What Happens On a Journey

I KNOW I'm on a journey when I see with new eyes, taste with new pleasure and use all my senses in heightened awareness. I image myself as a spider at the center of my web catching all the things the wind blows my way. Some I sample immediately, some I wrap up to savor later and some fall from my web because there are too many to hold all at once.

I KNOW I'm on a journey when information swells my head to the bursting point. Often I write it down with pen on paper so I don't drop crumbs that fall between the cracks. I KNOW I'm on a journey when my feet connect to the path others have built, walked on, driven on or played on, and I can feel their historic presence. When trees whisper their stories and flowers tell me their secrets as I greet them and thank them for being in my world of discovery, I KNOW I'm on a journey.

When I move from here to there on a journey I feel like someone else. Sometimes I sense another part of me walking parallel not only to collect the overflow of experiences but to whisper tidbits of wisdom or information to help me see more clearly. When I sleep contentedly because I am full of rich gatherings; when I dance through waking times trying to taste the air of newness, I am on a journey.

I welcome the dance, the air, the paths, the tastes the smells and sights that write a book in my heart for me to read over and over as I punctuate it with sighs of remembrance.

Where does a journey begin

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

~~ Lao Tzu ~~

What IS the first step of a journey? Getting on the path, bike, airplane, train or in the car? When buying the tickets that will get you to your destination? Perhaps before that, looking at a map to determine where you want to travel? Or even before that with the thought that you would like to go somewhere, do something you've read about, heard about, seen in media coverage? Perhaps as a child while reading a poem, listening to a conversation, observing someone who came from somewhere beyond your immediate awareness?

Grandma Mary used to tell things to her gathered daughters in the presence of her grandchildren. Speaking English until the punchline, where she deftly switched to German to protect little ears. Little did she realize that we could get the import of her words from the story itself or her emphasis in relating the punchline. Grandma Lucy took me with her to her German speaking Lutheran church several times during my childhood. While I couldn't understand the words, it sounded like an exotic song to me from the first bell ringing to the last.

Kindergarten was the longed for first year of formal school. We never knew that it was a word brought with our ancesters describing a place where children (Kinder) grew in learning (garten).

Saturday mornings in mother's kitchen were punctuated with German words describing the aromatic and delicious tasting cakes she lovingly called kuchens. The bread (Brot) she baked for the week already cooling on wire racks, woke me on Saturday morning with a jump out of bed not a reluctant rolling to the edge and slowly placing my feet on the floor. One of her special self treats was cooked Kaese (cheese), which she licked slowly off a spoon. (we children held our noses as soon as the cover was removed.)

Living well off your garden, working hard from sunrise to sunset, putting church at the center of your life, keeping family ties strong, these were all woven into the fabric of my being with indelible love.

Learning to sing Stille Nacht, Heilege Nacht to the music of the well known Silent Night Christmas hymn, was like honey on my tongue. Those words belonged there, flowing like a smooth, cool river. And I wanted to speak more of them, to unlock their mystery and make them daily music to my ears.

I looked at book and magazine pictures of little German girls my age with white-blond hair (often in braids), blue eyes and freckles and contrasted them to my olive skin, curly black hair and brown eyes. I wanted to know that girl, I wanted to play at her side, share her toys, eat lunch at her table, be a part of her family. Just to experience her experience.

Something in me was reaching out or maybe back into history even then. Was this the first step in my recent satisfying journey to Germany? Did I come to my desire so naturally and innocently that I didn't recognize it as a lifelong desire to hug the ancestry gifted to me through genes and socialization? Were these my first steps that began the journey from which I've 'almost' completely returned?

It may be idle reflection to some WHEN the first step takes place. But to me it enriches every thought, dream, wondering that approaches my daily consciousness. I may already be making first steps into another journey. And now I'm wise enough to welcome them all and tuck them into an open suitcase ready for travel.