Gratitudes

I am grateful for the stack of mail and the pile of laundry I came home to  – tackling them was grounding and satisfying. I am truly home now.

No one goes on a journey like mine without support from many people.

To Terry, Brad, Linda, Kate, and Karen at McCallum and Mailhandlers – thank you for the stress-free time away from my job.  I am ready to come back to work.

To Poppo, for giving me curiosity about the world and what might be around the next corner.

To Kathy, who took great care of my home and Zoe while I was away.

To Beth, Dr. Emily, and Dr. B for the physical support. You are wise healers and I treasure you.

For my Unity spiritual community and my Wisdom University colleagues – I felt your prayers and good wishes.

To Judith, my advisor.  Thank you for supporting my idea of an independent study course.

To Judy Colanari and Spanish Steps – for your support all along the way.  

To all who read and commented on my blog – your encouragement helped me to capture the experience in real time.  That is a gift I will treasure always.

Santiago de Compostela – Finisterre - Friday May 20th

I went to the End of the Earth today.

The morning started foggy and cool in Santiago. 

There are now double the number of young people having their sit-in and sleep-in protest in the square in front of the cathedral today.  One young man was playing guitar, and a little while later a young woman spoke from a bullhorn.  I love a good protest rally.  This one seems quite earnest, yet cheerful, and the solo police officer in the far corner of the square seems like a lonely chaperone.

At noon I went to the Pilgrim’s Mass at the cathedral – standing room only – I found a spot to sit on the floor to the side and marveled at the pageantry in this huge place.  From my vantage point, I noted the footwear – stylish Spanish women in nice shoes, hiking boots with a few hundred miles of wear and dust, bandaged toes sticking out from sandals. 

I confess I got a little teary when the priests blessed the pilgrims.

After Mass, I hopped in my car and headed west to Finisterre, about a 2 hour drive.  This is the western-most point of land on the continent of Europe - the mythic place where you would fall off the planet if you went beyond the horizon. The King and Queen of Spain ended their pilgrimage here in 1490, and 2 years later, they boldly subverted the dominant paradigm by funding the voyage of Columbus. 

The weather cleared, and as I stood on the rocky bluff next to the lighthouse, I could see the curvature of the earth.  On an outcropping just above the lighthouse, there is a 10 foot high 4 x 4 inch pole, and on each of its 4 sides, in a different language, it simply says:

    

‘May Peace Prevail on Earth.’

Truly, when you get to the end of the road, there’s nothing left to do but turn around.

My alarm is set for 3:45 in the morning. 

I’m going home. 

Santiago de Compostela to Armenteira Monastery and the Outeiro do Cribo Labyrinth

I found it.

Five years ago I learned of the oldest known labyrinth in the world - reportedly carved in stone in Galicia, Spain, near an old monastery.

An hour’s drive south of Santiago is the 12^th century Armenteira Cistercian monastery.  Finding that place easily, I stopped for coffee and asked for directions. 

Silly me.

My Spanish is good enough to ask the question, but my vocabulary is limited, and I was clueless with the answer.  Fortunately, I had pen and paper, and she made a map.  Off I went like little Nancy Drew. 

Down a dirt road was a small little sign with the labyrinth symbol on it, pointing to a trail nearly grown over in the late spring lush.

I parked the car and clambered up over some granite rocks (I’ve had plenty of recent experience with that sort of thing).  A short walk through pine trees, ferns and moss, and there it was. 

No fence. No admission charge.  No gift shop.  Just some large granite stones with carvings, right there, out in the weather, waiting to be discovered.  I gasped.

Shaking a little, my finger traced the familiar swirling turning path.

The simple Celtic 7-circuit labyrinth was about 2 feet diameter. The experts say these carvings date from 2000 BC, and labyrinths have been linked with pilgrimage and travel for four millennia.   

I sat down next to it for a very long time. 

I wondered who carved this, and why here.

I thought about the design and how it has appeared in so many places on the earth.

I thought about how, in our modern time, this simple design still fascinates people.

I thought about how it symbolizes an outward journey, and facilitates an inward journey.

I thought about our human story, of how a few of our ancestors left their home in Africa, and gradually, through thousands of years, kept moving, and now we cover the planet. I think there is something hard-wired in human DNA that asks us to move, to travel, to pick up and go to places we have never seen before, on safari, on walkabout, on a journey. We seek better hunting, better pastures, fresh water, education, love, opportunity, or just to see the wonders we’ve heard stories about from other travelers.

I think we’ve been pilgrims since the dawn of civilization. 

Santiago de Compostela – Wednesday May 18th

I’m going to miss my companions!  They are walking the remainder of the distance to Santiago, and I am driving.

We said our farewells this morning at breakfast, and after my companions set off to follow the yellow arrows to Santiago, I went to the Avis office to pick up my car. There was a little mix-up on the details, and after some crazy drama and chatter in Spanish, my car appeared and I was off.

After traveling at 3 miles per hour for 2 weeks, 60 seemed scary fast at first. Then I put that zippy little 5-speed through its paces, and I covered the distance in 2 hours that it would take 8 days to walk.

Driving in Spain is easy.  The roads are all in great shape and the signage is excellent.  I drove from Ponferrada to my hotel in Santiago without once looking at a map or the MapQuest directions I had brought with me. 

After a siesta, I walkeded up to the cathedral square. Young people are staging sit-ins in town squares all across Spain, including Santiago.  The article I read about it says this:

 “A silent revolution has begun in Spain, a nonviolent revolution which seeks democracy through democratic means, justice through just means, and peace through peaceful means has finally captivated the imagination of the Spanish people, and now there is no turning back.”

If you want the whole story, check this link:

http://www.pabloouziel.com/spain%e2%80%99s-tahrir-square/

I say - More Power to Them!

Walking Day 13 Rabanal to Molinaseca – 24.7 km – 15.5 miles

Last evening my companions and I attended Vespers in a small Benedictine monastery in Rabanal. Gregorian chant - (the real thing) - they’ve been doing it in this 12^th century chapel every evening for 900 years.  Ethereal, absolutely ethereal.

I savored every step this morning. Leaving Rabanal was an easy uphill walk in cool clear air. The hills were purple with heather and wild lavender.

Four miles up the road is the village of Foncebadon – the famed abandoned village in Shirley MacLaine’s book with the mythic vicious wild dogs.  Arriving in the town, it was clear that 15 years of Camino revival have been good to Foncebadon.  I counted 2 albergues, 3 restaurants, a small store, and a coffee bar with free Wi-Fi.  A skinny feral cat was the wildest, most vicious thing there.

Moving on up the trail, there was the famed Iron Cross, surrounded with rocks brought by pilgrims from their homes. Leaving them on this hill symbolizes releasing the burdens and sins of one’s life.  It was a big pile on a big hill. Thankfully I arrived just as the busload of German tourists was departing. 

And from there, it was all downhill.  A 3,000 foot drop over 9 miles.
Steep.  With rocks. 

A big juicy fresh slice of Hell.

For nearly 7 hours I picked my way gingerly down that hill, knowing one false move and I would go down, and it was gonna hurt. Crazed demons on mountain bikes blew through at random intervals.  Focused concentration got me through it.

I’d consumed all my water, the mid day sun was blazing, and then, there it was – the spire of the church in Molinaseca.  One hundred more steps, and I was on flat pavement.     Exhale.

I raised my walking stick and let out a triumphant yell that echoed off the surrounding hills, and I walked across that 13^th century bridge into Molinaseca like a conqueror. 

Walking Day 12 – Astorga to Rabanal Del Camino – 20.6 km – 13 miles

A long slow gentle climb today.  A village every 3 or 4 miles.  Sunny and clear, not too hot. I came upon my friends Nora and Al in the first village and walked with them to the next.

Easy walking.  Easy day. 

I wish I could report something epic, but alas, no, nothing of that sort today.

One must be simply grateful for the ordinary.

And an ordinary day on the Camino is simply extraordinary. Walkers from Finland, Viet Nam, Germany, and Texas.  Old women dressed in black, nearly bent in half from old age, making sandwiches at a bar.  Wild thyme and lavender along the path. Flowers in pots on porches in an otherwise deserted village.  The serenade of crickets all along the way.

I pondered the ideas of faith and devotion today as I walked. 

For so many centuries, people walked from their homes to Santiago seeking forgiveness or a miracle.  They traveled with no detailed maps, no smartphones, no room reservations, no hi-tech walking shoes or backpacks.  They traveled simply with faith that their needs would be provided for along the way, and they journeyed carrying the prayers of their family and friends, asking for a miracle from Saint James.  Along the way, churches and shrines and hostels were built by those devoted to God, motivated by love for their fellow travelers. 

And as millions walked to Santiago from all over Europe, many never went home again.  They fell in love, or broke a leg, or bought a farm, and in that way, Spain was slowly, gently, permanently repopulated with believers.  The art and books and holy shrines they left in their wake are stunning in their beauty.  The love and devotion that went into their creation is visceral.

Tomorrow is my last day walking.  I will start from this village, and go up and over a ridge, and at the end of the day, I will be in the village of Molinaseca - the very place I began this pilgrimage 10 years ago. 

Walking Day 11 – Villavante to Astorga – 20 km - 12.5 miles

The morning started clear and cool, with a dusting of frost on the fields.  It quickly warmed up as we started our walk.  I love Sunday mornings in Spain – it is especially quiet in the villages (they all stay up way past my bed time) and the only activity is around the church.

The earth has changed from brown to red, and the farms have changed from wheat fields to a variety of crops.  We are climbing now, up and out of the Meseta and into the hills of Galicia.  I’d been leaving my walking stick in the van while we traversed the flat lands and I was glad to have it with me today.

I walked past a man attempting to till his field with an old plow pulled by a burro.  The man was yelling a lot.  The mule feigned deafness. Further on, the trail went through a dairy farm, and this well-traveled nose noted that bovine manure smells about the same everywhere in the world.

I met the Buddha on the Camino this afternoon.  On a high ridge several miles out of Astorga, next to an old barn, there was David with his free-love pilgrim stop – La Casa Del Dios – the House of the Gods.  David is a young Spanish man who spends his days taking care of pilgrims.  He invites you to have a drink or a snack and a moment of rest in the shade – offering a variety of juice, water, coffee, fruit and cookies, asking only for a donation in return.  He gives all sorts of encouraging words and sends you on your way with a wave and a smile.  His heart was as big as the vista he looked out upon, and I was charmed and happy as I walked on.