(My words normal. 
Italics John O Donohue. )

Every time you leave home
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in. 

					Pilgrimage, an oft used word. 
					Traveller on a sacred path. 
					Internal External. 
					Concurrent. 

New Stranger on other paths await
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit. 

					Holy Island. Lindisfarne. 
					Fresh from a new tide. 
					Historic. Familiar. 
					Yet cleansed by natures tide. 
					New sand. New shells. 
					New underwater beds. 
					Await the disturbance of the travellers feet. 

When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way
More attentive now
To the self you bring along
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad, and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home:
					Sandals off. Feet hit the fresh sand.
					Sinking. 
					Held in natures exposed slimy crust. 
					Toes split open by the grey warm slimy earth. 
					Steps free into the water. 
					Let loose from the restrictions of the path
					A tidal exposure awaits
					Guided by barnacle crusted poles. 

How you unexpectedly attune
To the timbre in some voice
Opening a conversation
You want to take in
To where your longing
Has pressed hard enough
Inward, on some unsaid dark
To create a crystal of insight
					A hidden pathway into the gods
					Love. Steps
					Feel. Deep. 
					Freedom of the sands
					Reckoning desire
					Into the wild large breath of sky
					Pilgrim grasping at time
					Wanting moments to stay
					That passed by like sand between the toes. 
					Conversation. 

You could not have known
You Needed
To illuminate
Your way
					Shells cast their colourful path
					Their soft crunch
					A gift of colour and interruption of the sand
					Water. Warm. Delight. 
					Joy. 

When you travel
A new silence
Goes with you
And if you listen
You will hear
What your heart would
love to say. 
					Curlew hooting in the warm breeze. 
					Her sound carried
					Into the silence. 
					Where wandering conversation
					Found her place
					Natures noise
					In the silence of soul. 
					Flow of water over toes
					Seals asleep in the distance. 
					Footsteps into the sea. 
					Slowing to the beat
					Of the moment. 

A journey can become a sacred thing
Make sure, before you go, 
To take the time
To bless your going forth
To free your heart of ballast
So that the compass of your soul
Might direct you towards
The territories of spirit
Where you discover
More of your hidden life
And the urgencies 
That deserve to claim you. 

					Land beckons herself forth
					Step by step through the bed of the sea
					Nature a pilgrimage all by herself. 
					Let alone the saints that gave sacredity to here. 
					Toes filled with Lindisfarne mud
					Cleansing, freeing, earth. 
					A Pathway of delight
					Shared along seen. 
					Brave souls
					Taking steps
					To unknown places
					Of friendship, knowingness and truth
					Life in all her fullness
					Strangers became friends
					Nature offered her heart
					
May you travel in an awakened way, 
Gathered wisely into your inner ground
That you may not waste the invitations
Which wait along the way to transform you. 

					Sandals silent, boats floating.
					Oystercatcher, redshank, 
					Plovers, bees. 
					Amongst the movements
					Along the sea. 
					Quiet. Spacious. Divine. 
					All welcoming me. 
					Inner ground a harvest of presence. 
					Peace…beside the sea. 
			
May you travel safely, arrive refreshed, 
And live your time away to its fullest; 
Return home more enriched, and free
To balance the gift of days which call you. 

					Warrior not Worrier me. 
					Arrived everywhere and free. 
					Embodied dwelling
					Sensing wonder through every life filled step. 
					Breath of wind
					Alive. Held. 

					Traveller. Pilgrim. Wanderer. 
					Home everywhere. 
					Pilgrimage of the heart
					Pilgrimage of the soul. 
					Disturbance of the troubled mind
					Finally home
					In Loves
					Pure way. 

					
(John O Donohue, taken from ‘The Traveller’ To Bless the space between us)