Today has been about attention to the path. As we took the ferry to the Aran Islands from our temporary home in Galway, I thought of those who traveled the path over the rough and treacherous seas to get to this land of rock walls. Standing on the upper deck of this large boat as we tossed to and fro, as our stomachs pitched with the will of the water, I tried to imagine what it was like to ride these waves in tiny boats made of wood and pitch, boats that held the worldly belongings of monks and marauders, farmers and fishermen. The crossing must have been important enough to risk life and limb to settle on this strikingly beautiful island yet stark island.The life there must have been worth it as they carried sand and seaweed to create the soil that created the food they would eat to sustain their lives and the faith they carried with them. It was a path that created awe and humility in me.

Walking up the rocky and steep path to Dun Aongus, a fortress of rock upon rock, piled to astonishing heights by people more than 3000 years ago, I wondered at the feet that had trod this path. Both human and animals have worked this land, calling it home, in conditions that seem nearly impossible to endure. At the same time I am sure they were drawn to it as we were, for its sheer beauty, and the sense that you are standing in a place so holy that you are being suspended in a time between time, a time held by the One who breathed us all into being. Stone, grass, mud, animal droppings, the sign of other footprints marked the path that held our feet. With each step we added to the history of the place.

Atop the cliff, at its highest point archeologists have discovered the shapes of seven dwellings. In between two of the dwellings was a large, round flat stone, hollowed out to hold water heated by the gift of the sun and other hot stones to cook food. These were people who knew what it meant to depend on one another, to live closely, to look out and see the expanse of the shining sea, to look up and see the heavens shining back at them. To live in this close proximity meant to depend, protect and care for one another as they carved out a life.

On the path down I watched as those in our group walked before me. Hands reached out to steady teetering bodies. Instructions for a better perhaps safer way for the next step were offered. Some stopped along the path to rest with another. Step by step we made our way down the steep path mirroring the care, dependence and protection that must have happened for thousands of years in this very place.

To live on an island means knowing you are all in it together. Today we may have learned that to be on pilgrimage also means knowing you are all it in together. Step after blessed step.

As we ended our day today some of us shared the words of Jan Richardson as we reflected on the path of this day:
That each step
may be a shedding.
That you will let yourself
become lost.
That when it looks
like you are going backwards,
you may be making progress.
That progress is not the goal anyway,
but presence
to the feel of the path on your skin,
to the way it reshaped you
in each place it makes contact,
to the way you cannot see it
until the moment you have stepped out.

Today was all those things.