Tag Archives: spirituality

Now What? We Die. Then We Rise.

www.livingviriditas.orgNow what?

We got walloped. Many of us are grieving. Many of us are worried and afraid. Many of us are angry. Most of us are all three. Some of us can barely function.

Friends, we’re being invited into the holy cycle of death and rebirth. Dying and rising again is written in our DNA and embedded in the structure of our world. Dying and rising again is the Way of the Cross.

These times are inviting us to grow up and become stronger, luminous, loving beings we can’t presently imagine.

But only if we do the work.

We are resilient. We can do this. We can die and we can rise.

This is what faith looks like. This is what Jesus did.

I think dying and rising again will look like this, for me. If this roadmap is helpful for you, I’m glad.

1. Be terribly sad. Be heartbroken. Be angry. Feel the feelings, but don’t get too attached to them. Take the time you need, but don’t wallow.

Fear is different than sadness or anger. Please don’t give in to the fear. Fear of the future is useless and disempowering. Recognize fear, and then bring your attention back to the reality of this present moment. Avoid spinning in fear and worry. Have compassion for people stuck in fear and worry, going down that rabbit hole. Help them if you can, and then get out. Sit down, focus on your body and your breath, and let your heart tell you what comes next.

2. When it’s time to rise, rise up. When it’s time, as Mary Oliver says, “Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also, like the diligent leaves.” You don’t have to get over yourself, and you’re not overreacting or being a bad loser. Take the time you need to heal. Do what you need to do to feel stronger. When you feel like you can, please get back in the arena. When it’s time to rise up, rise up.

3. Choose positive goals and words. We can only achieve positive things. We can’t accomplish a negative, because there’s nothing there. Stop, close your eyes, and say these phrases: “No hate.” “Be kind.” Which one feels more peaceful and powerful? I’m betting it was “Be kind.” Be clear on what you want. Let go of what you don’t want. Dream big. Dream outrageously.

4. Pick one area of focus. “Be a meaningful specific rather than a wandering generality,” to quote Seth Godin. Let your passion be your guide. If we all do this, we’ll cover the bases. I’m picking the environment, specifically climate issues and public lands. Be clear on both your line in the sand, and what you want to accomplish. I’ll chain myself to a tree if I have to. I’ll go to jail if necessary, to keep Oregon’s public lands protected.

5. Be part of supportive communities. As Ram Dass says, “We’re all just walking each other home.” Now, more than ever. Your community might be church. It might be wisdom circles, or neighborhood potlucks, or running groups.

6. Practice excellent self-care. Stay connected to your Source. Pray, meditate, take long walks, cherish your body, make music, whatever it is for you that keeps your spirit strong.

My friends, we are love warriors.

We can do this thing.

Self-Care Is Your Job, Part 4: Conflict

Episcopal coach and writerThis post on conflict has taken awhile because it’s so freaking huge for me. I’m really uncomfortable with conflict. In fact, I pretty much hate it.

Oh, well. Too bad for me.

Here’s why:

Learning how to handle conflict is an integral piece of growing up and taking care of ourselves instead of expecting others to take care of us.

Managing conflict well requires being willing to tolerate discomfort for the sake of growth.

Managing conflict well requires believing in our own self-worth.

Managing conflict well requires trusting in the essential goodness of others.

Like the other components of self-care we’ve been discussing, conflict management requires learning skills that most of us weren’t taught , and practicing skills that many people around us will find challenging and uncomfortable.

To recap.

  1. Self-care is our job because we’re holons – whole/parts that exist both as separate entities and as components of something greater than ourselves. We’re created to be who we are.
  1. Real self-care requires self-regard, self-knowledge, and self-compassion. We often settle for shallow imitations because giving ourselves what we really desire is so freaking scary. Truly caring for ourselves often looks and feels irrational, it’s labeled “selfish,” and it requires visibility and risk.
  1. So we require boundaries – knowing where we stop and others start – taking care of our side of the street. Knowing the difference between my business, your business, and God’s business, as Byron Katie puts it.

And all of these new skills will inevitably lead to conflict.

As we develop new ways, we disrupt old ways. As we become more ourselves, don’t expect people around us to form a cheering section. Do expect what Martha Beck calls “change back attacks.”

When we define our edges and boundaries, when we are clear on our values and goals, we’ll have more conflict in our life. It’s inevitable.

I don’t know about you, but that’s not good news for me. As I mentioned, conflict scares me to death. In my family of origin, conflict often meant someone was going to get physically and/or emotionally hurt.

In my adult life that’s no longer true, yet the pattern remains.

Note: if conflict for you means that someone will get physically hurt, please get help. You’re in an abusive situation and you need help, right now.

Most likely what I’m dealing with when, as an adult, I feel scared of conflict is my lizard brain, the source of fight/flight/freeze responses to threat. What’s required to deal with these primitive, false brain responses is to activate my higher order thinking skills (HOTS).

We activate our HOTS by slowing down and noticing what we’re thinking, how we feel, and what we want. The best tools I know of to do this are mindfulness, the awareness wheel, and being clear on our values and goals.

We retrain our brain by choosing to tolerate discomfort for the sake of growth.

We retrain our brain by choosing to know the truth and to tell it, for the sake of authentic, intimate relationships.

Our cultural conditioning, our training to be nice, to be good girls, goes deep.

This will take time, so let’s start today to build the skills necessary to be happy and healthy.

Resources:

This amazing little book by Rachel Alexandria called Woman Overboard: Six ways women avoid conflict and one way to live drama-free

Marshall Rosenberg’s work in nonviolent communication

Brene Brown’s work

And here’s the awareness wheel again. If you’d like me to talk you through an awareness wheel or two, please contact me. I’d be glad to assist.

I’d love to hear about your self-care journeys and practices in the comments!

Self-Care Is Your Job, part 3

Episcopal coach and writer“It turns out that the more intimate we are with what we want, the more self-aware we will be about how we spend our time.” –Elle Luna, The Crossroads of Should and Must

When we take ourselves seriously and really begin to care for ourselves, we become more ourselves.

When we become more ourselves, we recognize how to take care of ourselves better, and we become even more ourselves.

When we become even more ourselves, we can, with integrity, fully take our place as unique whole/parts (aka “holons”) in Creation’s mysterious cosmic building project.

As we become more intimate with what we yearn for and what brings us joy, we become less tolerant of making choices that waste our time.

As we become less tolerant of making choices that aren’t in alignment with our values and desires, as we begin to choose real self-care, two apparent problems arise:

  1. The ways we’ve been propping up other people become obvious, and we’ll need to stop because we’re no longer willing to treat ourselves badly and waste our time for the sake of someone else’s supposed welfare.
  2. The people around us will probably feel threatened by our choices. They will perceive our decisions as judgmental of them, and unloving. They will feel scared and will try to get us to stop. They will call us “selfish.”

This is where boundaries come in. Boundaries are simple, but not necessarily easy. Boundaries say, “This is me. That is you. I’m responsible for me. You’re responsible for you.”

Simple, but not automatically easy, because most of us, women especially, haven’t learned to set and keep good boundaries.

We’ve been taught that giving ourselves away is love.

That’s false.

What’s true is that we love better from a place of integrity. We love better from our intact, deep, strong, intentional hearts. We love better when we choose our “yes” and our “no.”

Boundaries aren’t selfish.

Boundaries are a gift we give ourselves, our families, our friends, and our world.

Boundaries allow us to love as only we can love.

And I’m firmly convinced that healthy boundaries and good self-care make Jesus happy.

Coming up: how to handle the inevitable conflicts that arise when we’re acting with integrity and self-love.

(Check out weeks one and two of this blog series on self-care for discussions about why self-care is your job, and how to tell fake self-care from the real thing.)

Do your work. Then let go.

SunflowerWell, it was a rather cynical morning at Trinity Episcopal Church in Bend, Oregon, at least as far as the readings are concerned.

The writer of Ecclesiastes concludes, when pondering “all the deeds that are done under the sun,” that “all is vanity and a chasing after wind.” He describes the futility of working with “wisdom and knowledge and skill” only to have everything he’s created “be enjoyed by another who did not toil for it.” As a result, he says, “I hated all my toil in which I had toiled under the sun.”

The psalmist strikes a similar note: “For we see that the wise die also; like the dull and stupid they perish and leave their wealth to those who come after them.”

And in Luke, we have Jesus telling the story of the rich man whose land “produced abundantly,” so he had the problem of storing all that abundance. The rich man’s solution was to build bigger barns. He’d have sustenance to last the rest of his life, giving him the freedom to “relax, eat, drink, and be merry.” Problem solved.  And then God comes with these words: “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”

What to make of these musings on human futility?

I think this morning’s readings from Ecclesiastes, Psalm 49, and Luke’s gospel are asking us to examine just how attached we are to having things beyond our control turn out a certain way.

All three readings are telling us that our job as God’s children is to create what is ours to create, and then to set our creations free.

The readings are calling us to a human version of photosynthesis.

Like plants, our call is simply and purely to offer the gifts we have – our qualities and skills combined with our environment – to make what is uniquely ours to make. And then let go.

Trying to control what happens to the products of our labors is as silly as an oak tree saying “Oh, Hell no,” and then refusing to let go of its leaves and acorns.

Being attached to outcomes is as ludicrous as a sunflower saying “I won’t make sugar and oxygen from sunlight and air and water and soil unless I can get a guarantee that they will only be eaten by some deserving animal.”

Our job is to do our best with what we’ve been given. And then let go.

Our job is to humbly and diligently co-create with God. And then let go.

Our job is to be who we are and do what we can in this incredible world. And then let go.

Any other course of action is, indeed “vanity and a chasing after wind.”

Lectio Divina and Lectio Terrestris

Lectio Divina on the trail

Downed Tree on the Horse Lake Trail

What is Lectio Divina?

Lectio divina, literally “divine reading,” is a traditional method of contemplative prayer which commonly uses a sacred text as a starting point. Lectio divina springs from Jewish haggadah, a process of heart-centered interaction with scripture.  The 4th and 5th century Desert Mothers and Fathers seem to be the earliest practitioners of Christian lectio. The method was further refined by later monastic writers, primarily Benedict of Nursia in the 6th century and the 12th century Carthusian monk Guido II. In modern times, Lectio divina has made its way out of the cloister into the more public prayer lives of lay men and women.

Lectio divina is a simple method, composed of four “movements”: reading (lectio), reflection (meditatio), listening (oratio), and contemplation (contemplatio). Lectio is a process of moving from the surface meaning of the words, slowly going deeper and deeper into one’s own heart and the heart of God, which are one and the same, it seems.

Entire books have been written on lectio. (see, for example, Christine Valters Paintner’s Lectio Divina.) I’ve been using lectio by myself and with groups for some time now – not always with scripture. In fact, hardly ever with scripture. We use stories, poetry, memories, and natural objects such as sprigs of sage and pieces of our local volcanic rock. Birds are especially good lectio fodder, for me.

Lectio Terrestris

It’s this use of the natural world as a sacred text that I’m finding most profound these days. Belden Lane in his Backpacking with the Saints calls this sacred reading of the landscape “lectio terrestris.” The process is the same: simply noticing what’s around me (lectio), reflecting on what I notice and narrowing my focus (meditatio), listening to what the object of my reflection may be saying to me (oratio), and finally sitting with what I heard (contemplatio), which never fails to surprise.

A Personal Example of Lectio Terrestris

Here’s an example of my latest lectio terrestris experience. My husband and I were hiking into the Cascades last week, to one of our favorite high mountain lakes. We’d been anticipating the trip for months, looking forward to when the snow had melted enough for us to go back. However, before we were more than a mile up the trail, two things became apparent. The mosquitos were hellacious. And the winter’s heavy snow had brought down lots of trees. We were climbing over and crawling under logs every hundred yards, it seemed, for five miles, all the while swatting mosquitos and cursing. When we finally got to our lake, mercifully breezy and exposed enough that the mosquitos abated, I stuck my feet in the water, pulled out my journal, and proceeded to lectio. This is sort of what happened, in four movements.

  1. Lectio: What I notice is lots of downed logs, many mosquitoes, high wispy clouds in a blue blue sky, warm sun on this rock, and my feet in the cool water.
  2. Meditatio: I’m going to focus on the logs, because that feels right. I feel a tug there.
  3. Oratio: I hear the downed trees saying that dead things fall on the path and create obstacles. They’ll slow me down and divert me. They don’t need to stop me. Being stopped by something that used to be alive but is now dead and in my way isn’t necessarily a given. I can choose if I’m going to be stopped. I can figure out a way around the obstacle.
  4. Contemplatio: So… what are the dead things that I’m letting stop me? Old armor, needing to be right, wanting to be perfect and always adept, either/or binary thinking, self-criticism, fear, and my stories about my personal history…. I can choose differently.

I saw those downed trees differently on the way back.

Lectio always surprises me. Always.

Horse Lake

Horse Lake in the Three Sisters Wilderness, Oregon

 

Practicing gratitude when life really truly sucks and awful things are happening

Rooted in Hope

Rooted in Hope

It’s easy to promote gratitude when things are going well, or even when we’re in the midst of a time-limited, end-eventually-in-sight situation such as my “coach ride from Hell.” (See the blog archives for the full series.)

But what about gratitude when we’re really in the shit? A reader sent this comment a few weeks ago:

Wish I could experience those feelings of gratitude. I know they are out there but pale in comparison to the feelings of fear when dealing with a loved one fighting for her life. We are grateful for the doctors, her family and friends, but Jimmy’s wife is fighting for her life after being diagnosed with leukemia and undergoing a bone marrow transplant. Jimmy is trying to do his job (for which we are thankful) take care of Meredith, get settled into a new home, and try to figure out who is going to pay for all this medical care after her employer screwed up. Sorry to be such a downer. Trying to find the gratitude.

My answer to this comment was that finding gratitude in the midst of this awful pain was possible and would be helpful to this reader and her family. There are always the quotidian blessings of being alive – sun and stars and birds, etc. I think that’s true, but my response felt inadequate, and maybe a little disrespectful.

I asked fellow Martha Beck-trained coaches how they practice gratitude in the heart of darkness. They had lots to say. Here are some suggestions:

  • A quick five-things-I’m-grateful-for list: soap, warm water, my body, NPR, a house…
  • A gratitude jar, filled with slips of paper and other mementos of gratitude. (A gratitude journal would also be a tangible reminder of gratitudes.)
  • A gratitude posse: a group of people who e-mail or text each other their gratitudes daily, with accountability if someone drops off the radar.
  • Asking the question “What’s perfect about this?” (This is probably a stretch for most of us. If you’re feeling brave, give it a try!)

They emphasized the importance of feeling the fear, anger, and sadness before going for gratitude. Otherwise the gratitude is just pretense, papering over of a part of ourselves that needs attention. They also affirmed the helpfulness of a consistent meditation practice, healthy eating, and exercise.  These habits give us somewhere to stand when the ground shakes.

There’s often a part of us that feels disloyal when we practice gratitude and acceptance in the midst of deep pain. We equate love with resistance. I think, looking back on my mom’s terminal dance with cancer that killed her way too young, or my dad’s skiing accident that killed him way too young, that if I had practiced acceptance and gratitude around those events I would have thought that meant I condoned her suffering, his snuffed-out life, and my terrible loss. Resisting reality felt like love and loyalty. Resisting felt like I was still in control.

I now understand that resistance of something we can’t do anything about isn’t love. Acceptance is the necessary ground for gratitude, and both together bring us to a place where grace and healing can happen, whatever that looks like. And that’s love.

That’s love.

Crazy, Cheesy Gratitude – Part 4

Rooted in Hope

Rooted in Hope

These last few weeks I’ve been exploring gratitude –my little gratitude miracle, why gratitude can feel hard at first, and why gratitude is worth the work. Here’s my four-step system for building the gratitude habit.

Step One: Decide to become aware of your complaining habits. One way to do this is to take a 7-day “Complaining Cleanse.” Make the commitment to stop complaining for seven days. If you complain, you have to start over. Here’s an Elephant Journal article for inspiration. Note what you feel like complaining about. (I noticed that my complaints were almost always about the media or other people’s spiritual beliefs. Interesting.) Mindfulness is a requirement here – practice some sort of mindfulness meditation daily and watch what your mind is up to. We can only become aware through mindfulness. If you’re feeling especially brave, tell your family and friends about your commitment and invite them to alert you to your complaining habits.

Step Two: Use only language of choice, responsibility, and accountability. “I” statements are powerful. Expunge “I can’t” and “I have to” from your vocabulary. “I can’t do it” almost always means “I refuse to accept the consequences of doing it.” “I have to do it” almost always means “I refuse to accept the consequences of not doing it.”  Say “I will,” “I choose to,” “I won’t,” and, hardest of all (for me at least), “I want.” Noticing when language of choice escapes us is a great clue for where we have work to do. Again, if you’re feeling especially brave, invite your friends and family to point out when you use victim language. Fun for the whole family! (Thanks, Wings and Dr. Jon Lange, for this tool.)

Step Three: When you feel the urge to complain, judge, or whine, ask yourself “What do I want to happen?” These six words take you out of your lizardy fearful brain and put you up in your HOTS (higher order thinking skills). Now you can thoughtfully discern if the situation calls for leaving, changing, or accepting, and make a plan to move toward peacefulness. (Thanks to Pam Grout for this one.)

Step Four: Practice crazy cheesy gratitude. Make “Thank you” your mantra. Write down your gratitudes. When you feel joy and bliss, take thirty seconds to consciously and intentionally absorb the moment with all five senses. (Remember the negativity bias? We have to work to remember positive moments. They’re like Teflon to negativity’s Velcro.) This is how we rewire our brains from negativity to gratitude and joy, and make gratitude our default.

Gratitude is our calling, even though it may feel hard and look silly. Gratitude makes us healthier in body, mind, and spirit. Gratitude takes work, and it’s work worth doing. That coach ride from Hell last summer… I’m grateful for what I finally learned that day. I’m SO grateful for my little gratitude miracle.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about gratitude and your responses to these posts, so please reply in the comments. Thanks!

Want to learn more about the power of gratitude and other tools to live your authentic, joyful life? I offer a free one-hour “discovery session.” Hit “reply” to set up a time to talk.

Crazy, Cheesy Gratitude – Part 2

Rooted in Hope

Rooted in Hope

Last week I took you along with me on the coach ride from Hell. I described the small miracle that occurred when I chose gratitude over resistance and complaining. And I told you that choosing gratitude felt cheesy and Polly Anna-ish and fake. Why is that?

I’ve come up with four reasons why gratitude feels wrong and foreign. I’m sure there are more, so please bring ‘em on in the comments!

  1. Gratitude feels unfamiliar. Our brains are hard-wired for negativity – the “negativity bias.” The human nervous system, writes Neuropsychologist Rick Hanson, “scans for, reacts to, stores, and recalls negative information about oneself and one’s world. The brain is like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones. The natural result is a growing – and unfair – residue of emotional pain, pessimism, and numbing inhibition in implicit memory.” So it’s normal and natural to notice and focus on the negative. It’s how we kept ourselves safe in the age of the Pleistocene.
  1. Gratitude feels conspicuous. We live in a culture of criticism. Our media pays a lot of attention to disasters and threats, and not just conservative outlets like Fox News. Our local evening news is full of scary stuff. And liberal commentators like Jon Stewart and Larry Wilmore make their living skewering people they’ve decided are wrong. (I usually agree with them.) Gratitude stands out in a sea of negativity.
  1. Gratitude looks and sounds stupid, at least to me. I think in my family “smart” sounded like criticism and sarcasm and judgment. Keeping up a running commentary on what’s wrong and how we could do it better is what intelligence sounds like to me. I know this is nuts, yet it’s in there pretty deep. I’m working on it.
  1. Gratitude feels dangerous, if we believe that it’s our negativity and judgment and criticism that keep us safe. I wonder if we believe that if we drop the constant scoping for what’s wrong, we’ll find ourselves doing things we don’t want to do and going places we don’t want to go. “I’d better remember that I don’t like x or I’ll find myself doing x all the time!”

So there are a few reasons why I think gratitude sometimes feels cheesy and fake and dumb and hard. I’d love to hear yours in the comments. Next week, I’ll share reasons why I believe gratitude is a better choice than resistance and complaining, for our minds, bodies, and souls.

Crazy, Cheesy Gratitude – Part 1

Rooted in Hope Camino Journal 28 May 2015

Rooted in Hope

I was plenty miserable on the Camino, at times. I had big blisters on my heels, my body hurt, I was tired of sharing bedrooms and bathrooms with snoring strangers, I was cold at night, albergues and bars were sometimes dirty and smelly, and I was just over the whole damn thing. About half my waking hours were spent simply enduring.

But hands down the most miserable three hours I spent on my 2014 Camino was not on the Camino. This is the story of those three hours and what I learned from them.

Jed and I flew home from Spain through England. Getting from Santiago to Southampton, where our daughter lives, was an eight-stage journey: walk from hotel to Santiago bus stop, city bus to airport, RyanAir to Stanstead Airport north of London, van to Baker Street Underground, tube to Victoria Station, walk to Victoria Coach Station, National Express coach to Southampton University, walk to Becky’s flat.

This post, the first (and longest) of a four-part series, concerns stage 7: a National Express coach trip from Hell. We hit London rush hour on an 85-degree day (hot for London), and the coach’s heaters were running full blast for a three-hour drive that normally takes 75 minutes. The driver tried everything he knew to turn the heaters off. We were drenched in our own sweat, desperately keeping our flesh away from the blistering hot heaters at our feet. Our only alternative was to wait for a replacement coach, which would leave us on the side of a busy motorway in the heat waiting for a coach to be delivered through the same rush hour traffic that had slowed us to a crawl multiple times. We voted to continue.

Here’s an excerpt from my journal: “It was awful. Three hours of hell. And what helped was choosing gratitude — for the trees, the clouds, the landscape, buses, planes, people, cities, creativity, cute English cars, motorways, the number 8 … that Becky would be warm on that coach this winter (because it would never cool off), the well-behaved people on the bus, that some air was occasionally moving, that we did occasionally make progress and did eventually arrive, the sun through the clouds … so much to be grateful for and it really, really helped. And it was a choice. And it felt cheesy and Polly Anna to make that choice. The cooler, hipper response would be anger and irritation and expressed frustration — to have chosen suffering, in other words… There was nothing I could have done about the situation, short of getting off the coach, except choose my thoughts. Traveling is like that. I give over so much control to other people and infrastructure and systems – all I can do when I’ve done all I can is to choose my thoughts. I chose gratitude. I’m glad I did.”

I am so proud of myself that I chose gratitude! It was a small miracle, really. I think because I’d spent the last six weeks on the Camino, with constant opportunities for self-reflection and self-knowledge, I recognized the choice point: gratitude and acceptance or complaining and resistance. I knew in a way I had never known before that choosing resistance and complaining would result in more misery than I could bear at that moment. In the words of a former therapist, “My cheese would fall off my cracker.

I wonder – why did choosing gratitude in that moment feel so cheesy and airy fairy and fake? How do we know when grateful acceptance is the appropriate response? Are there times when complaining is the right thing to do? Why is choosing gratitude over resistance the best choice for our bodies, hearts, and souls? And how do we go about implementing gratitude instead of complaining about a situation? I will be exploring these questions in the coming weeks.

Lessons Learned: “Re-Camino” Week 6

Camino Journal 12 June 2014 Santiago de Compostela

Camino Journal
12 June 2014
Santiago de Compostela

“It’s closing time. Time for you to go out to the places you will be from… Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end… I know who I want to take me home… Take me home.” –Semisonic, “Closing Time”

Jed and I walked into Santiago on June 11, 2014 – a little over a year ago. I’ve been intentionally revisiting journal entries and photos from our walk, a discipline I’ve come to see as “Lectio Camino.”  As this Lectio Camino draws to an end, I’m reflecting on what I learned from walking 500 miles across northern Spain, from southern France to Santiago de Compostela.

 

Here’s what I learned on the Way:

  1. Just say “no” to other people’s Caminos. Corollary: Walk my Camino.
  2. The big things (parenthood, marriage, vocation, big grief, big journeys, etc.) are never finished.
  3. I can do hard stuff. It’s much easier to do hard stuff when it’s what I want, however. See no. 1.
  4. There’s always enough.
  5. Hospitality and community are necessities.
  6. Spirituality and religion are heart-based, not head-based. Like swimming or riding a bike, we learn important things by doing, not by thinking.
  7. I am my body.
  8. I know so little about most things, so stay curious and stop needing to be right.
  9. Do, make, create, and stay present, rather than consuming and escaping.
  10. Practice gratitude. Gratitude is the way to accepting what cannot be changed.
  11. Take the first step, and trust that guidance for the next step will appear

Thank you for walking the Way with me, again.

¡Buen Camino!

Camino Journal 11 June 2014

Camino Journal
11 June 2014