sacred things

Yesterday, I lost my cross. It had hung from my neck for nine years. The chain must have snapped and the silvery crucifix must have fallen somewhere between Andorra and Barcelona. I've felt a little naked since, like a little hole hangs from my neck. To lose it was to lose a little of my identity and I'm faltering at the prospect of moving forward. Do I buy an exact replica and pretend it didn't happen? Do I update it to reflect the morphing of my beliefs?

This religious talk may make people uncomfortable, you could say, "this isn't church," or "this has nothing to do with travel." But that's not how it is with me. Being with God and being on the road go hand-in-hand in my conception of the world. You could say the highway is my church. The proofs of some kind of miraculous help are abundant, and the blessings only pour in easier when you open your life to a little uncertainty. I know it seems tongue-in-cheek sometimes, but I really firmly believe this divine exchange is best achieved by not planning so much - give God some room to work in! Jennifer is truly excellent at not planning, and traveling with her has been just as how I like to travel by myself, except now I have all the benefits of a best friend along for the ride.

She talks to me in Spanish and encourages me to learn more. We share exotic cheeses, fruits, bagettes. We saunter down strange streets hand-in-hand. She's sitting next to me as I type now, and I haven't a thing but good thoughts for her - even though we've been together virtually non-stop since I touched down in Madrid four days ago. We're officially dating now, by the way, so there can at last be an end to the ambiguity.

It's Friday now. I've been here since Monday, and we're been on the go this entire time. We've passed through tiny towns and tiny countries. We've just arrived in Sevilla and a feista is brewing just outside the window of this computer lab.

I'll probably stay here with Jenn for a few days - perhaps - then go somewhere else - perhaps. Don't wanna quite have it planned out yet. I'll let my yearning spirit be my guide, listen for the whistling winds of opportunity, and keep searching for that thing I always seem to be on the look out for.

And I hope some weary, wandering traveler, deep in a hole of doubt, spots a faint silvery glint in the dirt, and finds my cross alongside a little faith, or at least a little wonder.