Writing backwards
I am working on a story, the story of writing myself backwards to the experience of walking the Camino. In so doing I hope to examine how Pilgrimage continues to walk us long after the physical path is no longer under our feet.
Below is a passage from my initial vision statement of sorts.
Spirit is beautifully intangible, something like our conceptions of our selves. I feel the presence of a soul in myself and I have absolutely no solid ideas of what that means. Fortunately I am not possessed of the inclination to unearth unshakable proof of soul. Paradox does not trouble me, rather it lifts my heart up and what rises from within when I look into it is laughter. Perhaps that laughter is the Soul expressing its joy at being sought after? Inexplicably that thought rings with truth in this moment. I rather feel compelled to burst out laughing even now, but out of perhaps too high a regard for reservedness I settle for feeling the bubbling of that laughter within. It feels like the bubbling of a spring, indeed a spring for which I have long sought the source. I searched for it in the land as I walked across Spain. The landscapes of the Camino, were the focus of my work for a time, and they have since become for me the framework upon which I’ve begun a much greater and much more difficult work: of finding the source of my spirit. My soul, once acknowledged, tasks me with knowing its purpose, my purpose, and following it. It all begins in the land.
Below is a passage from my initial vision statement of sorts.
Spirit is beautifully intangible, something like our conceptions of our selves. I feel the presence of a soul in myself and I have absolutely no solid ideas of what that means. Fortunately I am not possessed of the inclination to unearth unshakable proof of soul. Paradox does not trouble me, rather it lifts my heart up and what rises from within when I look into it is laughter. Perhaps that laughter is the Soul expressing its joy at being sought after? Inexplicably that thought rings with truth in this moment. I rather feel compelled to burst out laughing even now, but out of perhaps too high a regard for reservedness I settle for feeling the bubbling of that laughter within. It feels like the bubbling of a spring, indeed a spring for which I have long sought the source. I searched for it in the land as I walked across Spain. The landscapes of the Camino, were the focus of my work for a time, and they have since become for me the framework upon which I’ve begun a much greater and much more difficult work: of finding the source of my spirit. My soul, once acknowledged, tasks me with knowing its purpose, my purpose, and following it. It all begins in the land.
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