Preview 2026 Pilgrimage to England

"You cannot cross the ocean in response to a call

from a 14th century mystic, be steeped in days and days of a message that sings out with joyful

confidence that "All shall be well", and then decide not to believe it when a darkness comes. " Julie Sellers, 2024

Julie will be our 2026 co-leader. There are two rooms remaining. Early bird special rate now.

In-Between Light and Dark

St Augustine photo by Charlene

Something happens

We pause.

For the next three weeks, approaching the winter solstice, the in-between will be elongated as days grow darker, earlier and earlier. We may grumble and bemoan darkness descending while turning on lights around the house by 4 or 5 pm. Or, we may relish the chance to draw the blinds against the world. Twenty days and nights can feel long while waiting for the shortest day to come, or as some prefer, the longest night. I love the winter solstice because it forces everything into an in-between world that often goes unnoticed.

Last evening, I strolled as the sun was setting and the half moon was rising. The hues, subtle at first, became radiant shades of red-orange against a purple backdrop of a not-quite-night sky. The world was perfectly still, as if coaxing the weariest among us to stop. A few neighbors were out and about, each one commenting, "What a beautiful evening"!

I returned home to a darkened house, crossing the threshold between two worlds of light and dark. It wasn't but a minute before I had to turn on a light, but that minute was held up by magic. Drawn to the window to witness the remains of the day, I sensed time itself suspended in-between the light and dark. In this liminal space, darkness is an invitation to light a candle of hope.

Music and Words Rise Up

When I begin my longish list of what I am most grateful for in my longish life, music rises up to the top. It is the antidote; the lament; the grace note needed when the world spins out of control.

Next are words, not lyrical, necessarily, but any written word that comes from some mysterious realm where actual words are never spoken. You know the place where the unsayable speaks to your heart in words only you hear? Once, I heard, This pain is not physical, as I stepped into a hot tub to soak some aching bones. Ah! A message dropped down from some passing angel .

When my (second) favorite poet, David Whyte put thoughtful words together with simple and almost silent music, the message was richer than either one or the other alone might have to offer. It is my thank you to my faithful readers: https://open.substack.com/pub/davidwhyte/p/gratitude-a-new-video?utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=email

When I count my blessings, once again, this Thanksgiving Day, I note with grace, small groups that have become like family: Notably, the (original) River Writers: Ann, Cheryl, Mike, and Roger. My Pilgrim Sisters, too many to name, but especially my co-leaders, Betsy and Julie. My hospitable hosts and special friends (you know who you are) "across the pond" in Norwich: Josiah, Father RIchard, Sarah, and the Friends of Julian. Closer to home, the Sisters of St. Joseph holding open the door into that sacred realm with hearts full of loving kindness. Thank you, Sister Jane! The Florida Chamber Music Project, one and all! And, without a doubt, the professional nurses and doctors of Baptist Health for your good care.

My own family, each and everyone, deserves to be mentioned before the world by name: Phillip, Sarah, Tara, Diane, Anna, Laura, David, Charlie, Cierra, Charlotte,Cherylann, Laura, Walt, Henry and my favorite poet, Lance!

Sharing blessings is what Thanksgiving means. You are welcome to share your own in the comments section at the bottom of the page. Thank you!