Tag Archives: Prayer

Praying at the Waters

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Deschutes River at Whychus Creek

On Monday, Jed and I made our annual trek along the Alder Springs trail to Whychus Creek’s confluence with the Deschutes River. It’s not a long hike, about six miles round trip. It is a little complicated, though, which is the fun of it. First we hike down into Whychus Creek’s canyon, pretty steep in places. Then we ford Whychus Creek, which this year was only up to my knees. Some years it’s hip-high, quite the adventure for little me. The last leg is a two-mile walk through the canyon on a rocky trail following the curves of Whychus Creek to where it meets the Deschutes. It’s a hike filled with the songs of Canyon Wrens and riparian songbirds, many wildflowers, and funky geology. I love it.

And the water. Oh, the water. The Deschutes River has carved swoops and swirls, bowls and kettles, into its hard basalt bed. Alders line its banks, as one would expect. Also birches, dogwood, roses, willows, the occasional maple, horsetails, and so many more. Canyon walls reach high overhead. Swallows and Turkey Vultures sweep the cloud-filled sky, and, if we’re lucky, American Dippers bob along the rocky bank. This year, we watched a parent American Dipper feed their fledgling. Dippers are aquatic songbirds, unique in their ability to walk and even swim underwater, feeding on aquatic bugs and their larvae.

I feel like praying here, at the waters. As my Christian faith has fallen away, authentic prayer has become more of a struggle. My mind automatically reaches for the words of the Trisagion: “Holy God, Holy and Mighty, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on me.” But those words no longer fit my heart’s yearning, and they haven’t for a long time. Changing the words worked for a while: “Holy God, Holy and Strong, Holy Living One, dwell in me.” But nope. No can do anymore. These words just feel wrong.

This year, as I sat on the river-smoothed basalt with my feet in the cold rushing Deschutes, I waited. I waited for that moment of connection that always comes, the moment I become conscious of what’s always true: river, birds, canyon walls, sky, and I are one. Words will forever be inadequate to express this deep feeling of oneness with Earth and her creatures. What feels authentic and necessary is to rest in that oneness and praise it.

Praise be to you, oh river. Praise be to you, oh dipper. Praise be to you, oh canyon. Praise be to you, clouds and swallows and vultures. Praise be to you, oh my body that brings me here. Praise be to Earth and all who dwell within her.

Photo credit: Jed Holdorph

The World’s Heart – A Mystical Camino Moment

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On the Meseta, Day 22

On the Meseta, Day 17 (22 May 2014)

A chilly rainy day on the Meseta. May 22, 2014. Camino Day 17. I was walking by myself, surrounded by other peregrinos. Tired, cold, and wet.

Walking, and walking, and walking.

Then – the dawning awareness of a massive heart beneath us, in the Earth, supporting us and buoying us. Loving us. My heart was connected to this heart, as were the hearts of all the pilgrims around me. All our hearts were tethered to this one great Earth Heart.

Through this Heart we are all connected.

I’m connected, through this Heart, to the child atop the Mumbai garbage heap, to the American sex trafficker, to Donald Trump.

I’m connected, through this Heart, to all the woody green tree hearts, the flinty granite rock hearts, and the wild blue ocean heart.

I’m connected, through this Heart, to raven hearts, rattlesnake hearts, and otter hearts, too.

I think it’s probable that Earth Heart is connected to Moon Heart, Mars Heart, Orion Heart, etc. And that all those interstellar hearts are connected to Universe Heart. But I don’t have any data to back up my hypothesis.  😉

I think our connection to Earth Heart is what we call “God.”

This connection is how prayer works.

This connection is why my choices matter.

This connection is why I must heal what’s broken in me.

Because we’re all connected through this Deep Heart.

All of this is, of course, completely unprovable by any quantitative measure.

And I know it’s true.

“The Sweet Confinement Of Your Aloneness”

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Today is Day 29 of our Camino. The Way has felt hard. And I feel so blessed to be here. This poem of David Whyte’s has bubbled its way to awareness these last two days as I have walked through western Spain — over mountains, through tiny villages and cities, and among vineyards and cherry orchards.

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

— David Whyte
from The House of Belonging
©1996 Many Rivers Press

The Camino has provided space and opportunity to realize that I have cluttered my life with things and people and activities that do not bring me alive. The Way is so huge that the smallness I have allowed is starkly apparent. I am seeing into my heart — seeing glimmers of the things and people and activities that are life-giving for me. I am learning in my innermost being that my heart, Earth’s heart, and God’s heart are one and the same.

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Experiences On the Road

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We slept last night in Carrion de los Condes in an albergue provided by the Hijos de San Vicente de Pablo. The sisters were lovely, warm and welcoming and highly huggable. They offered an oracion in their chapel last evening that included this composition. I offer it to you in the sisters’ charming translation:

EXPERIENCES ON THE ROAD

The Camino de Santiago is considered a WAY INSIDE, especially for those, who do it for religious reasons. For this reason there are prayers performed during the course of what is considered the Way of Life:
*Look hear, breath deeply, find tracks and wonders contact with nature, the peoples and their people, art history, the other pilgrims the hospitaleros That’s the beauty!, Something unique! footprints
Creator
*Enjoy the silence, solitude, seeking look. Pilgrim, Friend and Companion: Jesus walks with you. He is “WAY TRUTH AND LIFE”. Sit by the slowly…
*Read his word carries inside yourself and ruminating a passage along your way alo. Jesus offers what you get in the way, what you carry in your heart, you’re looking crave, talk to your loved ones, for those who suffer … We hear each other, share the word.
*Eat your bread of life the Eucharist
*Arise with joy, pilgrim march back to “home” now begins for you the true way, the daily life, consider what you have experienced and live in gratitude on the road … The road has operated profound changes in you, live with the right and necessary, greets and smiles, serves shares help.

I think their translation is spot on, and I will carry it with me on the Way.

What I’ve Learned So Far on the Camino

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Only 36 hours on the Camino and I have learned so much already! Jed and I are in Zubiri, in Navarra. Yesterday we crossed the Pyrenees from France, a day that I have been worried about for months. We spent the night in Roncesvalles, in the Albergue Provincial at the foot of the Spanish Pyrenees, a monastery since medieval times. Here’s a little of what I know so far.

1. Transitions can happen when I’m not looking. We crossed from France into Spain and I didn’t know it because I missed the border sign, which I had been watching for. It didn’t matter. The transition happened anyway.

2. Mass in Spanish may still be incredible moving, probably more so than in English. I understand why people miss the Latin mass. “Esta noche, Espana es el mundo.” I cried. Of course, I was VERY TIRED.

3. What I think will be the hard part might not actually be the hard part. Twelve miles of interminable climbing yesterday was a piece of cake compared to the last two downhill miles, which hurt like a son of a bitch.

4. The oddest things evoke a visceral response. In the old church last night in Roncesvalles, there was a simple statue of St. James that spoke to my heart much more clearly than the gilded Virgen de Roncesvalles that dates from the 1400s. My response has nothing to do with my ego and everything to do with my heart.

5. Sometimes good advice is to “get up more times that you fall,” and sometimes good advice is “enough is enough.” Wisdom is probably being able to tell which one applies at any given moment. I hope I learn how to do that.

Less profoundly:

6. I really like waking to the serenading of volunteer Danish hospitaleros strolling through the dormitory singing “Wake up, little Suzy,” and “Morning has broken” at 6 am. This is a thoroughly charming ritual and I want more of it.

7. There are gigantic slugs in Spain, also.

8. Basque macaroons and pate are delicious, as is red wine from Navarra.

Most profoundly of all:

9. I am learning that I can walk farther than I thought I could (fueled primarily by cafe con leche and toast) and that I am so blessed, especially to be here with Jed.

Thank you all for your prayers and positive juju. I am grateful.

More lessons to follow.

Buen Camino!