Pilgrimage,
A story about leaving my family and guilt at the door for a three-day solo retreat.
Yesterday,
There was a break in the rain.
The freshly quenched earth made perfect conditions for my favorite slimy friends to make an appearance on the trail.
Silently,
I prayed that I would encounter these orange-bellied beauties.
Newts have long been my favorite.
I love their little webbed feet and their traveling zigzag,
Placing one step deliberately after another.
I have yet to see a newt rush off because they are late for an appointment.
Instead,
They move with deliberate cadence.
My prayers are answered.
The first of three newts appears.
I bend down to place them gently into my palm.
Hey,
Buddy,
Look at you.
Where's your family?
I continue complimenting his dewy complexion.
I ask questions without receiving answers.
Maybe silence is the answer.
I put him back down in the grass.
I am moving slowly,
Which does not come naturally.
As children,
We followed our nose,
Leading with curiosity and orange creamsicles.
As adults,
We follow our obligations,
Wearing our responsibilities like lead jackets.
I've forgotten how to play,
How to color and draw without expectation or outcome.
I have colored and drawn for two days in a row.
This is growth.
Each night after my newt hunt,
I wrap myself in a purple and yellow fleece blanket I keep in my car for emergencies.
My daughter made this blanket.
My candle flickers while the hum of the heater kicks on and off.
There's enough to light the way and keep warm.
You are taken care of.
I drift off to sleep.
I wake with a renewed sense of ease.
I decide to venture out and pray after dark.
I like this because there's no expectation.
At night,
No one sees me walking the labyrinth.
It's a reckless act,
Talking to God by yourself as elderly friars prepare for bedtime upstairs.
Just me and the crunch of Nikes on wet rocks.
Arriving at the labyrinth center,
I go for God's jugular.
What would you like me to know?
The answer comes swiftly.
Ask for what you need.
Heard.
I pause to look up,
Gazing at the milky full moon.
La Luna,
I whisper sing.
Exiting the labyrinth,
I text the person I am supposed to meet the next day,
Asking if we can switch the day instead.
She says yes.
I exhale.
Asking for what I need is paramount for peace.
I am now moving towards the Holy Mother,
Her face illuminated by lamplight glow.
Someone has left a bouquet of red and white flowers at her feet.
I inhale and bow.
Thank you for walking with me.
Last night,
I wrote to her and she wrote back like a divine pen pal exchange.
Isn't that something?
Just then,
La Luna breaks through the clouds directly across from Mother Mary.
I wonder if they bask in each other's glory.
Finally,
I land in the chapel.
If I could,
I would open the tabernacle and help myself to the Eucharist like I'm ordering from a fast food drive-thru.
I'll take a number one Jesus to go.
Instead,
I sit on the floor with Joseph and Mary while the donkey and the cow seem to stare right into my soul.
Did you know that Jesus was born in a cave,
Not a manger?
I just learned that.
I pray another silent thank you to Mary.
I thank Joe for trusting.
I am answered by more silence.
Stillness is holding the truth for which I seek,
Wrapped in a purple and yellow fleece blanket that my daughter made.
And it is good.
It is very,
Very good.
