What do you need?

Today is Express Your Needs Day. I found this movement at Evenstar Art and decided I'd play along. The goal is to make a sign and hold it up for what you need. Today (and most days) I'm finding this:

Fortunately, they said your sign doesn't need to be pretty. Won't you play along? If you don't want to make a sign or have time to make one, (because maybe you need to sleep or work or play or something else besides make signs) then feel free to leave your "need" here. I'd love to know!!!!

Mt. Sinai

Two weeks ago today, I climbed the Mountain - Mt. Sinai. In many ways it was a focal part of this journey - not always for me, but often in the telling for others. It is a place people can imagine in their minds and possibly connect or relate. It's the place where folklore says Moses received the Ten Commandments. It's a destination even those who don't know much about the Bible recognize. The climb is physical, so athletes and adventurers see the appeal to it. It's the place I often mentioned when talking of going to the desert, "I'm going to climb Mt. Sinai."... and so I did. Yet each time I think of it, I remember foremost the drudgery and the day doesn't float to the top of my memory list from the trip.

Today, however, it is the place I am called to write about. I made a collage for that day the night before we climbed and this morning when I looked at that small piece, I heard in my soul, "It was hard AND there was Freedom." Each stone below my foot a reminder to pay attention. Heel, toe, heel, toe. Focusing on balance and presence to keep myself safe on the rocky terrain. Heel, toe, heel, toe. Each stone a reminder of those who go before me today, tomorrow, yesterday. Heel, toe, heel, toe. One foot in front of the other all the way up and all the way down for eight-plus hours. (An interesting side line - when I first wrote "heel, toe, etc.", it came out "heal, toe". I haven't quite decided which spelling is correct...)

Why do I recall the drudgery of this mountain? The Freedom looked different than I expected. So, what did I expect? A mountain top experience, of course! Silly me. Each day is a mountain top yet somehow I've managed to forget that regarding Mt. Sinai. Still, the words "Take off your shoes for you are standing on holy ground" come to my mind. Here is my journal entry from that evening:

"In you we are bound to one another, linked by threads seen and unseen, destined for love in eternity, when all that has been decayed is restored." J. Cotter

Today we pilgrims climbed the mountain - ten in reality and four in spirit with countless others around the world through space and time holding us in prayer. Our dear Sister J led the way as she mounted her camel before dawn (4:30 a.m.) to meet us @ Camelot for sunrise. Like a regal princess warrior in the moonlight, I dubbed her Queen of Sheba.

I didn't particularly like this day until I started connecting the threads through the eyes of my fellow pilgrims. The day started with laughter as my roommate's barking dog alarm sounded, followed quickly by my revving motorcycle @ 3:30 a.m. They were sharp sounds in this monastic environment and the silliness of it combined with the early hour and probably our own excitement sent us into giggling fits.

Our group met in the courtyard just before 4:00 a.m. The sun was still asleep, but the brilliant autumn moon glowed in the darkness. We were saddened to learn we would be two pilgrims short for the trek, however, comforted by the place they would hold for us at the foot of the mountain. Later as the pieces wove together, I knew their prayers were pivotal in our experience and they were with us every step of the way. Quietly, Dr. Rabia walked us to the edge of the monastery (which sits cradled at the base of the mountain) and then our guide, Hussein, took over.

With a waning moon of just over 1/2 full, our path was lit with no need for our flashlights and so the threads began. Our pace was slow - almost painfully so at first. I had to check in with myself and heed my inner voice that said, "Hurry up. Get going." Others must have been feeling the same thing, because one of our spiritual guides reminded us of how often excitement can get in our way and going at a steady pace would serve us well.

The serpentine of pilgrims slowly wound our way up and around the rocky paths and for what seemed like hours, we didn't even know which peak we were attempting to ascend. These mountains are layered upon each other, tucked together, making it impossible from the base to tell one from the other. They are unlike my home mountain of Rainier that stands like sentry for miles over the surrounding land.

There was a party of Greek pilgrims staying at St. Catherine's, too, who made the climb at midnight. They began to dribble by and pass us on their way down along with Bedouins and their camels offering rides to weary travelers. At times I considered taking a ride to break the dull monotony of walking so slowly on the dusty trail. We passed one ramshackle snack shack and then another until we met Sr. J in Camelot* @ Abraham's Tent for coffee, tea and the breakfast we carried in our backpacks. We had been climbing for just over two hours. (*Lest you miss the humor, Camelot is the highest place on the mountain that camels can ascend... thus this is their parking lot. It would be many more narrow steps before we reached the actual summit.)

As we sat on the worn Bedouin blankets, snacking on bread rolls, cheese, honey, apricot jam and hard-boiled eggs, the sun made its appearance over the horizon. Layers of color tinted the air as dawn turned into day and outlines of mountain peaks materialized before our eyes. The sounds of Bedouin chatter, belching camels and other pilgrims danced in the air, punctuated by the occasional whistle of a bird. More than once someone said aloud, "Can you believe it? We're here on Mt. Sinai watching the sunrise!"

On the not-so-romantic side, after breakfast we found ourselves making necessary treks to the WC (water closet sans water), where we thanked God for our strong thigh muscles and mothers who had taught us at an early age to squat and hold our nose all at the same time. After our "ablutions," we gathered inside the tent for our morning liturgy. This was one of my absolute favorite moments of the day. As we began to set the space, our host, Abraham, graciously offered a beautiful cloth and spread it on our altar of well-worn wood. It was a piece both stunning in its magical appearance and the contrast of the rich tapestry inside a makeshift teahouse. Our host's humble gesture taught us all much about hospitality and how beauty permeates the most unexpected places.

The threads of our journey continued as our sacristans lit one candle and generously offered it around the circle. From the small flame, we each inhaled and breathed its precious gifts. My mind drifted back to St. Bridget's well in Ireland and my holy time with another pilgrim where I then, as now, was overcome with emotion and blessings offered without words. Following the ritual of the fire, poetry, scripture and our song leader's voice filled the air. My heart burst with joy at the immensity of this simple gathering and the awareness we were meeting together in a Bedouin tent - pilgrims in the desert - much as it could have been in the time of Moses. We were united where thousands - perhaps millions - of others had gathered for centuries. "Take off your shoes for surely this is holy ground." Giggles escaped my throat as the camel's guttural noises punctuated the Holy silence. Amen. Blessed be.

Why is it not this moment that comes first to my mind when I think of Sinai? Perhaps it will be now. Perhaps I just needed to dust the sand off my memories and remember that this morning on Mt. Sinai I walked on holy ground.

This holy day, I invite you to consider what memories of your own may beckon to have the dust removed. Take off your shoes for surely this ground is holy. Amen. Blessed be.

photos ©lucy

• pre-climb collage/journal page
• Sr. J & her steady mount
• view from Camelot
• sunrise on Mt. Sinai
• pilgrim C & Hussein
  

Cairo

Welcome to the beginning of my Egyptian journey! I'd love to hear your thoughts and wonder if you have questions and or topics you'd like to hear more about surrounding this adventure. Please feel free to comment and let me know what's on your mind. Mine is still settling into US time while absorbing the adventures of the last weeks.

September 22, 2010

Arriving in a city after dark has always held particular intrigue - especially when approaching a city I've never before visited. Bleary-eyed from 20 hours of travel and a few time zone changes, I begin to catch my first glimpse of Cairo, the largest city on the African continent. With inhabitants of more than 6 million people and another 10 million in the surrounding areas, it is a vast sea of twinkling light as we approach in evening's dusk.

From my window seat I quickly snap a photo of the setting sun and the reality of where I am landing begins to invade my body. My senses perk up as I hear the Air France flight attendant announce in three languages (English, French and Arabic) our approach into the City of a Thousand Minarets. Not being a geography or history buff or business traveler, many might wonder what I (a lone woman) am doing flying into a Middle Eastern country on this September evening. On this final leg of my journey from Paris to Cairo, I have been gifted the luxury of no seat companion - an amazing thing in itself on a predominantly full flight. The brilliance of solitude fades briefly as I realize I have only myself to rely upon as I enter this new world, however, neither fear nor panic strike me at this moment.

Deplaning, we passengers exit our steel cocoon and are shuttled onto an airport bus that will carry us to the main international terminal. Brilliant yellow lights displaying "Cairo International Airport" move past the bus window. It is a scene I've lived in other cities (sans the Cairo sign) and feels somewhat ordinary for the time being. As we leave the bus and enter the terminal, the reality that I'm in a foreign land blasts into my awareness. Having braved sending my passport to the Egyptian Embassy in the US, my travel visa is already stamped in my passport, so I can forgo the confusion of trying to purchase one now. I fall into line behind a man I take to be British and hope I'm in the right queue. All the while, my eyes are scanning the handbills held by local drivers seeking their passengers as I navigate my way through zealous cab drivers offering me passage. "No, thank you, " I murmur while shaking my head and praying my driver will appear soon.

After moving through the passport check without incident, I edge toward the luggage carousel and await my bags. I am jostled by large men hoisting huge suitcases with little awareness of a petite woman standing in their midst. It is not unfamiliar to home. Again, I scan to see the sign for Abanoub Travel without success. Finally, my two small bags are in my possession and I realize it's time to resort to plan b for transportation. I begin to rummage through my carry-on bag for phone numbers and wish I'd paid more attention to things like international codes and calling protocol on my iPhone. The crowd has thickened as we travelers approach the final turnstile that will release us into the world outside the airport. Suddenly, like a sign from heaven my misspelled name comes into focus. It is held in the hands of a young, roundish man with thinning wavy hair, glasses that match his shape and a welcoming smile. He recognizes the look of relief on my face that I'm sure he's seen a thousand times when picking up others. We introduce ourselves and his name is quickly lost in the buzz of the electric evening air. Still, my body relaxes as my temporary guardian carries my bags and we begin to weave through the maze of human bodies toward our car.

Moments like this are so surreal to me. I've seen them in movies a million times, planned this trip for months, yet hadn't considered this actual moment of my own arrival. It is one played out in cities all over the world, nearly every minute of the day. A traveler arrives in a new city. My history is being written right now as I step into a land I've only read about in history books. I am not just arriving in Cairo, but Cairo is arriving in me. Like two lovers meeting under the cloak of darkness, our eyes have met. Will this city hold my gaze? What will be revealed in the days to come? Will she receive me or cast me off as just another casual lover? I wish I could see her in the light. I can feel the secrets she holds, but the light is unnatural and the wattage too low for visual clarity. Still, I feel her pulsing vibrancy. I hear the language shift quickly from English to Arabic and know the mystery is deepening and being revealed even in this seemingly ordinary moment.

photos © lucy

• landing in Cairo
• sign while traveling toward the Sinai desert
• Cairo airport

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