progression

earlier I took the dogs to my favorite beach. Its golden, stretches for ages and is uncrowded. Actually the surf isn't so good as the waves just roll up a shoulder by the shore and dump with little expression beyond noise. I managed to bodysurf a little shoulder. clear oceanic waters as far as you can see is as good as it gets. 

Of course the dogs loved it and their little pack marauded about, wrestling pieces of driftwood and gleefullly greeting their fellow canines. After a long walk the foxy ventured into thr sea while the kelpies expressed their disgust at such a hairbrained behaviour. they clearly preferred dirt under their paws. 

Along the shore I found a perfect dark grey scallop shell;  not beautiful or showy, not grand in scale either, just a modest shell fit for pilgrimage. I hoped it was a further symptom of the tide of secret energy pulling me towards the Camino. 

I can't explain but a groundswell is building in my heart to walk to Santiago de Compostela. I see myself setting off on pilgrimage, alone, sandalled feet, lose robes and a small pack. Smiling, but deep in contemplation not bothered by the distance, just making my way to the next rest stop. The only tussle is that I can't chose a single person to honour by my walk; Andrew a victim of clergy abuse, or his long suffering mother Audrey,  perhaps all my fellow Marist Brothers students? My parents? Or Sister Marg who struggles with two types of cancer as reward for a life devoted to administering care for the sick poor.

How does one ever chose such a thing? I suspect that as The Way unfolds these people will visit me as I reflect on their lives and the teachings they offer to me. 

 black sam

 

 Zipp and Cudi.