It means “I believe.”

Not something to proclaim without thought, but there most definitely are things in which I do have faith.

I believe in the power of forgiveness to transform, in the ache to be better, and the impulse to serve.

I believe in the wispy promise of mornings like this one, when the fog lifted itself to reveal a fierce, determined sun.

I believe in confession with all my heart, telling the true story of ourselves, eye to eye with another human being.

I believe our stories shape our lives, so the more honest we are in those stories, the more freedom we will gain.

I believe in personal accountability, staring down my self in the personal mirror that is an unflinching and constant observer.

I worship in churches where silence prevails: barren plains, rocky hilltops, burnt-out forests and squelching paddocks. Places where the hush of humility has fallen.

I believe in kindness. I believe in kindness. I believe in kindness.

And in the goodness that wants to prevail.

I know there is nothing more sacred to me than the act of putting one foot down on a dusty road, and then putting down the other.

Again and again.

For as long as it takes.

Turning up and doing the work.

And I know that the work never ends.


I know there is beauty in effort.

I believe in betterment via example.

I know snails are gurus.

I know that via example!

I know we are all connected, whether we like it or not, and we owe it to this astonishing planet, and those we hope might come after, to acknowledge that fact in our actions as well as our words.

I believe in possibility over certainty.

I believe in the hope of rain on parched soil. When I smell that unmistakeable waft, I am reminded that miracles have occurred, and that they will again.

Paso a paso. Step by step.

That’s my mantra. My rosary.

And “buen camino” is the prayer I make for you.

The wish.

Good road. Good way. Good path.

May it find you, especially on the hard days…

Those pictures were taken on a long walk last Sunday along the Great Dividing Trail and back toward Glenlyon, near Daylesford, in Victoria. Country that makes my heart sing. Thanks to all those who came along to the Glenlyon General Store for the Tapas night. It was a celebration of the warmth of community amid the chill of a goldfields winter night. Gracias Tania and David – and all in that humming kitchen.

Gracias, gracias, gracias.

Gratitude is another prayer…

4 thoughts on “Credo…

    1. Gracias Janet. It is such a beautiful walking track up there, and even the roads are quiet if you wander onto them. The llamas don’t seem to mind pilgrims.

  1. i’m nearly finished your book – i’ve long dreamt of going on the camino myself – i’m 54 now but it’ll be in a year or 2 – hopefully before i’m 60! am at the page where your heart burst open in the rain and you cried and cried – around those pages i had an epiphany/light bulb moment – the last year and a half, i’ve been on my own (internal) camino – separation, divorce, new town, new job etc – and it’s lately that my own heart has been yielding up some of its grief – a camino of the heart. your book is very helpful in understanding the demands of the actual walk and fellow pilgrims – thankyou Ailsa.

    1. Dear Nancy,
      The camino of the heart has the steepest climbs, but it can give you he best views when you get to the top. Keep walking and trusting your rowed – and if it eventually leads to Spain, I know you will love it. Thank you for your beautiful, honest response. If you are like me at all, unburdening from the grief will be followed by a lightening of the load.
      Buen camino,
      Ailsa x

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