I've never been able the type of person to thrive within stone walls. I lack the patience for conventional education, but I soak up the lessons of experiences of life (my life and others) like a sponge. I find peace in nature, and wordless meaning in the faith, friendship, and in the company of others. But those that know me best usually realize that I'm reserved (yes, even in this blog) when it all comes down to it. Only friends who have known me for decades really get "the whole story", though I do make every effort to be honest in this blog, as in all recordings of this journey that is my life.
The Way isn't a hard movie to watch. It probably wasn't a hard movie to make either. Shot on location, it follows several backpackers on their journey along The Way of St. James. Focusing on Martin Sheen's character - a doctor from California who came to Europe when he learned his 20'something year old son (a field anthropologist in the making) tragically passes away - the movie follows his emotional and physical journey on The Way, where he meets up with several others from around the world, all traveling for different reasons. Living off the road, small towns they come across on the way, and the kindness of strangers, they make their own pilgrimage across the countries.
Now, I love a hot shower and a comfy bed as much as the next person - maybe even more, but the gypsy in me can't help but acknowledge the true power of being in nature, alone, soaking up all the world has to offer for a few months. It's a beautiful idea and I truly respect those who do that.
So when I pass away - that, dear readers (ye brave, ye few) is how I want to be remembered. Don't go to a grave stone. Don't put me in a box in the ground. Let my passing be a catalyst for growth. Pack up my ashes and spread them along some long ancient foot road...
Just make sure to take me to Disneyland first.