By Andrea Lingle

“It may happen that while the soul is not in any way expecting it she will feel the presence of Christ beside her. She sees him with neither the eyes of the body nor the eyes of the soul.”
-St. Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, p. 224

Journey is a word that carries intention. It would seem overblown to claim that you were going to journey to the grocery store or Target. The word itself seems to insist on a level of gravitas unwarranted by these destinations, but a journey doesn’t seem to require a destination. One can take a journey around the world without needing to specify where the journey is intending to go. A journey can wander, but I am not sure that a journey can be too direct—too non-stop. There almost needs to be an element of uncertainty paved into a journey’s pathway. If you board the non-stop to New York City at 6:30 am knowing that there will be a car waiting to take you to your 8:00 am meeting, you would not call that a journey. You would call that a commute.

Of course a commute can turn into a journey.

Sometimes the worn out highway bumping beneath your tires can be transformed. 

Recently I was condemned to six weeks of driving back and forth to a daily appointment down the most construction-riddled, traffic-prone, highway in our area. Each day I would navigate my way along the seams of new and old pavement, listening to St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle on audiobook. The four lanes of traffic wove along as her words splashed over me. Sometimes my mind would rove out over the fields and between the treads, and I would arrive not remembering what it was that I had heard and would have to rewind. Sometimes I would pause the book, too weary to give my attention to anything that might tend toward important, but most days I listened and drove and drove and drove. I must have listened to the book three or four times through in the course of those six weeks.

One day, I drove the same way at the same time for the same reason listening to the same words, and, without warning or any reason why, I was flooded with a deep sense of love. I became immediately aware that I was loved by the heart of the universe. I sat up straight. Tears leaked down my cheeks. I grinned at the windshield, alone in my car. The deep joy of St. Teresa’s words met me on the road and turned my commute into a journey. 

What made that day different? 

Why did the other days that I spent soaking myself in those edifying words not lead to the same result? 

I don’t know. I don’t think I ever will.

So, here we are on our pilgrimage of spiritual practice. This results-unguaranteed journey. To risk this kind of thing is very brave. Very brave indeed. 

Writing Practice Rules:

• Grab a pen and paper or dictation device or computer.

• Write/record the prompt at the top of your page.

• Set a timer (you can adjust the time to suit your needs…I keep the practices short so they don’t seem overwhelming).

• Take a few moments to visualize what the prompt is bringing up. 

• Write or speak or type!! Try not to edit or criticize. Just write.

• Write the details of what is coming up. I call this catching what rises.

• If you get stuck, make loops with your pen or nonsense syllables with your voice or tap the keyboard.

• If you get really stuck, rewrite/record the prompt as a new paragraph.

• Write the details of what you are seeing until the timer goes off.

Writing Prompts:

• What I am taking on this journey…

• What I am not taking on this journey…

• What I see when I look in the mirror…

• I have never been brave enough to…

• I thought I was going to…

• Before I leave…

• After I go…