Time to go!

Somewhere after the inaguration, the Camino seeped into my head. I don't know why, exactly. It just felt time. I hear drones and I don't want to hear drones. I want  to hear happy sounds again... I am feeling weak both by the news and by my addiction to both the news and my screen. I am forgetting how to pray and how to read.  And I do love paths. I love to walk. I love roads that are not roads. Ones made of dirt that meander in front of you at their own will, and you follow. I love drawing them, and following them. My favorite memories of are dirt paths:

The dirt path along the McKenzie River in Oregon when River lit up with bugs and reflections of the sun and purple and yellow flowers dotted the path North.

The path in St Ives that led to Zennor. (Still) my beloved, most precious path of them all.

The path that led me out of the monastery in France, toward something more real. Somewhere else besides the sounds of the people. The path where I felt for the first time real fear of where I might sleep, sore feet in ballerina slippers and the first time feeling real agonizing thirst for water.

The path in my father's land in Jylland, Denmark, and the little forests and farmlands outside of Vildbjerg where I spent many days crying, dreaming, and escaping from the house.

The paths outside of Polmont, Scotland while being in love, rainy and dreary but happy in heart, and the woods so tame compared to America.

The paths outside of Moab, Utah, traveling with my Uncle. Dreaming amongst red rock and feeling the closest thing I've known to absolute immediate bliss.

The path in St Erth, walking home with a friend, watching her long dresses shuffle in the grass in front of me, and her easy laughter even when my thoughts were so somber.

The paths in Baja, Mexico, walking with the one friend I had there, into the desert to roast among the hot desert dust and finally be away from the Orphanage for a day.

Little dusty dirt paths all throughout my life. My brain--my thoughts are like the Interstate. I can't get off them. But on the Interstate I don't see anything. Nothing at all. I only see exits for McDonalds and Gas Stations.  I long so very much to be on the dirt path again...

And now trump is president.  So, in an effort to make him into a positive, I will let him be the catalyst for my bravest year yet...

 33. A year of ascension. A year to lift oneself up from the little, superficial things, and truly understand why you are here...