The idea of making a pilgrimage has always had a special meaning for me.
Though the language I use may be different,
‘making a round’,
‘making a vuelta’,
the intention is the same.
I am looking for something soul-related.
The important people in my life know this about me.
Once, when shuffling my feet and stumbling through
a confession of sorts to my priest (Episcopalian)
about my absence from church,
with an absolving smile on his face,
he knew where I was.
I was at the flea market.
Years ago, when my mother died,
I ‘looked’ for her in these familiar destinations, these pilgrimages:
the flea market,
Retacera, the fabric store she loved in downtown McAllen,
the chair in her living room.
Just a few weeks ago, one of her favorite vendors at the flea market stopped me
with a big smile and began by saying,
And so on my recent pilgrimage to Dallas
to deliver the turquoise dresser to Daughter #3,
and after a visit to Canton,
I stopped in Athens , Texas at the Goodwill.
It was there I found
a painting by an artist in San Miguel de Allende,
my favorite place in the world.
The painting depicts pilgrims
making their way to the shrine of
all made perfect