One month later

Home a month now.  The miraculous fading into the anxiety and responsibilities of everyday that are at times overwhelming.  That month was another world, and my memory of that mostly now resides in the sudden throbbing pain in my foot that grabs my attention in the middle of the night.  Or a blurry picture of a four-leaf clover, or a sign of for an albergue, or an empty room, or a sign for a bus stop: all reminders that those days, those moments and answers happened.

I had only the barest skeleton of a plan at any time, flying by the seat of my pants, perhaps a result of the sudden booking of the plane ticket (a month earlier than I'd meant to go, because that was what was affordable) so not really being ready, i.e., maps would have been helpful when arriving in a major city after dark, etc.  I remember thinking at some point that it seemed very chaotic, and I don't want to say "irresponsible", but even at the time, it felt like a strange, somewhat disorienting  way to live. It was on the very edge between trust and responsibilty.  And I felt the tension.

And the foot pain ending up calling the shots, and changing the plans every single day, walking into Viaña  being the one exception where I pushed past it, thanks to my about to explode bladder.

But living with the tension, and somehow that being a safe place to experience it, was a radical place of trust: in myself, in community of others, and in God.  I'm not at all sure I want to be there (or can, or need to) live in that place all the time, even then I thought it was a somewhat unsettling and crazy way to live, surely there needs to be some plan or you just drift without any bearing.  But then perhaps we are surrounded by the miraculous all the time, and we can't see it, or accept it because we need to always call the shots and be in control.  Maybe we pass by the anwers we need and seek because we have already decided how they need to be, what they look like, when they will arrive, etc., and when an answer appears that doesn't fit the mold, we fail to see it, or brush it aside for something more to our preconceived image?  How does one balance that? I felt full and surrounded by the miraculous, everyday miracles, the things we often take for granted: flowers, and birdsong, and shelter, and food, and a seat on a bus, a four-leafed clover, someone giving me directions when I needed it the most (that happened a lot.)

How does this inform my life, now that I'm home and out of that environment? How does the experience inform my life now that it seems more like a dream than something that actually happened?  It fades into almost nothingness, and the summer heat turns to frost and rain, and daily responsibilities, and new crisis scream for attention.  And my connection is a throbbing foot that wakes me up in the night, and I want it to heal, and when it does, will I forget?