Home

I've been home from Egypt for three days now. Re-entry has been kind. While busy, I continue to remind myself to take things "slowly, slowly" - a practice offered daily by our wonderful guide and friend Abba Rabia. My body is starting to reset itself - adjusting to the 10 hour time difference and a missed diet of leafy greens and granola.

The dreams that began in the desert continue to be vivid and speak to the depth of this place from where I've come. I have resisted turning on a DVD or Netflix and instead have drifted to sleep reading "Walking the Bible" - picking up where I left off in the Sinai. Stories of Mount Sinai, Father Justin (an American monk residing at St. Catherine's Monastery), burial tombs and Bedouin take on new and more significant meaning now. I have walked those places and met these people. They are imprinted in my DNA.

It's challenging to answer inquiries such as, "Tell me about your trip..." Where do I even begin? My initial response when asked for highlights, most often turns to my time spent wandering and camping in the desert.

"People coming to the desert discover that they are drinking from truth. And people become more at peace with themselves because of this truth, this quiet." Ramadan - a Bedouin from "Walking the Bible."

I have drunk from the truth of the desert. Tasted the painted landscape - the dying Acacia - crumbling rock - shade-seeking lizard - wise camels and their Bedouin leaders. I have been washed in the silence of the early morning and the brilliance of a billion stars - the grit of sand reaching into every nook and cranny. I have felt the freedom of standing naked in a barren landscape blending into and resembling finely chiseled stone.

The earth pulses in the desert. It speaks of ancient times while holding only now. Am I surprised to return home during the week celebrating St. Francis when we are called to recognize the strength and beauty of human nature and its mirror in all of creation?

The desert mirrored beauty back to me - even as my skin grew gritty, my mosquito bites blossomed into epic plague and my hair took on new designs of its own unwashed creation. I was the lizard seeking the cool shade - the camel gently rocking across uneven sand - the mother bird fiercely protecting her nest - and the painted desert floor swirling with patterns few paintbrushes would dare create.

I am home now. What does that mean?

"Wherever you are, if you are close to God, you are close. If you are far away, you are far away. It doesn't matter where you live. It matters what you feel." Anastasis - Monk @ St. Catherine's from "Walking the Bible."

I am home now. I was home there. I have learned to take home with me like a true pilgrim - one who carries my heart wherever I go. I am home and the Sinai is a part of my soul - imprinted in my heart and every fiber of my being. I am home.

Welcome to this space, my friend. Tell me... where do you find home?

Sinai Desert, 2010 ©lucy

Timeless

There is a place where timelessness resides. Where if you let go of past, present and future, all become one and you can feel the heartbeat of the earth. You can hear the pulse of eternity and witness the birth of creation. I have been to that place.

sinai desert 2010 © lucy

On Pilgrimage... See you when I return.

The Journey Has Already Begun

I am the one who sits and waits. Waiting for what? The pilgrimage? Today? Tomorrow? The Holy? The Sacred is already here. I sit in the shadows - in the space of waiting. The already and the not yet. My heart has turned to the desert. The journey has begun. The Sacred text written on every branch before me... still, I am curious about the shadows and what I do not and cannot already know.

I awakened today (& yesterday, too) wondering - What is wrong with me? Is something the matter? I leave for Egypt in two days and all I want to do is immerse myself in Instant Netflix offerings of Veronica Mars. It's almost a compulsion and I ponder - Am I avoiding or am I waiting or something entirely different?

I can't make myself read the history of St. Anthony (whose footsteps I will be following.) Instead I read the current Vanity Fair and the sad adventures of Lindsey Lohan. My heart breaks for the world around me AND I feel wrapped inside my own little cocoon. The journey has already begun.

"In each of us dwells a pilgrim. It is the part of us that longs to have direct contact with the sacred." - Phil Cousineau

How do you respond for the pilgrimage of life each day? Do you wait? Avoid? Jump in? What is your longing for contact with the sacred? Please, do tell!

Who knows whether I will return to this space before I depart for the desert? In case I don't, please know I will carry those I love with me (that includes you) and would cherish knowing a space is being held for me in your heart as I travel into the unknown. Peace and blessings, friends. Namaste.

Standing on Holy Ground

"...if the journey you have chosen is indeed a pilgrimage, a soulful journey, it will be rigorous. Ancient wisdom suggests if you aren't trembling as you approach the sacred, it isn't the real thing. The sacred, in its various guises as holy ground, art, or knowledge, evokes emotion and commotion." Phil Cousineau

For regular readers, you may have noticed a mention here and there of an upcoming trip to the Sinai desert. In sharp contrast to my Paris trip of three years ago, this one has been enveloped in silent revelation. My preparations are more internal and I find I have fewer words to say - except I know this is what I'm supposed to be doing. While Paris was a pilgrimage of its own kind, my first "official" pilgrimage came about this same time last year when I traveled to Ireland. It was on that fair isle that I "knew" I would be going to Egypt (although with no forethought of this rapid timing.)

A 2nd pilgrimage is kind of like birthing your 2nd child. With the first one, ignorance is bliss. One can get all caught up in the excitement of the preparation without a clue of the life changing impact that awaits. With Ireland (as with my first child), I prepared and anticipated and understood it would alter my life, but didn't factor in the painful birthing and permanence of change. With my second physical birthing, I remembered the hours of labor, the discomfort and the incredible joy of bringing new life into the midst.

So, as I prepare to leave for the Sinai desert in about 10 days, I am awaiting my 2nd birth with trembling and awe. I know I am approaching holy ground. While in Ireland, I removed my shoes and sunk my toes in the rich damp loam. I walked across sharp rocks in an abandoned chapel and felt the sting of holiness surround me. The contrast of that damp climate and where I am going could not be greater. Arid air. Burning sand. Desolate terrain. Will my feet beg to curl their toes into the hot desert? I will travel in the path of Moses. Will I, too, receive the command to remove my shoes?

How does one prepare for something like this? Cousineau says if its the "real thing" then it will be challenging and you will tremble in its wake. In the past weeks as my departure date assuredly approaches, I have wondered, "Is this real?"... and then I read a phrase or hear my guide's voice and my heart trembles. I can only describe it as awe. It is joy mixed with terror. I have come into the presence of the almighty God. She beckons me to don my desert attire - to pare down - to simply come.

Simplicity has been my guide for several months now. My body is strong and lean. It bends and moves in the heat of hot yoga. My most challenging pose is "camel" - a heart-opening pose. Is this coincidence? Irony? Preparation? My home is clean and decluttered. I've been removing items that no longer serve me - that take up excess space in my life. I'm opening up for something - for what I do not know. I don't dare to even guess. This journey beckons me like a deer to water - like a Bedouin to an oasis. Surety has left my thinking and has entered my soul. I know I am standing on Holy ground - dare I know more?

photo © h3images