Chapter 3

“Why don’t we have any oars?”

It’s a legitimate question.  So far, the simple truth has worked well, but this part is more difficult to explain.  It’s embarrassing, really.  

It’s called peregrinatio, a pilgrimage practiced hundreds of years ago by Irish monks who cast themselves into the sea in hide-covered canoes.  They traveled without oars, trusting the wind and currents to carry them to a new land.

After reading their story, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  But I honestly didn’t understand the journey when I set out.  My thoughts were centered on the destination that lay ahead.  But it turns out that peregrinatio is about the journey itself, the transformation wrought by the silence and solitude of watery wilderness.   

— — —

 I remember the night I first lost sight of the shore.  I sat for hours with my eyes trained on the sliver of remaining land.  By the time the sun set there was only the faintest glimmer of light in the distance.  And soon even that disappeared.

Which brought an almost magical change.  My eyes and attention, which had been glued to the land, were now free to take in the sights and sounds of my new surroundings.  The night sky became a masterpiece.  The seas around me a kaleidoscope of life and color.  And I began to see with new eyes.

Reflection Questions:

What part of your life is most distracting or noisy right now?

What would it look like for you to intentionally seek stillness?