Fairies

The second thread of my journey was to enter the magical world of the fairies. Nature spirits are integral to the stories and land of enchanted Scotland. It doesn’t take much imagination to see and feel the magic all around. The landscape lends itself to the dream state and entry to other worlds. The pristine beauty of the land with streams through yellow-flower meadows, ancient stone walls, ferns and dark hemlock forests is the backdrop for our fairy tales, our childhood stories come to life. So let me tell you some tales and visit the places of our dreams.

The first visit to the land of the fairies began my second day in Scotland. I arrived early to get over jet lag and visit some long lost friends in the Borderlands just south of Edinburgh. In this part of Scotland is the location for the wonderful tale of Thomas the Rhymer. Thomas was a 13th century laird who went with the Queen of Faeries to her world for 7 years. When he returned he had the gift of prophecy and it is said that he eventually left again with the Queen and was never heard from again. So off I went to find the stone that marked his encounter with the Queen. Up a narrow road near the town of Melrose, famous for its ruined Abbey, is a small marker with the story. Just a bit further on foot is the stone where Thomas first encountered the Queen of the Faeries and a nearby marker for the place where Thomas gave his prophesies. If only I could find this same magic and meet the Queen. I looked out over the lovely landscape and knew the fairy world was very close. I had tea just down the road by the last bit of Thomas’ house—the Rhymer Tower. Sir Walter Scott elaborated on this story in poem and Washington Irving used Thomas’ tale to inspire his story of Rip Van Winkle.

Marker for Thomas’ encounter with the Faerie Queen

13th century Rhymer Tower

My next encounter with the fairy worlds of Scotland was a few days later at Blair Castle just north of Edinburgh in Perthshire. This beautiful white castle was first started in 1269 and has over the centuries become an iconic part of Highland landscape and culture. In fact the day I was there the Atholl clan was having their annual highland games which meant lots of handsome men in kilts, a joy not lost on a bus full of women. Several centuries ago the nature spirits of the land came to the Atholl brothers and requested that they plant trees. So the brothers not only planted trees all over their extensive lands but planted a forest of exotic trees next to the castle. Oh My!!! This enchanted forest of giants was alive and powerful. When I entered their world I left my own and walked into another realm. The sound, feel, smell, sight of these beings was overwhelming. I wandered down the path amongst ancient trees so much taller than in the part of the world where I live. The cool breeze whispering in the trees perfectly conveyed the songs of happy birds mixed with the melody of the babbling brook. I really need some new words—magic and enchantment just aren’t good enough anymore. Definitely on the “return to soon” list. Oh and there is also a walled garden with ponds and bridges, nesting swans and cygnets—-ahhhh.

 

The fairy world reigns supreme on the Isle of Skye. I was still in total bliss from my time at Callanish when I took the ferry to the Isle of Skye and soon arrived at the Faerie Glen. The land contours form a miniature world of green mounds, tiny lake and low stone walls. If you can’t find your way to the nether world here you haven’t tried. I followed a mother sheep and her twins over the top of a small hill down to a saddle where I found an enchanted playground. Humans have built cairns and labyrinths into the landscape to form an interactive garden with nature spirits. Time stood still as I walked a labyrinth on the side of the hill and added a stone to a cairn. I chased lambs and just stood in awe of the subtle beauty of the green grass covering gentle hills rolling down to a pristine lake. I left fulfilled and joyful for my time in the land of the Faerie Glen.

Just a bit farther down the road on Skye is Dunvegan Castle, the 13th century home of the McLeod clan. Around 1500, a Fairy Tower was added to look over the inlet of Loch Dunvegan and the small islands with seal colonies. On the day I was there the sun was shining and the islands were fully illuminated with the warm, bright light. I kept looking out the windows of the castle to the seal islands and thought how lucky I was to be there at that particular moment, to be part of this history and see what the lairds saw for centuries. On the wall in the castle is The Fairy Flag, a mysterious flag of silk that was said to originally to be a gift from the fairies to guard the infant children of the castle. The fairy flag is said to lose its powers if unfurled more than three times, so far it has been used twice to enlist the fairy world to save the castle. I wandered the informal gardens that were in full bloom. The enchanted land has a waterfall and paths leading down to the loch where you can get a boat to go see the seals close up.

Looking out to the seal islands from Dunvegan Castle

After we left Dunvegan Castle we made one final fairy stop at the Fairy Bridge where often a phantom piper can be heard playing mournful tunes. I walked down the side of the bridge to the little stream the trickled through flower meadow and over small rocks. It didn’t take any imagination to see where fairies could hide along the soft bank. I didn’t cross the bridge because there is a chance you can enter the realm of the fairies and I was on my way to the Holy Isle of Iona and I had things to do—maybe next time.

Advertisements

Callanish

My latest adventure had been over a year in the planning and many years in my dreams. Finally the day came to leave for my Mysteries of Scotland tour. I visited Scotland with Hamilton in 2009 but it was a short visit and I had a few important places still to visit. So my friend Val set up a tour and we gathered some friends to join us on a mystical pilgrimage to the holy land of Scotland. There were three great mysteries we all wanted to experience: standing stones, nature spirits and Celtic Christianity. All three weave together in a unique way in this enchanted land far away on remote islands in the north Atlantic.

I want to start with ancient standing stones. The world is very familiar with the iconic and immortal Stonehenge and maybe even Avebury in England. But our ancestors left many more of these monuments to the cosmos. There were five stone circles on the itinerary for our pilgrimage so come along with me as we explore these magnificent sacred sites.

The first stone circle and the smallest on the journey was Croft Moraig. This 5000 year-old double circle is just by the side of a narrow road in a sheep field in Perthshire, an hour north of Edinburgh. We silently approached and each person took the time and space to experience the deep knowing of land and stone. We had the circle to ourselves and were able to really experience what was for many people their first time inside an open cathedral to the Universe. Although stone circles still have many great stories to tell, we do know they are places of ceremony for our ancestors, aligned to the sun and stars as observatories and serve as acupuncture points for the energy meridians of the Earth. Most of all, these mighty stones hold the memory of place and time and therefore become the timeless watchers of the land.

Our first stone circle fed our souls and after lunch we went to see the 5000 year-old Yew tree just up the road and another set of stones nearby. On our entire trip this was our only stop in the rain: otherwise the weather was perfection. But we all agreed that the rain was part of Scotland and felt nurtured by liquid sunshine that couldn’t dampen our joy.

The next day we met the third set of standing stones, very different from the first. Clava Cairns is just east of Inverness and very close the famous battlefield of Culloden. We drove right past this place of suffering and went to the peaceful stones and the ancient burial mounds. Clava Cairns is now more popular because of the Outlander series but, on the day I was there, it was cool and clear with a light breeze and just a few other people visiting. As usual I just quietly wandered around and entered the big burial cairns and touched the stones in the circle. The trees surrounding the site are beautiful and add to the gentleness of the place.

The following day we made the long drive to the most important of the stone circles in Scotland and a place I have long desired to visit— Callanish. You can’t get there from here. It takes some serious effort but I was determined and like all pilgrimages the journey and anticipation is just as important as the arrival. We drove to the little port town of Ullapool on the upper peninsula of the Highlands then took a 3 hour ferry ride across The Minch, the body of water separating the islands from the mainland. Fortunately, the water was calm that day and we finally arriving at the town of Stornaway on the island of Lewis which is northern-most island of the Outer Hebrides. The bus was the first to leave the ferry and we were off down narrow, one-way roads with just pull-outs for passing. The final 45 minutes of the trip is through increasingly barren and windswept land. Then there it was, Callanish. The stones rose over the horizon where they have stood for millennia. There was nothing to block the view, no trees or buildings, just the stones standing strong in such a harshly beautiful environment.

The bus pulled into the parking lot and we all made our way up the steep path to Callanish. There were a few other visitors there admiring the stones. I felt like I was at the ends of the earth and these stones were the last outpost. I took my time and skirted around the edge for I wanted to work my way slowly into the center. I walked to the furthest point which are two stones that began the ceremonial entrance to the main stone. I walked up the avenue that narrowed as I got closer. It felt like entering the great temples of Egypt by walking up the avenues lined with sphinx. The circle has four spokes coming from the center and I went to each one and looked out over the land to the nearby lake and then distant hills. What did the stones witness? What did they know? I eventually made my way in to the center and just enjoyed my moment at this beautiful place. Our guide Tracy pointed out the solstice alignment and I took pictures of my fellow pilgrims. Others started wandering back to the visitor’s center for a cup of tea and postcards but I moved off to the side and found a low stone to sit on. I just looked at this majestic monument and listened to some music and took in every part of the moment: the smell, sight, feel, sound. I bathed in the ancientness. It was finally time to leave but I had my moment in time in the timeless. I will be back.

The final stone circle on the tour was also the last stop before returning to Edinburgh to say our goodbyes. I had visited Kilmartin before in 2009 and never forgot it and was happy to be returning. I remember on the first visit when I touched the stones it felt like they were touching back. This visit held the same sensation and I felt very welcome to be back in their presence. It felt like the perfect closing, a benediction for my remarkable days in enchanted Scotland, where the mysteries are there to be touched and experienced without barriers, physical or spiritual. Just me and the stones together on the earth.

 

Tree shaped by the stone circle–Kilmartin

Graduation

img_4184

A couple of years ago I wrote about my Caroline and her unique journey through life. Last week we had the big day, one we had both anticipated for a long time—graduation. You will have to forgive me as my parental ego goes a little out of control for a moment. It was a happy day for it meant a culmination of years of hard, challenging work. Caroline’s time in school is like an epic quest, the heroine’s journey.

My other daughter Alexandra, by contrast. had perfect college career. If her time in college was like a journey, it could be characterized as a gentle sail around the Caribbean. She had her trip planned perfectly and she sailed from island to island gaining experiences and friends. She had blissful summers in Europe, perfect internships in LA and NYC and gently sailed into harbor of graduation on time with her dream job awaiting her. She worked hard and made the most of every minute of her education—-ahh, bliss.

Caroline’s college career would be like an early circumnavigation of the globe. Nobody quite knew where she was going or if she would fall off the edge of the world. First she spent some years in the small seas getting her bearings as a wandering art student in a community college. She then decided she was ready for open ocean at the University of Tennessee. There, she was met with the greater challenges of a large university, rough waves and sea monsters around every corner; she had a lot to navigate. Then she got caught in a doozy of a storm (literally) and changed course choosing the hardest route possible, math and physics. She had the piece of paper saying she was smart enough but would she have the emotional stamina to conquer years of difficult classes? She hung in there through thick and thin, around and through classes with names us mere mortals can’t even pronounce, much less read the text books in an alien language. Each challenge made her more passionate about math and science and more determined to make it to home port with the golden sheepskin. Even the last few months, the sharp coral reefs of lost friends and beloved professor threatened to sink her ship but she stayed strong and made it into the harbor victorious. She arrived battered and beaten but had discovered new worlds and her life was forever changed.

So what is next for my brave explorer? Well, as usual she is charting her own course through life. She is combining her love of math, science and art into one unique and delightful path. Caroline is creating works of art out of math functions to display the beauty of the language of our Universe. Stay tuned for new discoveries of previously unknown universes. She shares a birthday with Galileo, how fitting.

You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him find it within.—-   Galileo Galilei

14561746_1315906951764710_5556627442577178624_n 14624228_1146978618689002_8514724659470532608_n img_4073

PhysCon 2016

Abbey of Gethsemani

Trappist, KY

A few weeks ago Hamilton set out early in the morning to visit friends in Gravel Switch, Kentucky, to do whatever grown men do that is legal and moral. I find it usually involves metal objects that have letters and numbers instead of names and is in a language totally unrecognizable in my world. But that morning I decided tag along because the next stop on my sacred tour of rural America was just 45 minutes up the road in Trappist, Kentucky, just south of Bardstown. We met up with another couple outside of Danville, putting the men in one car and the ladies in another to go on our separate adventures. Barbara is a native of the area but hadn’t been to Trappist in many years. So we headed down the empty, winding roads through the beautiful back country of central Kentucky.

Tucked into a corner of the rolling country side is a Trappist monastery, Abbey of Gethemani, officially known as Cistercians. I don’t know about you but rural Kentucky is not the place I would go looking for monks; Pentecostals, tiny non-denominational churches, maybe even snake handlers but not Cistercian Monks who live in silence and prayer. Apparently Bardstown was settled by Catholics in 1808 in a very non-Catholic region of the world. Seeing as how the Catholics don’t have a ban on alcohol like the other local Protestant religions, Bardstown became the seat of the bourbon industry so the local landscape has enclaves of bourbon warehouses next to a half a dozen local distilleries. It is a strange but charming combination of religion, ‘demon rum’ and southern history with My Old Kentucky Home presiding over it all.

The Abbey of Gethsemani was established in 1848 and on a cold day in late December the monks began singing the Liturgy of the Hours seven times a day and haven’t stopped since, 168 years of devotion to prayers for the world without ceasing. The prayers start at 3:15 am with Vigils and continue at intervals throughout the day until Compline at 7:30 pm. In the morning between prayers the monks work. In the past there was farming but now they produce bourbon fudge and fruitcakes to support the monastery. In the afternoon, there is time for reading, prayer and contemplation. Although they are not vowed to silence, silence is part of their way of living.

I first heard of the Abbey of Gethsemani many years ago because there is a large guest house open to anyone of all faiths for silent retreats. The simple and tidy rooms are attached to the church. There is a library and extensive grounds for long walks. There are no classes or events, just time and space to go on an inner journey of silence and healing on this holy ground devoted to prayer.

I arrived about 10, on an overcast and very humid August day. I spent sometime in the welcome center where there is a movie that highlights the history and an average day at Gethsemani. Next door is a lovely gift store with local pottery, spiritual books, handicrafts from other monasteries and of course the bourbon fudge and bourbon fruitcake made on the grounds. I bought a sample of each to bring home. Nothing makes me happier the sugar blessed by monks.

The most important part of the visit was at 12:15, Sext, the prayers just before lunch. I sat outside under the trees waiting for the appointed time, the breeze helping with the humidity a bit. The peacefulness of the land and nearby cemetery gave me time and space to find my own inner quiet. Visitors are allowed at any of the services but must sit in the narthex under a small balcony. There is a barrier and then the long thin modern sanctuary stretches out to a distant altar. The bell tolled and about three dozen monks started to enter one by one from several doors and took their appointed places. They each wore a long white tunic with a brown scapular cinched at the waist with a brown belt except the three novices who had white scapulars. Under the narrow stained glass windows, they sat in the choir divided in two by the aisle facing each other with a small organ in the middle of the right wall.

The bell tolled again and the organ played and the monks began their prayers. Nothing was spoken only sung and the words of those noon prayers echoed that day as they had over 60,000 times since the monastery opened so long ago. About 20 minutes later, the prayers were finished and the bell tolled again and the monks filed out to their next duty. The other 20 or so visitors quietly left to go back to their own prayers and retreat. No one wanted to break the beautiful silence of that moment. As I walked back to my car in the heat of the noonday, I felt blessed by those beautiful prayers and so thankful that these men had devoted their lives to God and for the blessing of all the world.

http://www.monks.org

Camp Chesterfield

IMG_3406

Memorial Garden, Camp Chesterfield

The last two years my passport has been tucked away as I have tended to family and refilled my travel fund. Fortunately rural America holds many hidden gems and I’ve traveled the highways and byways in search of the sacred. I’ve visited Vonore, Tennessee, Cullman and Tuscumbia Alabama, Peebles Ohio, Harrodsburg, Kentucky, Vergas, Minnesota, Carpenteria and Ojai, California, and now I have a new place to add to the list.

Last week I was headed to the Great Lakes Retreat in Olivet, Michigan, (a wonderful experience, I highly recommend) I stopped by Chesterfield, Indiana, to spend the night with a friend to break up the journey. About half way up the eastern side of Indiana amongst vast cornfields and tidy farm houses is the historic Camp Chesterfield, a spiritualist community. My teacher Rachael is a spiritualist minister but she comes from the English tradition and so I’ve never heard of the spiritualist camps in North America except Lily Dale, New York. Spiritualism is the communication with spirits and people who have passed away through a medium who is sensitive to the vibrations of the spirit world.

Camp Chesterfield was established in 1890 to provide contact with the spirit world and train mediums. There were many such camps across American during this heyday of mediumship but Camp Chesterfield is one of the last remain. Mediumship has become popular again as TV shows featuring mediums and the need for the comfort mediumship brings to people who are grieving lost loved ones.

In the morning after breakfast in the little cafeteria where each menu item was a dollar, my four dollar breakfast was perfect. My hostess had a reading to do for a friend so I happily headed out to explore on my own. Now if the Magic Kingdom in Disney World decided to make “Spiritualismland” it would have to be modeled after Camp Chesterfield. It is a playground of delights all with a patina of age and history. In the middle of the camp is an extensive park. First, there is a small cathedral and a chapel for services and messages. I poked my head into the little chapel and heard the organist practicing for a memorial service later that day. I moved on to the two hotels. The Sunflower built in 1914 is no longer used but I peaked in to see; it had the smell of a very old building and I would suspect it was very haunted, so I was glad that wasn’t my place for the night. The Western was build in 1945 and still houses the guest that come for classes. In the basement was a long room with two rows of twin beds each with a dressing table. In the back was a rack of dresses in case you forgot yours and needed something to wear for giving messages from the platform—-dress, pantyhose and closed toed shoes are required for the ladies, suit and tie for the men. The upstairs rooms were sparse but very clean. Across the way is a museum that was closed but has spirit art and apports (objects that manifest into physical form during seances)

cathedral

I headed into the glen sparkling in the morning sunshine where I enjoyed the American Indian memorial and the totem pole located on Inspiration Hill. The Garden of Prayer is a grotto, perfect for mediation. I walked the labyrinth in my bare feet so I could feel the ground. After that I sat on what was left of The Toad Stools, two dozen small tables and chairs under the trees where mediums gave messages to the campers, an old fashioned psychic fair. The table tops were engraved with the names of the mediums.

IMG_3410

toad stools

The Toad Stools

I wandered over to the Trail of Religions where there is a memorial to the world’s great religions with a bust of 10 leaders from Osiris to Mohammed. There was a memorial garden with the ashes of many of the mediums that had worked at the Camp. I gave my respects to Quan Yin and circled the outside of the camp where around three dozen summer cottages house the residents. The houses are close together and in every condition from needing lots of love to very pristine. Most have angel and St Francis statues decorating the tiny lawns. Many of the houses had signs in the front indicating that a reader lived there and the type of readings.

trail of religionsosiris

Trail of Religions

The camp was charming beyond belief and I enjoyed the atmosphere of church-summer-camp-meets-the-spirit-world. It is still an active camp in the summer with classes and a seminary. A unique place that has lasted a 125 years producing mediums of the highest training and integrity. There is a great need for good mediums. Over the years, as I’ve had hundreds of readings in my house, I have watched people come through the door broken and grieving and come out of a reading with renewed hope and healing. The loved ones in our lives are so precious and to reconnect without a doubt with the help of a great medium is a gift from Spirit.

IMG_3419IMG_3416

http://www.campchesterfield.net

Helen Keller

 

IMG_3119

Ivy Green, Tuscumbia Alabama

When on a pilgrimage it is best to let serendipity be your guide. I initially planned to go directly home after visiting the Ave Maria Grotto but at the hotel was a flier for Helen Keller’s childhood home. Looking on the map I realized that it was only a little over an hour north of Cullman, Alabama and I could easily fit it in to the afternoon before heading back to Tennessee.

After a visit to the bookstore at the Grotto and a stop by the ATM, I headed north to Tuscumbia, Alabama, in the northwest corner of the state. The rolling hills and white trees, bright sunshine and bucolic farms passed quickly and I was soon in the charming old southern town. Ivy Green, the home of Colonel and Mrs. Arthur Keller sat on the edge of town, built in 1830, originally on a 640 acre plantation and one of the first homes in the area.

Ivy Green has always been in the Keller family and still has much of the original furniture and beautiful worn pine floors. One of the rooms has been turned into a mini museum and the back porch is the even tinier reception area. There are still 10 acres surrounding the house, kitchen and summer home.

IMG_3124

Helen Keller was born in 1880 at Ivy Green, and was perfectly healthy until around 19 months old when she developed a fever that left her deaf and blind. Her parents took her to many doctors who could not provide any answers until a meeting with Alexander Graham Bell who suggested they find a teacher for young Helen instead of a cure. The Perkins Institute for the Blind sent one of their former students, Anne Sullivan, only 20, to be Helen’s teacher. The first month of Anne’s time with Helen has been immortalized by the play The Miracle Worker; the 1962 movie adaptation won numerous Academy awards. According to the docent at Ivy Green, it is a very accurate depiction of those first difficult weeks when Helen, 6, who had no language or manners, resisted this intruder into her dark, silent world.

Finally after a month Helen had a breakthrough and realized that the shapes Anne was making into her hand were words, that there was a way to communicate. It is such a remarkable story of victory for both Anne and Helen, now an integral part of the history of the United States and a triumph of the human spirit. Helen was the first deaf/blind person to earn a college degree and went on to have a career writing and lecturing around the world. This little girl who had no language went on to use language brilliantly.

IMG_3125

I have known this story all of my life and now was so excited to be visiting the place Helen broke through her world of darkness and silence to give incredible light and inspiration. I loved seeing the dining room where this wild little girl was tamed, the tiny house where Anne had long days to get Helen to accept her and the simple water pump where Helen learned her first word. This is a place of hope for all of us that with love and perseverance we can over come the toughest challenges and open our hearts to love.

The best and most beautiful things in the world can not be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart. —-Helen Keller

I headed home across northern Alabama, through Huntsville, past the rockets at the Space Center, along the beautiful lakes, all while listening to the words of the mythologist Joseph Campbell. More cassette tapes that had interviews from 1979 but contained answers I was looking for. Recordings made so long ago but perfectly important that day. It had been a full day of happiness and inspiration from two dear souls, Helen and Bother Joseph, that overcame so much to leave us all their bright light. It was also the first anniversary of my father’s passing. He would have loved my little adventure. I arrived home late that night and opened my computer to check on some emails when my father’s picture popped up in the corner as a facebook notice. “Do you know Millard Smith”. I said “yes I do!” A sweet message that he was OK and all was right with the world.

Minimalism

 

blue sky and wheat fields

Welcome Miss Minimalist readers!   Thanks for visiting today.   I write about my adventures in the world, my mind and my heart.  Please join me on the many journeys that make life so rich and joyful.    If you are interested in my Camino pilgrimage you can find the daily posts in the archives under May and June 2014.

For my readers go to http://www.missminimalist.com and read about how minimalism is one of my guiding lights that helps me navigate life and gives me time and space for exploration of all our beautiful world has to offer.

Minimalism—post from Miss Minimalist

From the outside looking in you would never guess that in my heart I’m a minimalist. You would never guess that minimalism is part of my daily philosophy, part of my way of being. When I was a new mother 25 years ago I realized that keeping things simple was the way I could keep the house clean, have time for my babies, have time for me and let me stay home with my children. Back in the 90’s there were some resources, Don Aslett, The Tightwad Gazette, Elaine St. James. Minimalism blogs didn’t invent the world of simple but definitely accelerated the movement.

I kept our lives simple living close to schools, choosing only a few outside activities, simple wardrobes, edited toys. I had lots of time to read and walk and help my daughters pursue their passion. Then came the big move. Three years ago we had a week’s notice to move to a family home. My husband’s and his brother’s businesses where on the property and my mother-in-law needed care. There was no choice but to move to a very large home filled with 60 year of stuff collected by people traumatized by the Depression and poverty in their past. Now I was traumatized by having to deal with so much.

I turned more intently to minimalism to help me survive a house that hadn’t been purged or updated since 1968. It was minimalism that helped me be ruthless in removing the truly useless, in uncovering the beautiful things that were left to be used and enjoyed rather than neglected. I gave away as much as a could to charity and friends and found the relatives that would cherish the heirlooms and made a vow never to do this to my children.

I got it almost all done when fate had me do it again two years later. My parents large house had to be downsized and moved in ten days. I purged and packed what my mother needed for her small apartment and then set up a family flea market so my mother’s beautiful things became cherished by her family.

For the third time I now have the basement cleaned out, the closets functioning, the kitchen tidy. I will never get to downsize to the little cottage of my dreams but I do live a scaled down minimalist life in the context of a seemingly non minimalist world. My clothes take up a small fraction of the walk-in closest so the rest of the space is a cozy home office. Many of the rooms are closed off and only need an occasion cleaning but are ready for large family and friend gatherings which bring us all so much joy. Our daily lives are in a few rooms that are clutter free and easy to manage

I don’t know how I would have managed without minimalism as my guide. I combined three houses into one in two years and lived to tell the story, to make the important and beautiful shine, to move the family forward into the future with the best of the past.

Minimalism helped me survive intense materialism by keeping me focused on the essentials and reminded me I wasn’t alone in my quest. The landscaping is simplified so my husband can easily mow the now park-like yard and uses the time as a meditation. I have the housework down to a couple of hours a week and don’t need any help. One daughter has very limited dishes and has conquered her messy kitchen. My other daughter has a micro apartment so she can walk to work. Minimalism has changed us all so we can honor the past and still live the life we like.

Two years ago my youngest daughter and I packed a change of clothes and walked across Spain on the Camino. Five weeks of life as a modern pilgrim with only the essentials, we will never be the same. Pilgrims carry only the things that serve their journey. My home serves my journey everyday, it is be a place of refuge for myself and others. Minimalism has helped heal the past of the trauma of lack and have transformed it into an abundant life.