Santiago

Sometime ago I read The Pilgrim by Paulo Cohelo.  In this adventure the protagonist walks a mountain path which is an ancient pilgrimage to the town of Santiago in northern Spain.  During the course of his journey he faces his fears in the form of a vicious dog, he buries himself alive under a tree at night, he learns to accept help from the most unlikely of angels.  A beautiful weaving of an inner journey, it parallels the journey I said YES to when I chose the path of the whirling dervish.  I said yes. And I pass through the fire.

The fire burns all.  It is a consuming love which hurts as much as it portions out ecstasies.  I have come to notice, this past eleven months, that my supreme ecstasies often precede a harsh blow.... we are given these to fortify us for the next high pass.

When I lived in the Sierra Nevada Mountains for a summer, 16 years ago, I hiked 27 miles in one day.  I was several months pregnant, and I took nothing but water with me.  I loved to do this back then!  Foraging berries, resting on rocks in the sun, an occasional swim in the small icy lakes, it was bliss.  And hard work.

This journey I am on, it is testing me.  Living with family is not easy.  Every pattern that wove my childhood coping skills is on display for me to see, and unwind.  And of course, there is much resistance to that.  Everyday, we walk the firewalk.  With patience, strength, and dignity, the blazes atop my mountains will simply grow in munificence.  Warming, generous fires of Love.  Big Love.  Real Love. 


Hu.