In Spring of 2023 I said something aloud which is what I ought to have said about this haiku project long I did.
“I’m sort of on a pilgrimage” I said to a stranger.
While it was true of that Spring day and it was true of writing haiku for 377 days and hugging trees for 377 days (and beyond) and writing love notes for 377 days saying “I’m sort of on a pilgrimage” is easier to say to strangers or people you doubt you will see again.
Even more odd was this person I didn’t recognize is someone whose history intersects with mine but I never would have known if we hadn’t had a conversation, inspired by me taking note of the writing on his t-shirt.
On that Spring Day in 2023 I was in a garden I visited regularly as a child. It is a public garden I used to walk by on my way to school. Honeysuckle grew on its fences, a delight to taste at the opposite end of the block where I spent 14 formative years.
I decided to go there randomly on a recent Saturday because I was being called to deepen my healing – why or how or because – the details are unclear. I simply knew that in order to get the work done I was supposed to visit the place where my memories began.
Where was the wild path?
Long ago invitation to fear –
Now step beyond it
“I was afraid of everything as a little kid,” I said to the man wearing the interesting t-shirt. “I was even afraid of lightning bugs.”
I rolled my eyes and looked away, more than slightly embarrassed.
This was less than ten minutes into our conversation. He had spoken my childhood story, “Are you Sue Jordan’s sister?” referring to my older sister. She was the personified antithesis of being afraid of a lightning bug.
“I was afraid of the gully at Carteret Park,” I continued. I was on a roll.
Somehow, I held onto my dignity enough to not mention my first near death moment choking on a gum ball outside the now long-gone Grand Union.
The adult me, though, authentically spoke of being on a pilgrimage even though I had no idea why those words flowed out of my mouth with authority, but a soulful lightbulb went off in my head as I spoke to them.
These 377 Goals weren’t goals at all. They weren’t challenges or projects or something to check off a to-do list.
The haiku writing and tree-hugging and the daily love note greetings from my everyday life were all post near-death pilgrimages back to being fully alive.
These experiences of pilgrimage left evidence that said, “I am still here. I am alive. I am curious. I am not done with this life and this life is not done with me.”
These haiku say “I am devoted to continuing. I am devoted to holding life and all the love I can inside these measurable, meaningful, love-drenched everyday containers of creativity.”
Patricia Hampl said “The paradox: there can be no pilgrimage without a destination, but the destination is also not the real point of the endeavor. Not the destination, but the willingness to wander in pursuit characterizes pilgrimage. Willingness: to hear the tales along the way, to make the casual choices of travel, to acquiesce even to boredom. That’s a pilgrimage — a mind full of journey.”
Inhale: look at what is in front of you (first line)
Hold: Allow yourself to bring the message of the image in front of you into your body (middle line)
Exhale: Let the image go – hold the clearest bits in language for transcription! (third line)
Hold: Check in – repeat or complete? Sometimes you may even break rules.
You, who is reading
With a body, breath and soul
Crack your heart open
Haiku as a Verb
Question: Have you ever taken a pilgrimage? Whether you have or haven’t, where would you go if you were creating a pilgrimage?
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