By Andrea Lingle

My kids and I counted the days we have been quarantined for COVID-19 today. The number is in the fifties. My eldest son looked at me and said, "Mom, that number makes me sad." Yeah. It's a big number. We have had to put so many many plans on hold. So many dreams have been deferred. 

Pilgrimage is a four part movement steeped in a fifth element. 

If you want to know, the first part is preparation. That is what I was up to last week. You were asked to prepare by adding time to your calendar, gathering your writing materials, and cutting a six inch piece of string. 

The second part of the pilgrimage is journey. This is where your string comes in. It doesn't matter what color or fiber, but I do expect you to have a relatively short piece of string. 

This week, you will be writing using your string to go on a six inch writing journey. For detailed instructions on writing as a spiritual practice, click here. Instead of a timer, you will be using your string. No cheating...you only get six inches.

Ruth stood in the middle of the path. Her feet were mustard yellow from the dust, and she held a switch of an olive branch in her hand. She was staring at the dirt, trailing the branch back and forth. Back and forth.

"Daughter, why would you come with me? There is nothing for you. My son is dead, my husband is dead. I might as well be dead."

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

"Don't you see? If you stay with me, you will have nothing. We might starve."

The whole branch was the color of dust as was Ruth hand.

When we take up the path of pilgrimage, we take on an unknown journey. We do not know where we are going. We don't even know the purpose of the journey. To be on pilgrimage is to walk the pathway of unknowing. It is an act of seeking without an object.

The island of Iona is 1.5 miles by 3 miles. On my three pilgrimages there, I have walked a combined 210 miles. That is not a journey anywhere. It is a looping, wandering, searching way. When I re-board the ferry to leave the island, I am filled with sadness that my my feet will be locked into destinations once more. So little of our time is spent wandering.

Ruth's sister was no longer visible. The dust had settled over her redoubled footprints. Her footprints would be the last she would see of her.

"Don't ask me to leave you." The rustling of the branch almost covered her words. "Don't ask me to stop following you. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay."

Pilgrimage asks nothing more of you than to live deeply into one step at a time.

But this is a six inch pilgrimage! You can't even put your foot down in a six inch space. It is absurd.

You can write for six inches. You can lay your string down along the spine of your notebook and write, quickly, furiously, brokenly, quietly, hopefully, gently for six inches. You can wander. You can roam. You can peek under the heather; you can gather a stone. 

Here are the first writing prompts for this pilgrimage. The instructional video tell how, it is up to you to do it.

• What my shoes say about me...

• Daughter, why would you come with me...

• I commit to/I commit to never...

• A list of things I have in my bag...

• She wanted to sing to me, but I could never...

• The six things I want you to know about me are...

• Tacos are tasty, but...

May you be blessed on this tiny way!