just got the best calf massage from Casey.
also right before we got into town today, I pet a cat for a little bit… the little things you miss…
Category Archives: Where am I?
Paul – Monday
The Man Idol
An ancient Hindu story:
A shipwrecked merchant drifted to the shore of Ceylon, where Vibhishana was the King of the Monsters. At the sight of him Vibhishana became ecstatic with joy and said, “Ah! He looks just like my Rama. The same human form!” He then had rich clothes and jewels put on the merchant and worshiped him.
The Hindu mystic Ramakrishna says, “When I first heard this story I felt an indescribable delight. If God can be worshiped in images of clay, should he not be worshiped in people?”
(The Song of the Bird by Anthony de Mello)
Brian – Monday
In Viatoris, sunny, short walk, with suprises all the way in. Verweile Doch.
Cecelia- Monday
Carrion de los condes, living it up with cheese and nuts in a private room at hostal la corte
Tracie – Monday
Albergue Viatoris
KiANa-MonDAY
San martin del camino–15:00
Rachel – Sunday
Karen, Amber and Paul are angels. That is all.
PS I will leave you with a couple humorously cheesy, yet somewhat applicable quotes for today and tomorrow in Brierly’s guidebook,
“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,”
&
“Silence is golden.”
I will admit that he’s got a few very good ones throughout the book that I will keep to myself! You’ll just have to walk it yourself to find out!
Ciao!
Casey- April 17th
Enjoyed a wonderful homemade meal tonight, and the owner of the albergue has eleven day old kittens!!!! I am enchanted. This news warmed my heart enough to make me forget for a brief moment that I am a soggy cold pilgrim.
Cooper – Sunday
Ledigos
Brian – Sunday
“…how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.. ” I add, nonchalantly, to our discussion revolving around whether or not we deserve the help we get.
“you got it…” Thom says softly, throwing his elbow lightly and playfully into my arm.
Taking It Home to Jerome
In Baton Rouge, there was a DJ on the soul station who was
always urging his listeners to “take it on home to Jerome.”
No one knew who Jerome was. And nobody cared. So it
didn’t matter. I was, what, ten, twelve? I didn’t have anything
to take home to anyone. Parents and teachers told us that all
we needed to do in this world were three things: be happy,
do good, and find work that fulfills you. But I also wanted
to learn that trick where you grab your left ankle in your
right hand and then jump through with your other leg.
Everything else was to come, everything about love:
the sadness of it, knowing it can’t last, that all lives must end,
all hearts are broken. Sometimes when I’m writing a poem,
I feel as though I’m operating that crusher that turns
a full-size car into a metal cube the size of a suitcase.
At other times, I’m just a secretary: the world has so much
to say, and I’m writing it down. This great tenderness