Introducing The Holy Saunter

I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks--who had a genius, so to speak, for SAUNTERING, which word is beautifully derived "from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre," to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, "There goes a Sainte-Terrer," a Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. - From “Walking” by Henry David Thoreau

---

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

-“When I Am Among The Trees” by Mary Oliver

---

For awhile now I’ve been pondering a change to the name of this publication. I couldn’t quite pin it down, but I wanted something that better captured me in all my disparate musings.

I’ve been thinking about walking a lot the past few years, and particularly the past month, mainly because I am contemplating a book project on walking as a spiritual practice. This endeavor has grown out of the fact that walking has been such a key spiritual practice in my life for years now.

My first major poetry collection, A Year in Weetamoo Woods, was written during hours and hours of walks from Fall 2011 to Summer 2012.

I tend to be a person who lives in my head and can get stuck there, so moving my legs often helps me get back down into my body and can help disperse my sometimes anxious thoughts.

What I’ve come to realize as well is that walking has a deeply spiritual component for me. Try as I might, I deeply struggle with sitting still on a meditation cushion and praying and being still. When I’m out in the woods, prayer and contemplation come easier as I hear the birdsong, the babbling stream, the wind in the trees. Here poems, which are often my best form of prayer, come to my mind.

I’ve also come to realize that “walking” is maybe not the best term for this practice. It’s such a generic phrase that could encompass both the activity of the middle-aged mom powering through the neighborhood with Air Pods in, and my own leisurely, meditative strolls through the woods. This is where Henry David Thoreau’s musings on “sauntering” (see above) came into save and illuminate me.

The word has such a beautiful relaxedness about it, an unhurriedness, a sense of curiosity. To me it is an antidote to our frenetic culture. To leave my phone in the car and wander the woods, or to explore the quiet side streets of a favorite city, is a healing balm.

In this quest I’ve also found another companion in the poet Mary Oliver, whose work has become more and more meaningful to me as the years have gone by. To read her work is to notice someone quietly dedicated to paying holy attention to the world. Her poem above, “When I Am Among The Trees”, has become a touchstone for my soul. I now consider it part of my life’s calling to “walk slowly, and bow often”.

Sauntering for me isn’t just about the act of slowly putting one physical foot in front of the other though. I think it’s becoming a larger metaphor for my life. Sauntering can be a physical, and emotional, and psychological, and spiritual, and intellectual practice. I’ve spent the past twenty-five odd years rambling through philosophy, spirituality, pop culture, and literature. I’ve lost my faith and found it again. I’m curious about religious and spiritual traditions other than the one I was brought up in. I feel politically homeless these days. Life feels like a pilgrimage right now toward some unseen Holy Land, and I’m interested in the journey itself.

So, The Holy Saunter is here. If you’ve followed me for awhile, the writing you’ve come to expect here is not going to change. Sometimes there will be original poems. Sometimes there will be more personal reflections. Sometimes there will be musings on films or books I’m engaging with. The goal with all of it will be to move meditatively, and to notice. If that sounds good, I’m grateful for you staying. And if you’re new here, welcome to the wandering journey.

So we saunter toward the Holy Land, till one day the sun shall shine more brightly than ever he has done, shall perchance shine into our minds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a great awakening light, as warm and serene and golden as on a bankside in autumn. - ”Walking”, Henry David Thoreau