A poem for your reading pleasure. Written on site today in response to an experience while out walking on the dunes next to the hermitage.
I’m including a photo I made a few weeks ago of the exact place where the poem was written,
And many loving thanks to my partner hermit for the sketch made in the same area today (synchronistically it was made unknown to me and vica versa)
Please enjoy.
Love from Paul the Hermit
BRIGHT LIGHTS IN THE DUNEFIELDS
Today. On the Ocean Track. Daily hiking across the top of the dunefields. Not so sure-footed, I trudge heavy-footed.
As I pass by, there are bright lights in the dunefields. I pause in my passing as my eyes are drawn (or is it my heart?) to the bright lights in the dunefields.
I feast my senses upon the bright lights in the dunefields. They bless me, these bright lights. They sing to me; they speak to me.
In my silence, I hear them. But I hear not voices. I see them. But I see not colours, shapes or forms.
What I see, I see. I see me, I see you. They see me, the bright lights in the dunefields.
They see you; can you see them? These bright lights in the dunefields.
Today I went on a pilgrimage.Not that I don’t undertake all kinds of little pilgrimages all the time. And even more, it’s not as if my whole life – just like yours and everyone else’s – isn’t one ongoing and continuing pilgrimage.
All true; but this one, today, was embarked upon in what might be called, a classic manner: on foot, to a place of sacred significance, and in a spirit of contemplation of the nature of the journey as well on that which is being pilgrimed too. (I am positive there is no such word!)
In this case, today’s pilgrimage, that place was a church about two and a half kilometres from the hermitage. It’s a place I have visited several time, but today was the first time I set out as a pilgrim and walked in the way and spirit of the pilgrim.
Our Lady of the Rosary is a Catholic church dedicated to the Mother of Jesus in her role as patron of the Holy Rosary, a Catholic way of prayer that has evolved over time and is a key part of the lives of many Catholic people.
Just to the right, just inside the door there is a plain brick wall in which there is a small niche. The niche holds an almost life-size statue of Mary. She stands, hands folded over her chest on which sits the Dove of Peace.
You can see from the photo that the church itself is a lovely, quiet, serene place full of good vibes and nice peaceful energies. The object, however, of my pilgrimage was not the church in itself, but stood just inside the side door accessed through an equally peaceful, fountain centred garden.
I have come to offer her – this form or manifestation of the Divine Mother – the prayer I wrote to her which I hope you saw when I posted it on this blog recently.
I had decided that my pilgrimage vow would be fulfilled once I had knelt at her feet and offered her the words of my heart in prayer.
My reverence for the Divine Mother is well known, and especially in her form as Mary the Mother of Jesus. Or Our Lady as we called her as good little Catholic children way back in the long ago. And I know I have said often that the entirety of the material and non-material cosmos is a manifestation of the Divine.
So, why then a special trip on foot, that I’m labeling a pilgrimage to a specific site, so I can kneel at the feet of a statue that I know perfectly well is made of stone or plaster and is simply a symbol of one aspect of the Divine?
Actually, the question has answered itself. The pilgrimage and my associated actions worded in that question tell us the why.
It is about acknowledging at a heart level and in my own way, that that symbol, that form, is actually representing a particular aspect of the Divine that I revere.
Besides, I’m not the first person who’s knelt at that spot, at Mary’s feet. I don’t know the age of the church, nor do I know the history of that particular statue, but I think we can say for certain that many hundreds, if not thousands of other people have been there where I was and spoken words from their hearts.
Being honest and true now, what I can say is that, as I said to my partner hermit: ‘I feel like i’ve been on a pilgrimage’.
And I do. I’ve walked – praying and chanting – to a sacred place where I have prayed at the feet of the Divine in the form of a likeness of Mary. I feel blessed that I actually got to offer the prayer I wrote to the Divine Mother.
Somehow I feel a link was established. A heart (mine) opened ever so slightly. I acknowledged the Divine, and I sense that I might just be – ever so slightly again! – topped up with a bit of the Grace that is in reality our true state.
Mary in the Garden (enhanced by a fellow Hermit Pilgrim. Thank you)
So, this is the story of my pilgrimage. I was absolutely exhausted when I arrived back at the hermitage. Most likely that was due to the heat, the traffic, and the noise encountered on the way I trod.
But, now I’ve shared this little tale with you, I’m not tired. Anyway, the Way is not always easy, and we are all very well aware of that aren’t we?
Namaste friends. The Divine in me salutes the Divine in you.
It’s a walk to take,
a pilgrimage to make.
Sometime soon.
Said by me long ago, I don’t know when or where. It was one of those ‘You’re a poet and don’t know it’ moments.
Way back long ago in late 2014 I wrote a poem. Which as a stand alone statement is hardly cause for excitement on any level I can think of.
Except to say that in that poem I expressed much of what I felt (and still feel all these years later, perhaps more so) about Vincent Van Gogh. I called it A Little Ode to Vincent, because it was a kind of love song, a celebration of Vincent and an affirmation of my reverence for that great one.
Anyway, I was reading some old poems last night and I came across A Little Ode to Vincent. I checked to see if I’d shared it with you on this blog at some point, but to my surprise I found that I hadn’t. Which is very nice for me, because I get to share it with you now.
There it is then. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you. There isn’t a word I’d change if I were writing it now.
While looking through my blog checking for this poem, I came across two posts from 2022 which mention Vincent. Well, one is about a book I’d read on his spirituality and his quest to lead a compassionate life. Have a look at the beginning of that post and what I wrote about that book:
I still remember the book and its impact on me vividly. Please read the post Van Gogh Mystic & Saint, and if at all possible read the book. In fact I’m going to try to track it down and read it again, or at least do some Googling on the topic.
The other post I wrote at around the same time isn’t about Vincent directly, but it does open with a quote from him, and he’s referred to throughout the post. Here’e the opening section:
Again, please take the time to read it. It’s called The Pilgrims’ Way, and I think it makes a very nice sibling post for that first one I’ve linked to.
I hope you found the little Ode of mine satisfying. I have always had great reverence for Vincent, and after reading the book about his spirituality, I was even more deeply attracted to the man, the artist, and the mystic saint that was Vincent Van Gogh.
There’s nothing more genuinely artistic than to love people.
Tirtha. There is much varied, detailed and fascinating information about this word on its Wikipedia entry. While I invite you to click the link and head over there to read what is truly a riveting story, for this post I wanted to focus on the word’s actual meaning, especially the metaphoric meanings it has acquired.
Tirtha is a Sanskrit word meaning ford, as in a place one fords or crosses a river, stream or other body of water. Over time, however places of religious pilgrimage began to be called Tirthas. This evolved because so many holy sites were on or near rivers or lakes, or were the water bodies themselves, or were located nearby.
Sacred sites, and places of pilgrimage often inspire in people a sense of leaving the ordinary material existence of their day to day lives, and entering a kind of other world, the world of the spiritual or non-material. This experience, which we might call spiritual or religious , is something people remember as being very special, even transformational; for them it speaks of a connection, even briefly, with the divine in the form or in the presence of that place or site.
Perfect example of a Tirtha as a literal crossing place that is also an ancient sacred site. Mother Ganga at Rishikesh in India
And after many years – centuries and millennia very often – the energies from sometimes countless pilgrims and their prayers, devotion, love and mere presence, accumulate and begin to permeate the atmosphere in that place as well as the very ground and sacred objects there.
To me this notion is reminiscent of the concept of thin places as described in Celtic Spirituality (though the concept by the same or other names exists for many cultures around the world. Sorry I’m not providing any links: there are so many!).
Some would say they are places where Heaven and Earth meet. Places where the boundary between the mundane world and that ‘somewhere else’ of the transcendent, is especially thin, and where crossing over, or connecting with that transcendent may be possible, or made easier than at other places.
Of course, as I’ve written in at least one previous post, I feel that we are always standing upon sacred ground; all things are sacred or holy. At the same time, I have, like so many others, experienced what seem to be very real connections to or mergings with something transcendent, something ‘spiritual’ as we like to call it, at specific sites or location.
A few of these places of my own transcendent experiences have been churches, temples, and other historically recognised sacred places. However, I would say that most of my own experiences have been at unexpected places, places where the ‘transcendent’ has been for me alone at that moment.
The Campaspe River after the floods receded
One such place for me happens to be a river called the Campaspe. It was here that the ashes of two fellow hermit pilgrims of the feline persuasion found their rest.
As I stood on the muddy bank of that river, and made my offering, I sensed that feeling I describe above; that feeling of oneness with or connection to the river, to that place. As those two little creatures whom I loved (and love now) and who are made of the same stuff as me, were returning to some kind of essential or foundational state, we were there and connected with them as they continued on their journey.
I knew then for sure the sacredness of that place, the thinness of the boundaries there. While then I didn’t yet know the word, the Campaspe River had for me became a Tirtha.
DEDICATED TO:
Shanti and Lofi. Two beautiful beings and fellow hermits and pilgrims on the journey with us. With us in our hearts and now off carrying on with their own adventures and pilgrimages.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 