I love the word “Holy” because it’s like “hallowed.” When I behold a beautiful painting such as Raphael’s Sistine Madonna, I see an indescribable and all-encompassing radiance of being. Something so profoundly moving that I am transfixed by the picture’s gentle, powerful majesty and fullness of presence. The Madonna and Child stand in a community of beings, which appear to be “across the threshold.” The warm light radiating in the background seems to arise between worlds, between the earthly and the heavenly.

The picture of the burning bush that is not consumed appears to indicate that there is something about my being (or about being-ness) that is eternal. It’s an old testament story. How do I see the ground of my being? What ground am I standing on? Is it holy? I learned once that GOD could be an acronym meaning Generative, Operative and Destructive. Forces that shape our biographies and lives.

Towards the end of last year, I cared for my dying mother. I didn’t need to do a lot of physical care, it was more soul care. She knew she wanted to die at home with family around her. In her dying hours, I realised that I’d better let the palliative care nursing team know the situation. I left the bedroom where my mother was dying to make the phone call. My sister was with her and also my son, his wife and their dog! A candle was burning and a fragrant red rose (picked from a neighbour’s garden) in a vase were on the bedside table. The nurse asked me to describe what was happening, which I did. Then she asked me if I thought I could manage the situation. I’d never been present at a death before, only births. Both require labour! I found myself saying, “Yes!” I knew if complications arose I could call for help. When I returned to the bedroom, my mother looked at me with her wide-opened blue eyes and waved to me. I understood her to be saying, “I’m going now darling” so I knelt beside her and told her that she was doing really well. I sang her a Native American song called Evening Rise (I posted the song as my reflection in Week 4, “Frontiers”). Shortly afterwards, she breathed out for the last time. So peaceful, so gentle and so ordinary. Extraordinary and ordinary at the same time.

The whole experience of my mother’s death has given me a truer understanding of presence. I could not have upheld my mother’s wish to die in this way without the full spectrum of people and “powers that be” allowing it to be. Her dying has not only brought a sense of loss and grief. The greater gift has been fullness of life, something ongoing which surpasses all understanding. For me, this is the realm of Spirit where burns an eternal flame of hope, love, faith and light. The holy fire of human spirit.

Over the last week I’ve been living into the picture of standing still and alone at the shore where the turning takes place, from solid (earth) to liquid (water). The sun before me is setting, the cool moon rises behind me, casting forth my shadow, and around me the sky turns from day into night. The temperature cools.

I’ve also pondered the path following the course of the sun, now setting in the west. Darkness comes, and so does the moon’s luminescent light. Something takes place here. Is it Grace? Is it where soul meets spirit? I feel it has something to do with birth and death, beginnings, endings and becomings marked by a movement in consciousness that carries me on. And maybe this beautiful rhythm bestows freedom and growth in us. For me, the moon evokes a more feminine quality, more inner than outer, and gives rise to memory.

In Goethe’s Fairy Tale, The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily, the story begins with the Ferryman transporting people from one land to another in his boat, but people must pay for his services and wait for him to be ready to take them. In the end, and after much drama and mystery, the snake offers itself to become a bridge so people can walk freely across anytime. An offering.

When I go to sleep at night, I leave the day behind. My day consciousness is laid to rest and I am “carried” into another world. I offer something from my day into the night — a thought, a difficulty, a struggle, a shortcoming, a thanks giving, a relationship, a loved one, a life drama….

Can I honour, through a heartfelt and sacred act at the shoreline, the shedding of something that no longer serves where I am going and yet has served me so well to this moment in time?

Without thinking, I would want to turn away from my shadow and what it presents to me. What I’m not, fears, limitations, what I don’t want to see, listen to, accept or integrate into myself. Can I become friends with my shadow for it is integral to who I become and shapes me into a more authentic person?

I squeal and squirm to myself as I realise the next step is to click “add your voice!” Eek!

So far I’ve only been able to write in my private journal because I’ve been too shy to go public. However, I’ve been deeply moved reading your stories and for that I am grateful! Thank you.

My Santiago is within sight now. In a short time I will be making a decision. That’s my destination, my Santiago, for this pilgrimage — a pilgrimage that’s taken four years and feels like most of the walking has been done through the night without much visibility. If not for my friends along the way, lighting my way on, and for the wondrous stars and cosmos that become visible in the dark, I may well have given up or lost my way. But, somehow, I have endured the journey, crossing many thresholds or frontiers along the way.

I was thinking about the symbol for the Camino walk. From memory, I think it is the scallop shell. Some scallop shells have a clear design, which (and with imagination) remind me of a sunrise with the rays of the sun streaming outwards and upwards. I reflect on the phenomenon that the sunrise always follows night. What a hopeful picture.

My painful journey has been the disintegration of my marriage, after 24 years. There’s also been a process of individuation, but now we are such different people. Crisis, trauma and hardship have worked on our relationship like some natural disaster devastating a place and its people. We are having counselling to help us come to acceptance, understanding and a place of truth. I’ve just turned 60 and I’m glad to have discovered Jane Fonda’s autobiography where she remarks that her life really only started at 60. Good news!
It is Autumn here and many of the leaves have fallen. Even though the old leaves have come down, the little bud of new life is visibly dormant on the branch, awaiting the warm Spring currents to draw forth the new season’s growth.

So, for the time being, I keep walking toward that decision, the glimpse of my destination, this journey’s end. Does my heart know already? Maybe, but the necessity to stay present to/with the process is vital. If I were a Buddhist monk I simply might see this journey as an exercise in spiritual development. It’s certainly been an awakening experience. I do pray though, and I do have great faith in the power of life and love, no matter that a marriage dies and cannot be rekindled.

I have a neighbour who has been retired for a few years. She told me that she’s more busy now than when she worked! Her interests and activities have expanded since finishing her “other work”, which was in a pathology department of a hospital. And she keeps fit too. I see “work” as any engaging activity, whether it brings an income or not. I am sure you will, with ease, make this transition into the next phase of your life. Lovely that you can share this with your partner too. None of us know how long or short our life will be so may you live it fully!