
Today was only a 20-kilometer walk from Hornillos to Castrojeriz, but I still left long before sunrise.
There is something primal about walking alone in darkness, assisted only by a headlamp or the full moon.
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Today was only a 20-kilometer walk from Hornillos to Castrojeriz, but I still left long before sunrise.
There is something primal about walking alone in darkness, assisted only by a headlamp or the full moon.
Continue reading
I’ve had a run of Irish companions on the Camino today (meaning the past 24 hours).
There is my perennial friend Eoghan (Owen) who I encounter every couple of days.
Last night in Burgos, Kate from Tasmania and Martin from Bristol (Eng.) joined me for some tapas before calling it a night.
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You’d think a day off would mean rest and relaxation. But no.
I spent nearly the entire morning walking about in the massive cathedral. It is not so much a place of worship as a … well … I don’t know what.
Continue readingTo make your troubles go
Just keep on walking all day long!

Since arriving at Casa de la Abuela at 3 pm, I have checked in, made up my bunk with the sheet and pillow case provided, grabbed a responsibly long hot shower, gathered together the dusty clothes for laundry, hung laundry to dry, walked down the street for a cold Coke, booked a room for tomorrow in Logroño, discussed hiking strategies for tomorrow with bunk-room mates, answered e-mail, went shopping for trail snacks, had dinner with housemates, organized my pack for tomorrow…
Today’s walk from Estella to Logroño was 13.5 miles in 85 degree heat.
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I met a woman, in my dreams last night.
Her senses are scrambled.
She touches through her eyes.
She sees through her nose.
She tastes and smells through her skin.
She listens through her mouth.
She speaks through her ears.
Speaking isn’t a sense. I know.
But this was her dream.
I only happened to walk into it.
“What a fine mess you are in,” I say.
“Or is this a path to enlightenment?
“Or a punishment? Some sad karma?”
Mainly, she remains mute, confused.
As would I, in such a confounding scramble.
I ask her if I could walk a mile in her shoes.
“My shoes?” she cries. “Do you mean to say that I still have feet?”
Just what she didn’t need, someone else in her shoes.
“Are they still at the bottom of my legs?” she asks.
Under the circumstances, it was an unkind thing to say.
Swapping sensual responsibilities has its strengths.
Imagine listening through your mouth,
Drawing in another’s words with your breath.
Savoring them, absorbing them, digesting them.
You would actually have to listen.
Rather than think of some clever retort.
Suppose you speak through your ears.
That requires special talent well beyond small talk.
I don’t even know how it can be done.
My dream offered nothing on this.
Maybe, intently listening is a form of speaking.
Silence does speak volumes as others chatter on.
Putting your senses to work in areas
For which they were not trained
Sounds like a grueling, but potentially rewarding, exercise.
Sort of like the blind man whose other senses
Compensate by growing intensely acute.
Perhaps all senses ought to be rotated once in a while,
Like the tires on your car.
We grow lazy, only hearing through our ears,
Seeing through our eyes, speaking/tasting through our mouths,
feeling through our skin, smelling through our noses.
Shake them up, I say!
And when, again, we grow too comfortable,
Rotate them once more!
Keep the fine treads of our senses staying sharp.
Perhaps if we employ all our senses to share the load —
Let the eyes do the speaking, let the ears do the seeing,
Let the skin replace taste and smell …
Soon, all our sensations grow muscle and power.
Newer sensations arise, previously unknown sensations.
Next thing you know, the heart and brain
Want to engage in this circus of sensations, too.
And, then, won’t things get interesting?
We are fully present in processing our environment
We are fully engaged in evaluating, understanding, inhabiting.
Deep immersion, full immersion, absorption and immersion.
Life gets more interesting because we will be, well … living.
No longer just data-processing and consumption machines.
We are higher beings. At one, for once, with the various universes.
The woman in my dream knows none of this just yet.
She is still trying to …
Touch through her eyes.
See through her nose.
Taste and smell through her skin.
Listen through her mouth.
Speak through her ears.
Find her footing.
I try to tell the woman in my dream that it will get better.
But her face is blank. She betrays no thoughts.
The woman in my dream moves on, back to the shadows.
She seems neither excited nor saddened.
I gather it will take some time.
Perhaps she will come back on another night
And show me what she has learned.

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A good friend invited me to spend a Sunday in Balboa Park with a Buddhist monk named Thich Nhat Hanh. I knew very little of him but Sundays in September in San Diego can be glorious and there are few better places than the park for them.
I think it was promoted as a Day of Mindfulness, another subject about which I knew very little.
The day was pretty much a total immersion. We were blissfully adrift in a gentle sea of brown-robed Buddhist monks and nuns. There were dharma talks and long periods of meditation. Some were led by Thay in his soft, barely audible whisper of a voice. Some were led by his followers.
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Photographer Alison Wright and ABC newsman Sam Donaldson share a moment after delivering their talks in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, on Feb.29.
While globe-trotting photographer Alison Wright billed herself as “the warm-up band for Sam Donaldson” and begged the audience not to boo her off stage with shouts of “Sam! Sam! Sam!,” the retired ABC newsman had a whole other take on the evening.
Wright and Donaldson were co-headliners before a packed Literary Society house in the HRM Ballroom in San Miguel de Allende on Wednesday, Jan. 29.
When Donaldson stood up to speak, he was clearly awed by the sometimes harrowing tales and stunning photographs presented by Wright, a featured National Geographic photographer.
“I’ve always believed that you don’t follow dogs or children onstage,” intoned Donaldson, “to which I’ll add, ‘Don’t follow Alison Wright!’ “ Continue reading
I started the day by rescuing a hummingbird
That had been locked in the atrium all night
And was exhausted from beating
Its wings and head
Against the glass.
It rejected my offer of help last night.
Exhaustion and a cold night made it wiser today.
And freedom is its reward.
And then I walked Moppit, the philosopher dog
While counting the hot-air balloons in the sky.
And took a Pilates class.
And stopped at Buonforno’s for a latte
With Bastoncito de avellanas.
Delicious.
I wrote something funny/mean about Donald Trump
That I do not regret
And something important for a friend
Who is not happy with
The way this world is today
And wants to do something about it.
I gave another friend
Directions to the laundry.
A laundry.
There are so many.
All morning, I said
“Buenos Dias” and “Hola”
To everyone I met and didn’t care
If they returned my smile,
Though nearly everyone does.
And now it is nearly noon.
I could have stopped
At “I started the day by rescuing a hummingbird,”
But I’m glad I didn’t.
I have been asked today to discuss the proper way to traverse the Erie Canal, the 363-mile waterway that links Albany, New York, to Buffalo and the Great Lakes.
Before we go any further, it is important for you to know that I was asked to deliver this talk in a dream.
I know.
It shocked me too.