ChadEstes
New Member
- Time of past OR future Camino
- Portuguese '22, Frances '23, PCostal/Primitivo '24
I'm in the middle of this book and this following passage really spoke to me so I thought I'd share it.
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"The morning had started early back at the Galleon, some peregrinos up at dawn, trying to be quiet, hurrying to get underway. There seemed to be an urgency, an anxiety governing their movements. It must have been concern over finding a place to sleep. Trying to get to the next albergue early, before it filled up, especially the big public ones. I didnât like that feeling of being rushed, of worrying about where you would end up. It seemed self-imposed, like that sense of urgency that sometimes overcomes you in life, of trying to finish just one more item on your punch list, so that at the end of the day, or the end of your existence, everything is exactly how you want it. This moment never arrives, but itâs easy to convince yourself that with the proper exertion, it will. Iâll get the perfect bunk if I beat everyone else there. But what about the walk itself?...
...The Camino in Spain had become: The stories.
Everyone celebrating their stories. Or wrestling with them. Or chasing them. Or trying to decipher them. Stepping away from them, sharing them, going beyond them. Through the individual stories connecting with each other and maybe finding understanding and insight, or the courage to go deeper, or to escape. Or merely to create the space in order to allow yourself to shake loose and metamorphosize into the next lifecycle.
Yet mostly we hide inside and cling to our stories, tenaciously, whether theyâre true or representative or not. We are stubborn. Reluctant to change or admit failure. To take risks or evolve. To let go. I say we, but of course I mean me. I must admit, I was getting tired of hearing my own story by this point â where I was from, what I had done, what I knew, where was I going.
Richard Rohr, a contemporary Franciscan friar, points out it usually takes a force as powerful as loss or love to reveal a new way of being, if we are open to it. The catalyst can also be something more meditative, like the Camino, where you start to repeatedly bump up against the limits of your self, both mentally and physically. This constant force, like river on rock, wears down your rigidities and the narrative notions of who you are, who you have to be, and allows you to drop deeper and deeper into...what?
I donât know.
This is where I reach for one of my favorite phrases of Rohr: Faith is patience with mystery.
For some faith is a kind of certainty, an explanation for everything. This kind of faith can absolve you of responsibility. I prefer Rohrâs perspective, where faith is more of a sense of peace and acceptance that at the same time requires action. It requires patience, which implies a willingness to constantly examine.
I donât know where you end up, through prayer, through meditation, through walking, through love, through pain, through death. But having the faith to embark on the mysterious journey in the first place, with genuine openness of heart, that, to me, seems a good place to start. A good place to start writing a truer story.
As long as you arenât obsessing too much about finding a bed."
______________________________________________________________________________
"The morning had started early back at the Galleon, some peregrinos up at dawn, trying to be quiet, hurrying to get underway. There seemed to be an urgency, an anxiety governing their movements. It must have been concern over finding a place to sleep. Trying to get to the next albergue early, before it filled up, especially the big public ones. I didnât like that feeling of being rushed, of worrying about where you would end up. It seemed self-imposed, like that sense of urgency that sometimes overcomes you in life, of trying to finish just one more item on your punch list, so that at the end of the day, or the end of your existence, everything is exactly how you want it. This moment never arrives, but itâs easy to convince yourself that with the proper exertion, it will. Iâll get the perfect bunk if I beat everyone else there. But what about the walk itself?...
...The Camino in Spain had become: The stories.
Everyone celebrating their stories. Or wrestling with them. Or chasing them. Or trying to decipher them. Stepping away from them, sharing them, going beyond them. Through the individual stories connecting with each other and maybe finding understanding and insight, or the courage to go deeper, or to escape. Or merely to create the space in order to allow yourself to shake loose and metamorphosize into the next lifecycle.
Yet mostly we hide inside and cling to our stories, tenaciously, whether theyâre true or representative or not. We are stubborn. Reluctant to change or admit failure. To take risks or evolve. To let go. I say we, but of course I mean me. I must admit, I was getting tired of hearing my own story by this point â where I was from, what I had done, what I knew, where was I going.
Richard Rohr, a contemporary Franciscan friar, points out it usually takes a force as powerful as loss or love to reveal a new way of being, if we are open to it. The catalyst can also be something more meditative, like the Camino, where you start to repeatedly bump up against the limits of your self, both mentally and physically. This constant force, like river on rock, wears down your rigidities and the narrative notions of who you are, who you have to be, and allows you to drop deeper and deeper into...what?
I donât know.
This is where I reach for one of my favorite phrases of Rohr: Faith is patience with mystery.
For some faith is a kind of certainty, an explanation for everything. This kind of faith can absolve you of responsibility. I prefer Rohrâs perspective, where faith is more of a sense of peace and acceptance that at the same time requires action. It requires patience, which implies a willingness to constantly examine.
I donât know where you end up, through prayer, through meditation, through walking, through love, through pain, through death. But having the faith to embark on the mysterious journey in the first place, with genuine openness of heart, that, to me, seems a good place to start. A good place to start writing a truer story.
As long as you arenât obsessing too much about finding a bed."
