Today, I was surprised to find myself grieving that this experience will soon come to an end, and that the Camino that I was starting to experience through solitary reflection and shared time with my uncle, was so suddenly ended/changed when we entered Sarria this morning. It was shocking to encounter bus-loads of fresh, clean, rested pilgrims embarking upon their first day's walk, all waiting in line to be photographed taking their first pilgrim steps (as if they were boarding a cruise ship). These pilgrims are joining the road now in order to walk the last 100K to earn their Compostela. I´ve been meditating on the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, and trying to give thanks for God´s generosity.
Since we´ve been crossing mountains the past few days, we´ve had no Internet access, so we jumped at the first opportunity to let our loved ones know that we´re still breathing. However, when we entered the coffee shop, it was packed with new pilgrims grabbing up shells, walking sticks, and other souvenirs. It seemed like forever before I could order two cafe con leches and change for the computer. But before the man could make our coffee, a woman demanded that she be served first because her group was waiting for her. I definitely needed an attitude adjustment after that interaction. The only thing I could think to do was pick up trash. I had done a bit of this before, but today I needed to pick up LOTS of trash. It helps me to get out of myself - my judgement and anger - as well as to have a purpose. It´s not enough to just finish - the Camino or life itself - but I must have a purpose, to accomplish something, to make the world better in the process. And then I received gifts: First, a big black Lab appeared on the road and wanted to play ball with fallen apples. Only, there were all "his." If one of us tried to pick one up, he would snatch it nearly out of our hands. By the time he stopped walking with us, he had claimed a rock for his own. He reminded me a lot of our beloved dog Winter, and lifted my spirits. Then, not far along the road, we crossed through a small herd of cattle, where the farmer was standing by the side of the road with his dog. There were many pilgrims passing at this point, so I don´t know why he picked me out, but he asked if we were going to Santiago. "Si," I answered. He handed me his walking stick (a straight green branch that had been whittled smooth on one end) and took my found stick in exchange. Then he asked me to pray to Saint James for him. I promised to do so, and at our first stop I carved his name in the stick so I won´t forget. Please join me in praying for D'Ignacio. I can´t help but feel that my new walkingstick is showered with blessings, as it was a gift from this humble man.
I think part of my grief, too, is that I spent so much time focused on my feet that I may have missed some opportunity for deeper learning and reflection. But I´m trying to take extra time for that in the remaining days. I wrote this overlooking the river, and watching the day´s remaining pilgrims struggle into Portomarín.
We´ve met several people along the way who say that they ¨live on the Camino¨- a retired man from California who says he owns only what´s on his back and lives on his Social Security checks; a woman from Germany who started walking from Berlin in January and now says her address is the orange backpack. She apparently cleans albergues in exchange for nightly domicile for herself and her newly-acquired dog. Then there was another woman who passed us going the opposite direction. She said when she got to Santiago, she wanted to swim home to America, but after she´d been there for three months, she decided to turn around and walk back. I wonder if these cases are just a way to romanticize homelessness. Is there really a difference between living on the Camino and living on Boston Common? I´ve resisted the notion that the Camino is somehow magical or mystical, though miracles have been reported at several sites along the route. Instead, I´ve been working with the concept of journey (which could take place anywhere) in terms of keeping my attention in the present, rather than trying to get ¨there;¨in being present to the people I´m journing with - not only my uncle, but all the folks we´ve met along the way; in what I´m carrying and what I´m leaving behind, etc. But maybe there´s more to it...
I was reflecting further on my experience of having blisters and needing new shoes, but not being able to find a shoe store on the right day in the right town. The day we arrived in Carrion and I was finally going to have new shoes because I knew there was a store there, but it was a holiday and the store was closed, if I had been alone, I would likely have just stayed sitting at that coffee shop, and been unable to move. I recognize this paralysis in some members of the common cathedral community, and have always wondered about it. Now I think I have a little better insight. I just felt so defeated (pardon the pun) that I couldn´t move. It took my uncle to say, "OK, let´s evaluate our options..." I just didn´t seem able to think through that myself, especially when we found that the option we´d chosen (the bus) was not available. So I would have just sat there, perhaps till dark or till closing time. Who knows. What was I waiting for? For something to magically change, perhaps. Maybe that´s why people sit on benches on Boston Common, because they just can´t do anything else, and they need someone to help them evaluate the options, or to magically make things different for them.
Good night!
