You must break an Egg to make scrambled sense

Much of this week's preparation has been focused on the mind branch of mind, body, spirit; contemplating, churning, stewing and theorizing. When I asked, in meditative prayer, for an intellectual piece of the Camino, one that I could digest and apply to my own unspoken desires, I was led to a study about chickens, of all things. At first, I didn't recognize the significance of the chicken study, tempted to ask again, in case the universe didn't quite catch my drift or was messing with me. Something prompted me to err on the side of faith and patience, not to be so quick to dismiss it. I'll do my best to share what I learned and tie it all together without sounding insane.





As a chick develops inside an egg, the surrounding environment..the hard shell and the gooey stuff act as protector and provider. The shell literally shelters the embryo from outside disturbances allowing it to grow and become in its' very own time space. The gooey stuff, for lack of a technical term, nourishes the chick as it grows. Delicately balancing the art of giving nutrients while providing a space for waste that occurs during gestation.





There comes a time, at around 21 days, where the surrounding environment inside the egg no longer serves as haven and provider. On the contrary, within the shell walls, the environment becomes toxic, threatening the very survival of the life form it was designed to protect. In a twist of cosmic irony, the chick is literally dying to be born. Prompted by survival, the chick exhausts itself, pecking away at the hard inner walls of its' protective sanctuary turned prison.

So strong is the chick's quest and desire to be born that neither fear nor confinement can deter its' commitment. The chick has to be born and so it is.



After I finished reading, it took me a few moments to understand the parallel that I was given. I had asked that my mind be provided with some sense of reason for which I am drawn to the road known as Camino. Spiritually I felt it, but intellectually I struggled to make sense of it, that is, until I understood how much of a chicken I truly am. For in my own life, has not my environment, the thoughts occupying my mind, become toxic? Hasn't being surrounded by the shell of civilization and its' promise of liberation; work, possessions, bills, deadlines etc. turned on me, suddenly becoming my captor? Like the chick, I too am dying to be born and neither fear nor confinement can detract from that commitment. So it would seem that I have found the scrambled sense needed to satisfy my intellect. The Camino is where I begin pecking away, driven by the desire to be born....and so it is.