Our writing teacher, Laura Davis, gave us an interesting assignment as we hike our way along the Camino.

‘What do you carry with you?’

Outside my gray and red Gregory backpack hangs a scallop shell tied with a yellow thread so people will recognize me as a pilgrim along the Camino. I have a patch that say Camigas, representing female friends on the Camino together.

I carry sunglasses, my pilgrim passport, a rose-colored Patagonia rain jacket, blister bandages, electrolyte powder, lip balm, and Advil.

I carry the spirit of my mother along the way. She’s been gone for nearly 30 years. But her love is alive and well.

‘Casey, you have my spirit. Go out and have adventures I could not have’.

We walk through old towns and ancient villages, and visit churches where we have our pilgrim passports stamped. We walk along manure scented country roads, greeting the local cows and lazy dogs lying in their yards.

Purple heather abounds on these mountain paths. The sky is brilliant blue and wispy white clouds resemble angel wings. We walk up a steep stony path to four thousand year old Celtic ruins on a mountain top. It’s quiet except for the breeze through the trees and the spirits of the people who built the dwellings thousands of years ago wafting in the wind. We sit in silence to write, sketch or simply bask in the peace.

As we walk, we carry with us the depth of who we are and the people we love. We carry a stone from home to signify the burdens we want to release on this pilgrimage. We will leave the stone at our final destination in Santiago.

I pull out my favorite pink ball cap bought in Yosemite several years ago and put it on.

‘Be Wild’ the cap says.

I’m reminded of my mother’s wish for me as I step out into the road, carrying her spirit along.

I’ve been exploring Madrid, Spain the past few days. Tomorrow we take the bus to O’Cebreirio Pass, to begin our Camino journey.

Madrid is a beautiful city. Rich in history, interesting architecture, winding cobblestone streets, expansive plazas, two and a half million residents (the third largest city in Europe according to our tapas guide), a multitude of international tourists with backpacks and ball caps and 18,000 restaurants.

Did you know one restaurant sold 9,000 calamari sandwiches in a day?

It’s just overwhelming.

I am slightly claustrophobic in the middle of a big city, even though it fascinates and distracts me.

But today I found an oasis in the heart of Madrid.

The Real Jardin Botanico. Twenty acres of magnificent nature, situated on the banks of River Manzanares. The garden began as the collection of King Ferdinand VI in 1794. Thank you very much!

As I stepped into the garden, my nervous system relaxed, breath and heart rate slowed.

My writing group practiced watercolor painting as we sat under a canopy of trees. We will add watercolor sketches to our travel journals we’ll keep in our backpacks to capture moments along the Camino.

As we painted, the sunlight filtered through the leaves. The trees’ branches sprawled a dark design across the bright blue sky.

Silent. Peaceful. Grounding.

We walked through the dahlia garden on our way out, famous for their rainbow of colors and gigantic ringed petals. Their beauty inspired the Spanish to bring them back from Mexico to their home country centuries ago.

On my last day in a Madrid, I found a garden. I found silence, nature and beauty in a big old marvelous city.

My backpack and carry on are filled with weeks of supplies. Protein bars, blister bandages, Foot Goo, Advil, and chocolate, as well as lavender essential oil, which is good for everything. Should I add mosquito repellent? I’ve included a sticky-noted copy of The Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau, loaned to me by my partner Rick, a classic on making travel sacred.

The plants are watered, the laundry washed, the house is cleaned. I walk around and touch everything, making sure it’s all in its right place.  That’s my ritual. Putting everything in order before I leave. So when the door closes on the airplane, I’m disconnected from the tentacles of my normal life and open to a new adventure. It is an opportunity to leave my ‘home’ eyes behind and see with fresh eyes.

I know that my time is finite. Nothing like a near death experience to put things into perspective.

I’ve spent months walking, strength training and doing Pilates and yoga. I’ve gone through several pair of hiking shoes. Tried two different backpacks, considered hiking poles and decided against them.

I am about as ready as I will ever be.

Which means I have no idea what to expect.

I’ve packed a summer dress and a light down coat, a rain jacket and shorts. Weather these days is now more unpredictable than ever.

It’s a lesson in letting go and flexibility. I am open to what the universe conspires to teach me. To live in the ‘marvelous moment’, in the words of the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. Exciting, and scary as hell.

Pilgrims walk seven main routes which run through the whole of northern Spain into Santiago de Compostela, the final destination.  I am walking the Camino France route with a group of women writers, all with our own stories. All on our own journeys together. May the universe gift us with wonderful lessons along the way.

‘The longest journey is the journey inwards’ – Dag Hammarskjold.

As I take an overnight flight from Los Angeles to Madrid, my journey begins. Now where did I put my chocolate?!

My friend and fellow writer, Leslie, sent me a message last January. “How would you like to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain with me this September?”

‘Hell yes!’

My writing teacher, Laura Davis, was hosting a trip that had been sold out for a year. Two spots had just opened up.

In ancient times the Camino de Santiago was mainly a religious pilgrimage. Today, pilgrims walk the Camino for a multitude of reasons. It might be a spiritual or personal journey, social endeavor, getaway from the day to day, or just for the adventure.

I’d never thought of myself as a pilgrim. Adventurer, yes. Outdoorsy nature lover, hiker, traveler, yes. Spiritual, for sure.  Pilgrim? Not so much.

Why walk for weeks in Spain on cobblestones, through forests and small towns, backpack in tow?

Because I can.

Several years ago, I almost died from Cryptococcus, a rare fungal meningitis I contracted during a yoga retreat with my partner Rick in the Sri Lankan jungle. I spent almost two months in the hospital and had to learn to walk again on my nerve damaged legs.

‘Pilgrims are persons in motion. Passing through territories not their own. Seeking something we might call completion or perhaps the word Clarity will do as well. A goal to which only the spirit’s compass points the way.’  – Richard Niebuhr

My spirit’s compass points the way loud and clear. The purpose for my pilgrimage is celebration.

I’m taking gratitude on the road.

In a few weeks, I will walk the Camino. I’ll put one foot in front of the other as I experience and revel in the sacredness, wonder and beauty of the life I almost missed.

Each morning I’ll celebrate as I don my trail runners and backpack, deeply grateful for each step.

My sister and I eating beanie weenies and wonder bread sandwiches on a cardboard box on our way back to Florida from Oklahoma, 1963.

Next month I will turn 65.

As with most of my peers, I am wondering wtf? Where did the time go? My Aunt Shirley once told me, when she looked in the mirror she wondered, “who is that old woman?”

I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s, which means we were pretty much on our own.  No safety regulations, consumer product testing, common sense or mommy guilt. And, no cell phones.

We played outside all day until the street lights came on, and our parents had no idea where we were or what we were doing. I don’t remember them ever asking or caring, as long as we were out of the house. As a teenager and young adult, they were lucky if they got a phone call once a week from the phone booth.

We were such a resilient bunch.  Safety was for wimps. Let’s catch some rays (maybe with a little baby oil and iodine), go surfing without safety straps on our surfboards, and seat belts fastened in our cars.

How did we ever survive without social pressure to do the right thing?

So when I can’t remember your name, or find myself in another room not knowing why,  It’s not my age and it’s definitely not my fault.

Its Not My Fault, words and music by Casey Conerly

Imagine the most incredible story…

And it would pale in comparison to being here.

How long does it take to see the mystery and magic?

To lift your eyes from the haze to glimpse the amazing wonder of your life.

Of where and who you truly are,

This divine expression.

Sometimes it take tragedy or illness, suffering and grief

To lift the veil.

But when your eyes open,

You begin to truly inhabit this miraculous life.

The surface conversations, tired talk, worn out rules

The safety and confirmation of your outer identity

No longer holds any interest.

You don’t squander your essence

On that which does not nourish you.

You begin to undertake the hard but beautiful

Path to freedom.

When you clean house you begin to see

The normal way never leads you home.

You realize your guide is the great unknown

And imagination is the key.

Naked, you begin to feel alive,

Trusting the music of your own soul.

Below the surface

of all we have to do

when the heat doesn’t work

we are late for the soccer game

and worried about our country

is the mystery and sacredness of just being alive.

It happens when we are not looking

but in that moment

when we don’t look too hard

and fall just beneath our busyness

we connect with that divine mystery.

We are stopped in our tracks

by a raindrop on a chrysanthemum

a flower-drop full of light

a reflection of us and the world

just below the surface of all we have to do

and there is nowhere to go

I woke up this morning feeling a deep sadness.  I was not sure why. As I poured a cup of tea and turned on my computer, I found out two of my friends who had cancer passed away early this morning.  We are all so connected.

One had a lengthy illness and stayed just long enough to see her new born grandchild, and the other left behind the love of his life after a short diagnosis.  Life allows us such joy, love and connection as well as sorrow and pain.  We can’t have one without the other, needing both to evolve and grow. When I lost my mother years ago, I thought I would never be the same.  And I was right.  I became more compassionate and understanding. It is incredibly healing for someone to say ‘I have been there.  I understand what you are going through’.  I now have the wisdom to say ‘I understand’. There is no doubt in my mind we are here to help each other navigate this wondrous and beautiful life through our shared experiences and humanity.

I’m heading out to teach my Saturday morning yoga class at a safe house for victims of domestic abuse in San Diego.  The women who come to my class have been through impossibly hard times, but every time I teach, I witness their strength and resilience.   They are ‘mama bears’ protecting their precious children and supporting each other to move forward with their lives. I am in awe of their beauty and courage.

I have a yoga teacher who reminds us: ‘Just this’. Be in this moment completely, just this moment.  Feel what you are feeling, be it sorrow or joy.  That is the great alchemy which creates our hard earned wisdom and the ability to be here for each other in love, support, kindness and compassion.  It heals both the giver and receiver and makes our lives more meaningful and connected.

As I send light and love out to the families of my friends who have passed, I wish them peace and to know they are surrounded by all of us who love them.

Just this.

Just this life, this moment, this opportunity to be present, however it shows up. Our purpose is to love one another. We have the power to heal and transform.

“The authentic soul showing itself on Earth is the greatest contribution we can make” -Mark Nepo

What opens the door to the soul?

Letting things near us and letting things in
Opens doors

Authenticity and honesty
Opens doors

Letting go of old patterns
Opens doors

Dropping our ideas of what it’s supposed to be
Opens doors

Vulnerability and uncertainty
Opens doors

Leaning into what life brings
Opens doors

Letting go of what no longer serves you
Opens doors

Letting the waters settle
Opens doors

Compassion and humility
Opens doors

Curiosity and wonder
Opens doors

Joy and gratitude
Opens doors

Breathing deeply
opens doors

Stillness
Opens doors

Love
Opens everything

Casey Conerly 2016

What is it about playing hooky that is so delightful?

When I was a kid, my mother would periodically let me stay home from school just because.  She could tell when my energy was low and I needed a break from the drudgery of school.  I would sleep in, dangle my feet in the creek, climb trees, eat grilled cheese sandwiches and watch afternoon cartoons. Growing up in Tampa, hooky days during high school usually meant skipping school for the beach.  It was magical to listen to the waves when I knew I was supposed to be in class listening to my high school biology teacher talk about mitochondria.

When my son was young, he instinctively knew when he needed a break, and like my mother, I honored his knowingness. But as adults, we don’t often allow ourselves the luxury of playing hooky. After all, it’s not the mature thing to do. We have so many responsibilities.

You can call it what you want: A retreat, a day off, a week off, a year off, but playing hooky is profound. It re-energizes our hearts and souls and affirms our internal daydreamer, wanderer, poet and artist. It allows us to play without responsibility, be creative (or lazy), and say ‘yes’ to our soul with compassion and trust. It is a reset from the universe.   When I picked up and moved across the country, I allowed myself plenty of hooky time.  It didn’t help my finances, but it did help support me in the transition to my new life.

I have friends who are retiring this year, and some who have recently retired.   Please, go play hooky to your heart’s content.

Life is precious and fleeting. We don’t have that many years to leave our footprints in the sand, breathe in the ocean air, or take an afternoon off to go hiking. Plan not to miss a single moment.  You know deep down inside when you need a hooky day.

“I Wanna Play Hooky”, words and music by Casey Conerly, written one afternoon playing hooky.