw on a pair of shorts.  Make a quick drive down to the beach and get a short walk in.

My mind is craving freedom.  The kind where I can let thoughts move and sift on salt air and sea breeze.  Bare feet can sink in sand.  My eyes can take in a distant horizon and remember what it is that holds me.  Feel the tangible presence of earth and wind and water.

There are others on this quest as well.  As I move along the shore toward the middle span of beach, the smattering of bodies increases.  Lawn chairs, towels, beach blankets and some coolers.  Visitors are here escaping colder January climes.  I walk through a quiet maze of humans scattered in their special little places.

Some lie upon their sides, just gazing at the ocean.  Others read a book.  Some couples curl and cuddle up together.  Grown men wade in shallow waters.  Swimmers tread a little farther out from shore.

How I love to see these people all relaxing!  Like babies in big bodies, we’re just soaking up the simple.  Happy just to be.  Pale skin seeks sunlight.  Ahhh!  Cell phones are put away.  A large man just sits, his legs stretched out before him, doing nothing but looking at the waves.  To see him in such a peaceful, child-like state fills my heart with gladness.

Not far from this beach (just down the road) adults zoom fast in big cars.  They schedule appointments, send text messages and make important calls.  But down here by the water, the grown ups are on hiatus, just sitting in the sun.

Can we do this everyday?

Steeping in an Essence

This morning I look for a thread, some simple, single thing to share.  But all are snippets.

Fresh sheets on the bed.
Jeb’s first sunflower bloom at sunrise.
Anais Nin and Henry Miller.
Archival storage boxes.
The Paris Writer’s Workshop.
Fresh-cut canvases and thick, white oil paint.
Art’s essence and time travel.
Is the time machine our heart?

The grainy picture of that distant, remote island.  Ten years before my digital camera.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

I lived in that place.  Among swans that floated on ice blue waters.  A street called Morningside along a waterfall to the sea.  Purple starfish clung to ocean bottoms while Bald Eagles’ mated,  free falling from the sky.  Thick green moss on ancient tree trunks were velvet thrones in a seaside forest.  And then there was the love.

Full French in rolling sweetness. Je t’aime in loving arms.

In the fairy land we weren’t afraid to take our hearts and just pull them from our bodies.  Hold them in our hands beneath the stars.  Gaze into each other’s eyes and seek there freely.  Fumble through discovery.  Lay down in the leaves.  Wonder at connection.  Trust in the magic all around.