Raymond said it looked like he was waiting for the aliens to come take him. This made me laugh with him at the time, and at the very least, smile now.
We were in the midst of leading a group of retreatants on a meditative hike after an atypically confusing and somewhat disorganized several minutes. It turns out he was trying to defer to me and I was trying to defer to him. My brain was a bit cloudy from leading the retreat and I didn’t understand his directions for the group, but I figured I didn’t have to…in this case I’m not sure he understood them either. In any event, we got there. We found the path that he’d thoughtfully and lovingly scouted out multiple times in different seasons (Claymont land in Charles Town, West Virginia for anyone wanting some beauty to wander). This path of meadows and fields led us to an amazing grandfather/grandmother tree mysteriously woven with colorful ribbons.
Silence was broken on the walk only to invoke some prayers and intentions including: Raymond’s hard-earned wisdom from years in recovery; a reading he loved from Thich Nhat Hanh; and one of both of our favorites that Richard Rohr often invokes of “Be Still and Know that I Am God” from the Psalms. It involves a sort of call and response as we gradually shorten the phrase in community, resulting in what always feels somehow very chic and Presence-filled at the same time.
My students-friends-retreatants always loved my big brother Raymond. He stole the show and I did not care. Actually, I loved it, because his presence felt like a special treat I was bringing to my folks. It gave me both a little respite and energy, and it allowed me to combine our shared interests in spirituality and nature (and humor, always) and of course our “gift of gab” as my Irish grandmother would say.
You may be wondering Anna, what does any of this have to do with the Camino?
Just about everything.
I never seriously considered doing the Camino until I was invited to. What an honor to help lead a group of pilgrims with an organization I love while also embarking on my own journey! I’ve spent years of my life trying to recruit others to join me in classes, workshops and retreats, a repetitive, and at times demoralizing activity. When it finally works out, you tend to forget about all of the angst and toil that got you there. I’ve always led these yoga and meditation events with a spiritual center or bent, but rarely made it THE thing. Walking the Camino with Shalem is my opportunity to do just that and more: physical activity, spiritual journey, nature, adventure, and community (and probably a little of that toil and angst too).
I’ll admit I’m intimidated more by the spiritual, emotional and mental challenges than by the physical aspect of the Camino. This would be there regardless of who was with me, I am sure. But I had hoped my dear brother Raymond could join me on the journey. It would be his jam for all the reasons I mentioned above and more. He spent time whenever he could exploring trails in the Appalachians in particular and, when he had the opportunity, other parts of the country and world. During a particularly difficult time in his life, he hiked Maryland Heights in Harpers Ferry, WV, for 40 nights in a row. (No idea how he escaped the eye of the National Park Service; no doubt he had his ways.)
Raymond was a lifelong seeker and would have eaten the Camino up, particularly the opportunity to travel it as a Shalem pilgrim.
You may be wondering why my brother is so prominent in my journey to Camino. Perhaps it’s already somewhat clear.
The day Shalem Director of Operations, Jackson Droney, asked me to join his merry band of co-leaders for the Shalem Camino Pilgrimage, was the same day Raymond suffered a severe asthma attack leaving him unconscious. When I flew back from Portugal to be with him in the hospital—and even beforehand when my Dad held his phone to my brother’s ear so he could hear me—I told him that he needed to wake up Because Camino! We’re going to do this crazy thing together!
Raymond never did wake up. His brilliant brain suffered too much damage and somehow, unbelievably and suddenly, he was gone. I continue not to know how my siblings, dad and well, the world, live without Raymond. So full of life, strife, and love as he was. All I can do is carry him with me. Much as I told our dear mama I would do, as she lay transitioning just 18 months earlier. It’s been a horror show of grief and loss these last two years. And that’s something I no doubt will encounter on my Camino. As so many of you know, on the other side of great grief is great love.
It’s not just because we won’t have the many experiences we dreamed about for the future—including something like the Camino—that I must carry Raymond with me. It’s also because he had the Pilgrim Spirit. He was no stranger to discomfort, roughing it, making new animal friends, and finding meaning and light even in darkness. Raymond did that much better than me, probably better than anyone I know. I hope I can carry his Pilgrim Spirit with me, especially when the going gets tough. I will carry you with me on the Camino, dear Raymond. Our jokes and stories, our disagreements and arguments, all of it and all of you. At least I hope that I can & I will honor both you and me on this wild journey.
I believe Raymond will be there with us, a walking stick made of a tree he found somewhere on a mountain hike, in tow.