Still, all I could do was keep walking, and for the moment that meant as far as the dining room for breakfast. I searched the corridors, following the smell of coffee, and had to marvel at how beautiful this old monastery was, even if it did feel a little haunted by the heavy spirits of the past.
It took a while to find what I was looking for, but eventually I did locate the brightly lit dining room, already teeming with happy pilgrims fortifying themselves before starting their day. It didn’t take long to discover why. The buffet was out of this world. Fresh-squeezed juices of all sorts, freshly baked pastries and croissants, toast, yogurts, dried and fresh fruits, cheeses, and potato and egg omelets were laid out in a lovely array, refreshed regularly by a delightful Spanish woman who greeted us with such warmth that it couldn’t help but lift a person’s spirits. What a departure from yesterday’s den of misery!
I loaded up my plate to overflowing with food, and then filled up three glasses with different fresh juices before I settled down to eat. Then I looked around to see who else was in the room. There was a group of five Italian bikers, a hardy-looking French-speaking couple, a young Englishman, and a Russian woman, all appreciating their breakfast as much as I was.
Buoyed by the food and the positive energy in the room, I decided to stop fighting the walk ahead and go for it. But, just to make it through, I did go back to the buffet and grab three more hot apple pastries, two bananas, and some cheese and bread. I wrapped it all up in a napkin to take along with me, wondering if I was being a thief or if this was an acceptable pilgrim thing to do. I didn’t care. I wanted backup on the Camino, and I would much rather have this than another PowerBar later on.
I headed back to my room and loaded up Cheater, who was getting lighter by the day. Then I headed downstairs, Gumby hanging off Pilgrim, my little purse tucked inside. Once I arrived at the front desk, I was informed by the receptionist that the hostel where I stayed yesterday had called and said I had left a pair of pants, some socks, and one of my wool shirts on the drying rack on the terrace, but they would hold them for me if I wanted to go back and get them.
“Rats! My stuff!” I totally forgot about it yesterday. I sighed, not wanting to visit the Zombie Palace ever again. Besides, it was the Camino! You don’t go backward. You just keep moving forward. So I said to the receptionist, “Tell them to keep it or give it to another pilgrim. I’m moving on.” I then asked her for a pilgrim’s stamp for my passport, draped my rain poncho over my head, and said, “Ultreya.” Then I headed out the door.
The Camino shells, which I had to follow to get out of town, were embedded in the ground and were tricky to find, so I had to pay extra-close attention if I wanted to stay on course. I had to walk for over an hour and a half through the same dreary suburbs as yesterday before I returned to the natural beauty of the Camino.
I wondered what day of the week it was, having lost all track of time. I kept a sharp eye out for the yellow arrows, as twice this morning I had already veered off the path and onto the wrong road by mistake and had to backtrack. Finally I arrived at a small town called Virgen del Camino and slipped into a café to dry off a bit and enjoy a mid-morning break. As I sat with my coffee, I closed my eyes and said an earnest prayer to feel true love for myself today.
Holy Mother-Father God,
Please open my heart to see the goodness of me and help me forgive and release everything that blocks my feelings of self-love and gratitude for the gift of this life, which you have given me.
Amen.
The walk was mostly flat, running parallel to the highway, peppered with occasional storks flying overhead to break up the otherwise monotonous scenery.
The storms in my mind of the past few days were starting to subside as well, and I intuitively sensed (or maybe just hoped) they might not return again. My mind was quiet and clear, allowing me to listen as the Camino talked to me.
Do you see how your life has unfolded as it has because of the choices you’ve made? it asked me.
Looking backward, I could see exactly how my own choices got me to where I was today. I chose to try too hard in my relationships. I chose to do too much. I chose to be willful and try to make things work out even when they weren’t. I chose to react to Patrick rather than respond, and I chose to be frustrated with him rather than try to understand him.
“I do, but I’m only human. I did what I knew at the time,” I justified myself to the Camino. Then I paused. “Okay. It’s true. I also chose to do a few things I knew better than to do,” I admitted. “I chose to fight. I chose to hold grudges. I chose to stay upset.”
It felt good to acknowledge these things. It helped me realize that I was not a victim of anything; rather, I was responsible for my own unhappiness.
Yes, I am glad you can see that now, the Camino seemed to suggest with the faintest rays of sunlight flashing across the plains as I walked.
Are you aware of how you’ve bound yourself to your own choices and them blamed others as if they had forced them upon you? the Camino asked next.
“In what way?” I responded. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Are you sure you don’t understand? it challenged me.
“I guess I chose to work as hard as I did because I loved what I was doing, but when I overworked and burned myself out, I blamed Patrick for not working hard enough to keep up with me.”
Yes, you did.
“I guess I chose to keep trying to please my father long into adulthood instead of telling him I wouldn’t do that anymore, and then blamed him for not changing.”
That, too.
The longer I walked, the more I could see how my own choices determined everything I was feeling. I didn’t choose every external situation, of course, but I did choose how I would respond to those situations.
And the truth is that many of my choices had been fantastic. I chose to follow my intuition and teach others to do the same. I chose to travel the world with Patrick and our daughters, and that choice was one of the best of my life. I chose to write books, which I loved doing, even though my first editor asked me if English was my native language. I chose to stay married and raise our daughters with Patrick, as he was a good dad. These were all great choices, and I was happy I made them.
Other choices were not the best, and I could clearly see how those choices caused me the pain I was in. The choice to believe that I was hard to love, for example, made me try way too hard in all of my relationships to prove myself lovable by doing so much. Then I would feel taken advantage of or unappreciated. I definitely needed to reconsider that choice because it wasn’t serving me. I’m not difficult to love, even if I can, at times, be difficult to be around. Who isn’t? We all have our light and shadow sides.
I also chose to believe that Patrick was not a nice person. That choice made me angry and defensive, and I could see now how I provoked him into not being a nice person. Patrick certainly had his issues, and, yes, he could be not so nice at times, but it wasn’t as though that was all he was. He could be very loving and kind, and was there for people in need.
I could also see now that I wasn’t bound by those decisions forever. In fact, the more I walked, the clearer it became that it was time to make some new choices, the first being to stop feeling victimized by people and start letting go of the sense of powerlessness I had been feeling.
I was so deep in concentration over all of this that I walked into Mazarife, where I was scheduled to stop, and then out of town without noticing. Once I did, I circled back and went to find my hostel. I walked around the town and the church three or four times looking for it, but had no luck. In fact, apart from one small pilgrims’ albergue/restaurant across from the church, there was nothing else in the town. Frustrated, I walked into the pilgrims’ albergue bar and ordered an egg bocadillo. Then I asked the waiter if he knew where my hostel was.
He shook his head and said there was no such place in Mazarife. I looked at the paper with my itinerary once again, and then showed it to him, a
nd he still shook his head.
Having learned by now not to get too upset by a bump in the road such as this, I asked him to ask others who worked there if they might know where this hostel was located while I ate my sandwich.
He disappeared into the kitchen. Five minutes later a short, heavyset woman came out from the kitchen and said my hostel was another ten kilometers down the road. I almost choked. “No, I don’t want to walk that far! I can’t. Not today!” I cried.
Nearly breaking down, I asked if I could call a taxi. She shook her head and said there were no taxis in Mazarife. I believed her. There were no people in Mazarife, so why should there be any taxis?
“You can stay here,” she offered.
“I wish I could,” I answered, “but my bag is waiting for me at the hostel. I have to catch up with it.”
“Crap,” I swore under my breath. “This sucks.”
Embarrassed by my poor reaction, I apologized immediately. She said, “No worries. I will call them and tell them that you are tired.”
“Okay,” I said, not expecting that to change a thing.
I ordered a Coke from the bartender as she dialed, thinking I would need as much sugar and fuel as possible if I were going to make it as far as I had to go, especially now that the rain was once again coming down outside the pilgrims’ albergue window. Meanwhile, she chatted excitedly away to someone on the other end of the phone, punctuating her conversation with numerous “sí, sí, sí’s” while glancing my way, with a look of pity in her eyes.
When she finally hung up, she looked at me and said, “Is okay! He is come to get you. One hour.”
I was so happy to hear that I would have waited all day. I thanked her profusely for helping me out, then sat back and relaxed. I needed this today. I was tired of soldiering on. I wanted to be carried. Mercifully, I was going to be.
“Perfect,” I said, thanking the Camino for this new turn of events. Letting myself be helped was a new choice for me and one I sorely needed to make right now.
An hour and a half later, I found myself sitting in the most comfortable old farmhouse, my feet up, relaxing in front of a roaring fireplace, with a glass of delicious red wine in hand, hosted by the loveliest people I’d met at any hostel so far along the Camino.
The wife, Marcella, a quiet woman of around 50, with warm brown eyes and a kind smile, insisted I give her all my clothes to wash, and then encouraged me to take a nap and meet them at eight for dinner.
Feeling so welcomed, I relaxed, slept, and then had the most delicious home-cooked meal of fresh fish, steamed vegetables from their garden, a tossed green salad, homemade bread, cheeses, and delicious cake and chocolates.
Falling asleep that night, I thought, How wonderful to receive this love and generosity today. I needed it!
Day 23
(30 km; 19 mi)
Mazarife to Astorga
I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread and hot coffee, so it didn’t take much to draw me out of bed and downstairs, not even bothering to change out of my nightclothes. Once downstairs I was thrilled to find a delicious Spanish omelet with fresh stewed tomatoes, served alongside a basket filled with still warm bread and homemade jam, and a steaming hot café con leche waiting for me on the dining-room table. Moments later, my wonderful host, Marcella, entered the dining room and after wishing me a cheerful “Buenos días,” handed over my freshly washed and folded laundry and asked if there were anything else she or her husband, Miguel, could do for me before I set out on the Camino today.
Thinking about my few remaining PowerBars, I asked if they would mind if I took a little bread and cheese with me for the walk. Ten minutes later I was handed a carefully packed picnic, complete with bread, cheese, fruit, jam, ham, and chocolate. I happily accepted their offering and stuffed the package into Pilgrim, grateful to have something new to eat today. Receiving was getting easier by the day.
I went upstairs and took a long, hot shower, then packed up Cheater and got ready to go. As usual, it was raining and cold, so I threw on warm clothes, glad that I hadn’t left my long underwear behind several days ago. Then I went back downstairs to enjoy one more cup of coffee before I set out for the long walk ahead. It was so cozy at this farmhouse I wanted to say for a week.
A few minutes later, Miguel carried Cheater down to the first floor for me and assured me that someone would soon be there to pick him up and deliver him to the next hostel. I was grateful not to have to carry Cheater down myself, even though he had lost a considerable amount of weight since we started out on this journey together. I had too, it seemed, because I’d had to take the shoelaces from my (useless) lightweight hiking shoes and tie my belt loops more tightly together this morning, as my pants were beginning to fall off. Lingering a bit longer, I asked them to stamp my pilgrim’s passport, then took some photos of them, wanting to remember their kindness long after this adventure was over.
It was now time to go, so I asked them to point me in the direction of the Camino, delighted to find out that it was directly out their back door. I gave them both a big hug as they wished me a hearty “Buen Camino.”
Once on the path, my heart was peaceful as the Camino led me through more flat farmland along the railroad tracks, under rainy skies. I was so grateful for the simple kindness and love shown me last night that today I felt as though I were the luckiest and most blessed person alive. Even my white hiking shirt was not only returned to me freshly washed, but also ironed, for heaven’s sake. They treated me with such respect for making this pilgrimage—I couldn’t believe it! The love I felt was so healing that much of what had troubled me over the past few days ceased to matter. It felt good to step into this higher vibration and keep moving.
Eventually I came across an incredible stone bridge leading into the next town. I stopped and read about it on a sign. Called the Puente de Órbigo, it was one of the longest and oldest medieval stone bridges in Spain, dating back to the 13th century, and built over an even older Roman bridge that existed for centuries before. It was considered one of the great historical landmarks on the Camino, and I could see why. Its 20 arches led me across the Río Órbigo along what was known as the Paso Honroso, or Passage of Honor, because of a famous jousting tournament that took place there in 1434.
According to legend, a knight from León named Don Suero de Quiñones, scorned by a beautiful lady, threw down his gauntlet to any knight who dared to pass as he stood defending the bridge, and also his honor. Knights came from all over Europe to accept his challenge, yet he successfully guarded the bridge from passage for 30 consecutive days. Then he continued on to Santiago to say prayers of thanks for his newfound freedom from the bondage of love that had held him in misery, now feeling that his honor had been fully restored.
I thought about the knight Don Suero and the bondage he had felt to the one who had scorned him. It’s true that we bind ourselves to the ones that hurt us if we cannot forgive, and because of that we continue to suffer long after the wounding has occurred.
That is what forgiveness is all about in the end, isn’t it? I thought. Releasing ourselves from what holds us in bondage?
I, too, wanted freedom from bondage, I thought, as I walked over the bridge. And like the knight Don Suero, the only way to achieve it was to fight what had stolen it away. I had to fight off regret and bitterness. I had to fight off confusion and judgment. I had to fight off shame and embarrassment. But what I had to fight off most of all was the isolating and distorted “victim” perceptions of my ego.
It was time to release myself from these dark feelings, because nothing good came from them. Nothing. They didn’t bring me peace. They didn’t lift my heart. They didn’t make me feel better. They just made me feel sad and worthless and unloved. It was the worst kind of bondage a person could be in, and I wanted no more of it.
As I walked I also came to realize that to truly forgive, I needed more than to just understand why things had happened as they did, although that did play an important part
. I understood all along in my marriage that I was facing my own karma and my own spiritual tests. I also understood it was my choice to be born into the family I was born into, for the spiritual lessons and opportunities this family offered me. I even understood that it was I who chose all the relationships I had been involved with in my life in order to learn certain soul lessons for my own spiritual growth.
I had even mentally forgiven everyone who had hurt me, and wanted them to forgive me as well. I didn’t want to be bound by my ego’s perceived injuries anymore. It’s just that in spite of my understanding, I was still in pain.
What I wanted now was to turn it all over to God and be relieved of the pain in my heart and soul. I wanted to be forgiven for holding on to the pain. I wanted to release all of it so I could fully feel and receive all the love available to me now. I wanted to forgive myself for cutting myself off from the love that God and my Higher Self had for me. That is what this Camino was about. That was the forgiveness I sought.
I came back to the moment. The bridge spilled into a medieval town. The rain had subsided to a light drizzle, so I slid off my poncho hood so I could better look around. It felt as though I had stepped back in time, and once again I flashed on the Knights Templar. I felt as if I had been here before. It wasn’t even a thought. It was more like a déjà vu. I had crossed this bridge and might have even been part of building it.
I walked off the bridge and into the center of the town, named Hospital de Órbigo. It was very early in the morning, so the entire town was shut down and there was hardly a soul in sight. I did notice, however, a funny-looking little man riding up and down the small cobblestone street next to me on a bicycle that appeared way too small for him, wearing a bright yellow-orange vest that said “Security,” which seemed a bit out of place since there was no one around that seemed threatening. But then again, I had come to realize that every single thing that appeared on the Camino had a message for me, and if that was so, his appeared to suggest that I was safe and protected.
Walking Home: A Pilgrimage from Humbled to Healed Page 26
