MsSorinaO

They say one never forgets one’s first 😊This was the book that started it all. A birthday gift on my 18th birthday from someone who really •got• me. And oh! that poem! To carry that poem around inside of me, in pre-1994 apartheid South Africa seemed at once sacrilegious, wildly rebellious and (at last!) like the outbreath that comes from owning one’s truth.By now the pages are stained, the…

Nobody, but nobody, tells the story of #womanity like @therealmargaretatwoodWhat a blessed burden that must be, being the Keeper of the Secrets; Persephone’s voice. All, all are coming truebecause we opened the lead seals,ignored the warning runes,and let the stores out.We had to know.We had to knowhow such tales really end:and why.They end in flamesbecause that’s what we want:we want them…

The #sealeychallenge Day 2: The Moons of August, by Danusha Laméris

“It seems we’re all desperate for a little Kindness”, said @cath_davis , after a share of @dlameris’ “Small Kindnesses” caused an instaflurry of activity yesterday.To me, Small Kindnesses is Ms Lameris’ gateway poem.All the best poets have one – that balmy poem that makes you feel instantly better and almost everyone can relate to, the poem that’s widely known and wildly loved.It’s the poem that…

A Month of Poetry: #thesealeychallenge Day 1

Healing the Divide, edited by James Crews Most of the books in my poetry collection have an origin story. I usually have clear impressions of where I was when I first encountered a favourite poem. I can usually remember how I came to discover a new voice that resonated with my insides, or the events of my life that lead to having to cling to a poem as if my life depended on it. The chronology…

Luang Prabang, Day 2: Wherever I went, there I was

The Trouble with Elephant Tourism

Playing “Apocalypse Now” on the Nam Khan

Spotting Westerners at the Kuang Si falls

Curly Hair, Don’t Care – Nibbling toasted river weed with sesame seeds on the Mekong

Camino Francés, Day 9: Navarette to Nájera, 17.2km

Cloudless skies do not make pretty pictures, and smooth roads do not tell good stories.

And sometimes a fever has to rage until all the bad stuff has been burnt away.

Via Francigena, Day 4: Bagno Vignoni to Gallina.

Venturing deeper into rural Tuscany, walking on narrow tracks through vineyards and olive groves.

The hills are steep and the farmers are friendly, and the grass is so green it almost looks fake.

Hundreds of swallows swooping and diving and practicing field maneuvers. Four deer bouncing down a hill. Clouds rolling in.

There was a different quality to the silence today. It looks like…

Via Francigena, Day 7: The Miracle of Bolsena

In 1263 Peter of Prague, a Bohemian priest travelling to Rome, stopped to celebrate mass in Bolsena. As he bent over the sacramental wafer, he began to wonder if it was truly the body of Christ. The host then suddenly began to bleed, staining the altar and the priest’s fingers. Read other bits and bobs about Bolsena herehttps://www.italymagazine.com/featured-story/lake-bolsena-volc…

Via Francigena, Day 13: Campagnano di Roma to La Storta, 24km

I’m broke but I’m happy, I’m poor but I’m kind I’m short but I’m healthy, yeah I’m high but I’m grounded, I’m sane but I’m overwhelmed I’m lost but I’m hopeful, baby What it all comes down to Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine ‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket And the other one is giving a high five

~ Alanis Morissette

Camino Francés, Day 4: Puente la Reina to Estella

It was if I walked from winter through spring and straight into summer today, taking a stroll through God’s garden.

Birdsong and butterflies all around. Red poppies and white jasmine and purple thistles all bursting into bloom – little explosions of colour as far as the eye can see.

Just after Puente la Reina I left behind the river Arga and its slippery forest trails, and…

Camino Frances, Day 1: Roncesvalles to Zubiri.

By the time I left this morning (wearing most of my clothes and looking like the Michelin Miss), last night’s snow had given way to rain.

Despite the cold, the initial 12-14km was blissful. Views for days, white hills, lush forests, clear streams. Green fields with fat horses and cows with bells around their necks. Up-hills that made my heart beat fast in my ears, downhills that…

Via Francigena, Day 9: Montefiascone to Viterbo, 19km

Sun Trail ~ by Dale Biron

Look. The poppies they are at it again exploding on the hills with their deep yellow flames and supple hearts.

The tender green pines the red manzanita the wild iris, low and steady- they all breathe the secrets of the dark soil from where the poppies came.

And they bend slightly to praise the golden parachutes who in turn pour themselves joyfully,…

Camino Frances, Day 0: Roncesvalles

At the foot of the Ibañeta pass, where the peaks of the Western Pyrenees start rising up, lies Roncesvalles, a village nestled in a natural pass through the Pyrenees, surrounded by beech, fir and oak forests.

Since the 12th century, the refuge here has received “All pilgrims…sick and well…Catholics, Jews, pagans, heretics and vagabonds…”

This is the village I chose as the…

What if, on the first sunny day, on your way to work, a colorful bird sweeps in front of you down a street you’ve never heard of.

You might pause and smile, a sweet beginning to your day.

Or you might step into that street and realize there are many ways to work.

You might sense the bird knows some- thing you don’t and wander after. You might hesitate when the bird turns down an alley. For now the…

I spent the day in the company of the delightful Mr Sokha, who took me around the Angkor Little Circuit in his tuktuk number 7.

Between temple visits, we discussed myths and history (aka stories and documents) and aspects of the dhamma with whatever words our shared understanding would allow.

And just like that Saturday afternoon in Sahagun, where the Spanish priest unlocked some of the…

It’s hard to believe it’s only day 3.

Time did that funny thing it does when it folds back onto itself, and somehow it feels as if the months between walks (or at least since Wasabi died) belong to someone else.

It’s as if I’m coming back into focus, as if I’m returning to my breath after spending some time lost in thought.

Inbreath, space, outbreath, space. Standing, lifting, moving,…

Today I walked from Pamplona, up the hill pass, through the middle of the Parque ecológico wind turbines, to the top of Alto del Perdón with its iconic peregrino monument. And of course down the other side again.

The wind is fierce up there, and icy.

The green fields are dotted with red poppies, and move in the wind like water.

The views go on forever, and no photograph can capture the…