On the Eve of my Camino

Tomorrow I leave to walk the Camino in northern Spain.  I’ve had people ask if I’m going to blog, post on Facebook, go to meetings, call my husband or sister or sponsors.  No.  I plan to be silent as much as possible during this 10 day walking meditation retreat.  Sure, I’ll interact with other pilgrims along the way, have conversations with people from around the world, talk to inn keepers and shop owners in my rusty Spanish. But for the most part, I hope to be silent for hours on end listening to inner guidance, the still small voice, or the conversation of the natural world.

 I crave this silence even as I run pell mell from it during a typical day.  When I get on Facebook, time slips away and before I know it, my consciousness has ping ponged from political analysis to spiritual guidance, from friends who rejoice about weight loss to others who share heartbreak. Over the years I’ve curated my own life for social media consumption, and developed a habit of thinking in captions, imagining an audience response, and checking back frequently for comments and likes.  I don’t know how to moderate this habit, so I’m going cold turkey and taking a social media fast.

I’m walking for ten or so days because I want to slow down, to “move at the pace of guidance,” as Christina Baldwin so eloquently puts it, and to examine what’s underneath these desires to remove myself from the moment or intensify it.

I sit everyday for twenty minutes of meditation to improve my conscious awareness of how connected to Source I already am.  That connection never goes away, but my consciousness sure shifts throughout a day. Walking in silence, paying attention to each step on a stony path, putting a walking stick down before my feet move requires a level of mindfulness I don’t need to get through my usual world. Displacing myself, being physically uncomfortable and emotionally off balance because I have no plans or reservations, knowing no one, and being in the elements most of the day means I will have to draw upon inner spiritual resources for help and guidance.

Last night I found a shell, drilled a hole in it and threaded wire to attach it to my backpack.  That may not sound like a big deal, but I don’t use drills or cut wire, and so my journey is already underway, using new skills and what’s at hand to make do.

Where do you find safety?

Last night I took a walk in my neighborhood and admired the many yards blooming with flowers, shrubs, and ornaments.  These modest houses are well-kept, close together, and built in a time of solid construction. I’ve learned how deep the roots in northeast Minneapolis are for some people who live in their grandparents’ house, or return to the block on which they were raised, or have children living close by.  We don’t need bigger houses to enjoy a marvelous life.

Where do you find safety? We each hold a worldview that helps us feel safe.  Right now, a group that believes there’s not enough for everyone and therefore they need to insure they get theirs (“we will not be replaced”) is in the news. A perspective of scarcity interprets anyone else’s advance as dangerous and any means towards self-protection as ok.

I feel safe believing this is an abundant world, and that when everyone has food, shelter, water, education and health, we’re all better off.  As I let go of more stuff, cut my working hours with a corresponding cut in pay, and stop shopping for recreation, I learn to focus on what truly nourishes my spirit—connections with others, creative endeavors, and time outside. 

In less than 10 days I head off to walk in Spain--an attempt to displace myself from routine, put my safety in the hands of strangers, and live with what I carry in a backpack. It’s one thing to say this world is abundant and loving and another to trust it through action. No doubt at least a few times I’ll have to leap empty-handed into a void and develop new levels of faith. (I’ll also carry a phone and a credit card,  a safety net millions do not have.)

How to reconcile these two viewpoints of the way the world operates? How to talk to someone threatened by another’s thriving? I don’t know.  I have people who believe this in my life today, and I’m not certain how to have conversations with them.  Maybe when I return I’ll have new stories that show that loving everyone in this world really is the route to freedom and joy.

Why am I doing the Camino?

I’ve felt called to take this pilgrimage across northern Spain ever since I saw the documentary about it, which I sought out because I’d read two memoirs by people who had walked it, and then I saw The Way with Martin Sheen.  All of those confirmed this was something I wanted to do, and for a while I asked friends if they’d like to go. Everyone had bad feet or bad knees, and one dear friend said yes and then backed out because she doesn’t like to walk at all and realized she just wanted to spend time with me.

So I’m going alone, two years after my original plan, and only for a couple weeks. I have sought the advice of psychics several times and the messages are always about letting go of planning, buying more socks than I think I need, and being open to ending it sooner if that’s what happens.  Be prepared for pain, but also don’t push.

I’m a transformation junkie and have learned one of the best ways to change is to displace myself regularly. I had a huge shift at 17 while living in Turkey as an exchange student for a summer. I didn’t know the language, my dad had just died, I got homesick, started smoking and was drunk for the first time there. I also never saw the world the same way. Since then I’ve been looking to be transformed through travel, and am usually disappointed because I’ve been a tourist rather than a traveler mostly since then.

So walking across Spain feels like being a traveler, staying in little towns or big cities, resting or pushing on, eating or going hungry, all of this looms ahead of me. I studied Spanish but it’s been years. I am hopeful it will come back.

What is the Camino to me?

It’s a chance to be in quiet, without the usual distractions of facebook, or the radio, or even other people.

It’s a chance to ask for help when I’m lost, for conversation when I’m lonely, and for food when I’m hungry or a bed when tired.

It’s an opportunity to follow the thread of an idea to its conclusion without interruption.

It’s the chance to remember things I’ve forgotten and re-experience blissful memories.

It’s a chance to pray while walking, bring people into my heart, and send love to the world.

It’s a chance to be surprised, expect lovely connections, and look for synchronicity.

It’s a chance to ask and watch the need be fulfilled in the most amazing and timely ways.

It's a chance to really know that things are always working out for me.

It’s a chance to talk to my body, listen to it deeply, give it what it needs and see what she can do.

It’s a chance to appreciate my strength, stamina, and spirit of adventure.

It’s mostly a chance to listen to my intuition, follow my heart’s desires, and do exactly what I want for a couple weeks without taking anyone else into account.

Imagining What Could Be

I’ve noticed that I’ve been isolating, not reaching out to the many people in my life I love. The other night I devoted the entire evening to Facebook rather than write, journal, call someone, read, take a walk or swim. I’ve been cutting corners on meditation because my phone is too close at hand, and I've filled spare time with an obsessive hunt for a bargain in my new size. What’s up? These little indicators tell me it’s time to get more connected.

The best way I know how to deepen my spiritual connection is to savor, so yesterday, as I drove 45 minutes to work, I didn’t turn on the radio but rather talked aloud to myself and the universe. I started with appreciations-- for my trusty car, which I love every single time I get into it, for my house, which I adore when I take the beautiful stairs or walk through an archway.   I loved the skirt I was wearing, the cup I was using, and the days I had just spent in Florida.   Finding things I love isn’t difficult and acknowledging them opens me to more.

I believe what we focus on expands because I’ve watched it work time after time in my life. Attention is energy and nourishment that makes whatever I’m looking at grow. When I focus on what I DO want, I keep seeing that. When I rest assured that my heart’s desires will come, I see evidence. I don’t live here all the time. I’m overwhelmed by the news, distracted by my social media feed, and absorbed by stories of hardship and tragedy I hear every day. But I get to choose what evidence I’m looking for in the case I’m making about the world.

I’m trying to reconcile my belief that we create our world, whether we’re conscious of it or not, with the actual world we live in, which is filled with inequality, and pain.  I admire people who fight injustice.  They are courageous and smart, persevering and energetic. It seems to be their path this lifetime.

I’m more energized by connections and nourished by looking for the best in a situation or a person.  I’d rather imagine what could be, share solutions, and find what’s working in a given situation. Years ago, when I read the philosopher and rhetorician Kenneth Burke, I was struck by his observation that good rather than evil lies at the root of human purpose, and he used war as his evidence. What act requires more cooperation than war, he asked? Such a perspective opens up my horizon of what’s possible. My spiritual work and my daily challenge is to stay focused on what IS working and keep leaning into that light. 

Interrupting a Shame Spiral

I woke up at 4 am this morning in a remorse and shame spiral.  I realized that I don’t use my gym membership much at all, certainly not enough to justify the monthly fee. This has been the case all year, and, as I look at my busy summer and fall, will probably continue.  On reflection, I knew that I actually stopped using the gym regularly eighteen months ago when we moved. Going to the new gym never worked its way into my routines: it isn’t as close, doesn’t have as robust a schedule, blah blah blah.

These are mere facts, but I woke up feeling stupid, wasteful, almost criminal.  A voice in my head added up how much money I’ve “squandered” and asked if I wanted to be the kind of person who no longer swims, does yoga, or walks in the winter. Nothing particular happened to set this off, except I’ve removed my oldest way of feeling shame—overeating--and so now my inner critic is searching for something else to beat myself up about.

Even as I felt paralyzed, I felt silly for focusing on something so minor when the world has much bigger problems to tend. And yet I believe that the more I can become healed and whole, the more I offer a troubled world.  So I looked for the choices I have on this issue:

A)     Change my behavior and develop new habits. Start using the gym, perhaps going frequently enough to get the monthly discount from my insurance company or just incorporating swimming or yoga into my week.

B)     Change my behavior and embrace the emptiness. Quit the gym and trust that I’ll get enough walking in, find a yoga studio nearer to home, and use the pool that we have access to in the summer. Or not.

C)     Change my mental framework. Keep the situation as is and consider the fee a gift to the universe or a down payment on eventual motivation.

 I don’t have the option of staying with the status quo and beating myself up about it every single day. That might have been my old pattern, but it doesn’t serve me today. It disrupts my sleep, distracts my attention to other things, and interferes with my celebration of life. I don’t have to make this decision today, but I do need to make it for my own peace of mind, which is priceless.

Loving with Wild Abandon

There are days it feels like a musty closet door of my heart has opened, and there are other days where I’ve put an extra padlock on the door.  Recently I’ve been ambushed by extravagant love for the clients I work with--men and women 18 to 50, at different places in their desire to get healthier.  Last week, as our circle created a sacred container of listening hearts. I heard a dozen stories of grief and loss, some delivered through tears.

Keenly aware that there was not one thing I could say to diminish the pain, I gave thanks that the ongoing work of life in recovery is learning to be present to it all without escape. After my father died when I was 16, I watched my mother close down for the next 30 years from a broken heart.. For decades I used alcohol, drugs, food, and shopping to buffer whatever pain I experienced. Today I have different practices that also need to be dismantled if I am to have authentic connections with others, for I’m just now learning to keep my heart open when it cracks.

One way I have “protected” myself is focusing on the faults, flaws, and what’s missing in those I love. I make up stories, rehearse of old hurts, and spend way too much time wondering what you think about me to be vulnerably receptive to the love I inevitably feel when I sit quietly and simply listen.

What would my life be like if I loved with wild abandon? What if I let go absolutely, not into an abyss, but into a soft feather bed of wonder, joy, and delicious love? I feel like I’m in new territory, willing to get my heart broken by another’s pain or rejection, just as I’m willing to be healed by another’s gratitude and tender love. I’m willing to share what’s really true for me in the moment, including the stories that don’t have a tidy spiritual lesson, yet.

The 12 Steps as Characters

After reading J. Ruth Gendler's Book of Qualities, I thought about what the 12 Steps, which I teach regularly, would be like if they were characters.    Let me know what you think.

The 12 Steps as Characters

One crawls onto the stage, shirt torn, mud under fingernails, thirsty and in need of a haircut. He’s been alone so long that human touch is an immediate balm. He eats and rests so deeply the restoration seems miraculous.  He’s actually been wanting this for some time.

Two walks barefoot across a lush grassy yard, tentative at first, with head up, amazed at the sunshine and blooming flowers. She’s curious, her heart is tender, and she holds the hand of a wise elder, a stranger perhaps, who already loves her.

Three is a student who buckles down to study. While always smart, he realizes this time he has to do things in order, and that people can see through his glib responses. To get where he wants to be, he’ll have to be more disciplined than ever and work with a level of consistency that will be challenging. He decides to give it a try.

Four is a savvy businesswoman who sees clutter and doesn’t look away. She’s pulled everything out of the junk drawer then tosses some items in the trash and finds the proper place for the rest. When she’s finished, she takes a deep breath, the first one in years that truly feels free.

Five is on his way home from school and doesn’t yet know a plate of cookies and a listening ear await him.  He bursts through the door ready to share some details, reluctant to tell other stories, but because the kind person waiting is eager to hear it all, he tells it all.

Six is a middle school girl alone with the door closed standing before a mirror. She’s happy with her eyes, mortified by her nose, yet sees it all clearly--the blemishes and circles she tries to hide from the world. She remembers her friends are envious of her hair and smiles.

Seven is a baseball player ready to be coached. He has a pretty good pitch and swing but it could be even better and he needs help to get there. He signs up for lessons, shows up on time, and faithfully practices because he believes he can improve, with help.

Eight is a mother about to see her son get married. She reviews their years together and wonders about some of the moments—was she selfish? Did she push him too hard? Did she encourage her young man’s emotional intelligence or worry about him fitting in? There’s not a moment she’s forgotten, and she takes out each memory to see it from a new light, the perspective of letting it go in order to see who he is today.

Nine is a police officer who used too much force in his last interaction and needs to go back into the community to make it right. He gets out of the car and walks the neighborhoods without a gun, listening to people’s stories, receiving their complaints, and asking what he can do to restore trust and right relationship. He’s open, non-defensive and ready to learn and grow.

Ten is a night nurse, intuitive, wide-awake, and wise. As she does her rounds, she pays attention to anything out of the ordinary—sounds, movements, irregular breath--and then moves without hesitation to make the necessary adjustments to return things to optional operation.  She’s good at this because she’s experienced and never cuts corners.

Eleven is a farmer who daily puts her hands into the dirt, welcomes the rain, and turns like a plant towards the sun. She greets the wind, the grain moving, and the brook through her property as friends. When she learns what needs to happen next, she doesn’t hesitate to do it. This life depends on her listening and acting in alignment.

Twelve is a troop of boy scouts volunteering at a soup kitchen. They arrive smiling and do whatever is asked of them. They do the work with happy hearts because they are having fun together. Their laughter and occasional singing fills the shelter with light and soon everyone else is smiling. They’re eager to come back next week.

JoAnn Campbell-Rice, May 2017