A week in the lakes with 30-odd wondrously deep souls. For my 30th birthday this year, I asked friends to contribute to a walking tour of the Lake District, hosted by the actual David Whyte.
I told a friend from my soccer (football for these UK-ers) team that I wouldn’t be at the game the following week because I was going on a walking tour with a poet. To which he said, “like a living poet?” Bless him, in the kindest way. Yeah imagine being in your 30s and deciding to spend a deep chunk of your savings on a poetry walk, well I can recommend it a thousand times over.
The days were roughly split into morning poetry and afternoon hiking. The morning sessions were David Whyte (he’ll be just David from here on out) recounting stories and myths that brought us into a deeper conversation with reality, followed by sharing in twos or threes and then with the larger group. We started these morning sessions with singing. Two of the guides were beautiful singers, who sang these Irish folk songs, songs that were actually Emily Dickinson poems, love songs, and praise. The silence they were able to bring to the group was a deep invitation to arrive. To arrive in the moment, to yourself, into your body.
I haven’t experienced music that can settle your soul like that in a long time. Collectively you could feel people finding a deep relaxation that seems to be elusive these days.
We’d have a scrumptious lunch and then 1pm was leaving time, off in the 4 black minibuses, like the DW gang we were, off to the hills. Four to five hours of hiking, David stopping to recite one of the 300 plus poems he has memorised, more singing on hilltops.
The rain did a sneaky one on me. Oxford sold me dreams about what the summer is like, hot days lolling about in the Hinksy lake. Too hot to run before 8 pm some days. The Lakes, however, like their cloudy summers. I packed hiking stuff as if I was going for summer hikes around Oxford. I had the right shoes but the waterproof layers were considerably scant. On one of the days we walked in the rain for the entire 3-hour hike, we stopped at a beautiful lookout spot and my friend Sue handed me an extra layer because I looked like I was about to be frozen over. Of course, that was the day Gayle invited me to drive in the car with her and David, but I was so cold that my personality had been put on ice.
One last thing about my terrible packing; one day David turned to me after one of the morning sessions — “oh Kimberly, I think your bag has arrived.” Someone’s bag had been lost during their flight to the UK, but it was not me. I had my whole bag there, this was it. This was my best effort, none of these bad outfit choices were here because of a bag mix-up, this was actually what I decided to bring along. I had to rely on my charm to win him over, not my adult preparedness.
We drank too much wine in the evenings and woke up too early to swim in the lake, hiked a few kilometers further than we expected, and spent so much time socialising, and all of it was just right. I was surprised at how much social energy it took. Luckily I had a partner in crime. Brooke and I were the youngins and they stuck us together in a room share. Which was everything. Brooke woke one morning and I was trying to meditate sitting upright in my bed, so when she opened her eyes it looked as if I was just sitting staring at her waiting to wake up. We realised we listen to so many similar podcasts. She asked one night who else I would want to go on a week-long retreat with and we had surprisingly similar answers.
I started to realise that I was finding a level of okayness I hadn’t felt in years. Trust was gently returning. Trust in my journey. Trust in my ability to sink into the radiance of depth and the real rivers of life.
One of the stories David told was about visiting a shop owner and violin maker in Italy whose hands shook quite noticeably. When David went into the shop the owner offered to take him to the back where his workshop was to show him how he carves the violins. David was nervous for this chap because he didn’t want him to embarrass himself and mess it up with his shaky hands. He explained how the man removed a voilin from the wall; trembling hands bringing it to his work table, picking up a blade and wobbling his way to the wood. As soon as the blade hit the wood the shaking halted and he was able to carve out perfect slithers of wood.
Stick to the art form.
I was beginning to realise things were resonating on many levels. Ah, it’s the practice that keeps you present. The actual doing of the art. Whatever keeps you here in this present moment, experiencing the deep waters, the connectiveness — trust it. It’s your gateway to your journey. There are no quick solves.
“What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence”
David Whyte: The Winter of Listening, Essentials
I’ve been struggling with depression for a while now. Seeing a great Jungian analyst, and working through some reasons why I want to disappear sometimes. What knocks me out and how I can return by bumping into a sense of self.
We started one session with David encouraging us to arrive in our bodies. To be here in this embodied form, where you can feel and be felt, the vulnerability it actually takes to be present in your body. Because where you can be felt, you can be affected, and where you can be affected there is potential to be hurt. I’ve seen all the many ways I haven’t arrived. I’ve rather been present as whatever I think is needed of me in the situation — rather than an authentic sense of self. How I’ve hidden behind what I know other people want me to be. Rather than the real vulnerable, embodied me.
What you realise when you actually arrive is that is where the magic happens. Being actually present and responding as yourself is a sort of antidote to my disappearing act. When I am able to respond with care and really check in with myself I’m present to myself but also to others — and that’s the real deal. Being present to another brings out a certain awareness in them too, the space that is created is a connecting, healing, seeing one.
“Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born”
David Whyte: The Winter of Listening, Essentials
You can imagine that the type of people who are attracted to a walk like this are a special breed. Brooke and I were homies from day one, with our fearless leader Sue. The delight of meeting people from all walks of life was real. Sandy and Queen Anne (Anne for short) have been friends since college and came on the tour together, I want friendship like this. They were also up for all the laughs and were a delightful duo. Anne was definitely a mothering, kind force.
We did have a mini covid outbreak. It’s been flaring up in the UK again. I think it’s the first time since September of 2021 that I’ve felt the full brunt of covid again. One of my favourite couples, Johan and Julie tested positive on day 3. They were graciously sharing their honeymoon with us, having married the week before the trip. They made a lasting impact in the three days of being amongst the group and then retreating to their isolation time — which amazed me even more. In that unfortunate place of needing to skip out on the fun and depth, they remained kind and gently stayed in each moment.
It’s been a week and a few days since the trip and I’m finding it tricky to be back at the weekly grind. The unease of returning started even on the journey back to Manchester airport with Dan, Greg, Adrian, and Melissa. Sidenote about Greg; on the final evening we all gathered at a beautiful stone circle where Mícheál and Ian serenaded the group with exquisite singing. Silence in this group never felt even the slightest hint of awkwardness, everyone was already waiting in the anticipation of what the moment could bring. At the end of the singing, I joked that this would be a great time for interpretive dancing. No one took the bait until Greg appeared next to me and said, “okay so what do we do.” We pranced around the middle of the circle a bit with the frolicking freedom of a week spent soaking up DW’s poetry. Being the conduit to a moment of delight is one of the best gifts you could give someone.
Dan has been walking the Camino de Santiago since we left the trip and learning a poem a day (or so). Brooke had written out a Mary Oliver poem for him to memorise, and he sent a video to a bunch of us afterward. I found Naomi Shihab Nye’s, Kindness, on Krista Tippet’s website and shared it with Dan, and then decided to learn it in the week too. I was reciting it each morning on my walk to work and then finally on Friday morning I sat with my housemates over breakfast and recited my first poem from memory. These are the kinds of creative souls that bring you into their depth that you want to journey with.
All the small ways that moments can bring you back to yourself. These have held my attention more so than ever. Since the walk, I’ve had times when I’ve awakened to my life. Like David’s encouragement one of the mornings to wake up to your life, to start to wake up to the fact that these poetry-loving housemates are your housemates, this job is yours, your life is this one — starting to see it with fresh eyes and soaking in all the wonder of it with new eyes of contemplation.
Surely I need to end this with a Richard Rohr quote? His work was one of the shared loves of many of the participants, Adrian had even worked with him. This made sense, Adrian’s guidance, poetry, and presence were evidently steeped in mystery and deep contemplation.
Contemplation is the practice of being fully present — in heart, mind, and body — to what is in a way that allows you to creatively respond and work toward what could be.
