On Pilgrimage

Reading my friend Lori Erickson's blog caused me to reflect on my childhood pilgrimage:

Growing up on gravel roads I can understand the allure of rural road pilgrimages. Time slows down. The snake grass, cattails, and red wing blackbirds that play together with the milkweed and sand burrs in the ditches come into focus. The flat Iowa roads are experienced as undulating, nuanced, and desiccated tributaries that lead to civilization.

The air inspired is at times purified, even rarefied, while occasionally clouded by the intrusion of a faded green mechanical behemoth pulling a dirt destructor or grain gatherer.  Even the sounds of no-thing touching the senses are amplified as the grasshoppers thunderous leaps accentuate the laughter of the Brome grass being tickled by the breeze.

One need not become a recluse for days on end to experience the benefits of a spiritual quest, simply sojourn on the gravel nave of God's cathedral, allow the moment to permeate your soul and refresh you.