Peregrinos y Peregrinas,

Hola que tal pilgrim? Kerry and Peter here in Huntsville remembering you all as the fondest and warmest of hearts, wondering how you are and if re-entry is blossoming slowly or rapido in your lives. What are you saying to people? Do you feel different from others? Is the quiet Camino living under the surface of your minds?

I did not dream my own dreams on this pilgrimage. I mentioned this to Michael, Ann Q, Zara and others and found it puzzling. I accepted it. The pilgrimage was personal to me, quite in fact but much of the pain I carried was curiously resolved the Wednesday before I walked. I told you all that I felt that this blessing came from Saint James/Santiago through God's graces, so that I might be free to be available without hindrance. And so it was for me. What also came with this blessed vacuum of pain, is that I dreamed others' dreams at night. I had not one pilgrim dream that was personal, instead I dreamed of mozarabic sequences, arabic points of light in geometric resonances, the golden mean, hebrew cadences sung in low tones and modern schemes too. My modern pilgrim dreams were the dreams of people I did not know, albergue dreams, anxieties I could not identify and peaces which permeated others' relations. I dreamed them all the same and was happy to let the dreamworld pass on through me without getting any of it stuck in my psyche or ribcage. I dreamed the dreams of the Sacred Other like some spiritual antenna parcing a Camino waveband. They blew past me like a rain-soaked wind, whipping around a corner and gone again.

And now peregrinos, since I have been home on my mountain in green, green Appalaichia; now I am dreaming my dreams of the Camino. Ha! Now I am dreaming dreams of Anna backing down and up again alongside Emma...over reservoir covered staircases in Portomarin, happily climbing up and down the stairs... up to their necks in water and backpacks, smiling and arriving at the top of the stairs to greet the rest of us watching peacefully on with Buen Camino! crossing their lips and lives, dreams of Davin dancing under a red hat with the fluidity of a cobra, and Michael alongside the path next to the young boy with no knee cap suddenly bestowing the Virgen de Milagro's blessing in one simple demonstrative wave of his hand in the boy's direction, a dream of Zara with her staff blossoming into a pear tree as she climbs the Monte de Gozo. These dreams I now dream peregrinos. I see in my dreams Becky pulling a great "jaws of life," out of her pack and cutting steel bars in half with one pinch and no sweat, I have seen Ellin sculpting Venus next to a holy spring, and Peter with a cascade of light sweeping down his back after an angel pours it liquid from heaven. In my dreams I have seen Ann Q planting a radiant garden with the roses of Gallego blooming for her in South Carolina and Nick with a quill kissed by Mastro Mateo penning a phrase. I have seen stardust in Celeste's eyes and pouring in and over her heart endlessly in a movement like Bach's Fifth. I have seen myself with the skin of a wolf on my back and a water gourd filled with Jordan's River at my side weeping for Jerusalem.

I send you these dreams, pilgrims so that you know you are in my heart forever. I send you these dreams because the Camino is living in us and really just beginning to form. I send you these dreams in gratitude to the Giver of Stars who lights the Milky Way and brings us home again.