The Camino and Me

The Camino and Me
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  • My Camino Story
  • Posts
    • Camino Frances Introduction, Cork – St Jean Pied de Port
      • Day 1; St Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles
      • Day 2; Roncesvalles – Zubiri
      • Day 3; Zubiri – Pamplona
      • Day 4; Pamplona to Obanos
      • Day 5; Obanos – Estella
      • Day 6; Estella – Los Arcos
      • Day 7; Los Arcos – Logroño
      • Day 8; Logroño – Ventosa
      • Day 9; Ventosa – Cirueña
      • Day 10; Cirueña – Santo Domingo de la Calzada
      • Day 11; Santo Domingo – Belorado
      • Day 12; Belorado – San Juan de Ortega
      • Day 13; San Juan de Ortega – Burgos
      • Day 14; Burgos – Hontanas
      • Day 15; Hontanas – Castrojeriz
      • Day 16; Castrojeriz – Frómista
      • Day 17; Frómista – Carrión de los Condes
      • Day 18; Carrión de los Condes – Ledigos
      • Day 19; Ledigos – Calzadilla de los Hermanillos
      • Day 20; Calzadilla de los Hermanillos – Mansilla de las Mulas
      • Day 21; Mansilla de las Mulas – León
      • Day 22; Leon – Hospital de Órbigo
      • Day 23; Hospital de Órbigo – Astorga – 15 km
      • Day 24; Astorga – Foncebadón – 27.2 km
      • Day 25; Foncebadón- Ponferrada – 25 km
      • Day 26; Ponferrada – Villafranca del Bierzo – 23.5 km
      • Day 27; Villafranca del Bierzo – La Faba – 25 km
      • Day 28; La Faba – Triacastela – 26 km
      • Day 29; Triacastella – Sarria – 25 km
      • Day 30; Sarria – Portomarín – 22.4 km
      • Day 31; Portomarín – Palas de Rei – 24.8 km
      • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km
      • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km
      • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye
      • The Camino and Me
  • Themes
    • Stepping into the Ring
    • Clear Intention
    • Enjoying the mystery
    • Fear and Courage
    • Risk and Vulnerability
    • Meeting and Letting go
    • Giving In
  • Tag: Santiago

    • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye

      Posted at 6:03 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 13, 2020

      I left the hotel joyfully in the morning, knowing that I was walking the final ten kilometres to Santiago. On the way I met the three amigos (Frank, Jill and Brett) and we stopped at Monte de Gozo, five kilometres from Santiago, to catch a glimpse of the city below. An hour or so later we entered the old town with its narrow streets and lovely artisan shops. Although they were charming, all I really wanted to see was the cathedral spire, and when it came into view, all roads led to Santiago de Compostela. Once we arrived in the square in front of the cathedral I left my rucksack in the care of others while I headed for the swanky Parador to use their facilities and Brett went to find his hotel.

      Inside the cathedral we searched for a seat, but it appeared they were all taken until some people squeezed a little closer to accommodate Frank, while Jill and I pitched our rucksacks against a stone column and got ourselves comfortable. Then we waited, and when Brett arrived he joined us on the floor. During Mass I felt completely at home. I thought of my mother, in particular, whose anniversary it was, and of a friend who was having an operation that day. I didn’t say formal prayers – I didn’t have the words and they didn’t seem necessary – I just held them in my heart and hoped that would be enough. Then I walked to receive Holy Communion, each footstep a sincere prayer of gratitude for the privilege of being there.

      Outside after Mass, I looked around to see who else I knew and I met Eugene. He told me that he had decided to leave Santiago in the afternoon and take a bus to where his wife was staying in Portugal. That had not been his intention when the day started and he still had to break the news to his walking companion, Heather. While I was surprised that he wasn’t staying to celebrate, at the same time I understood his desire to be reunited with his wife. Such a journey has a profound impact on the heart.

      In the evening I met my Brazilian friend Manoel who had been such a significant support to me in the first two weeks. The last time I had seen him was in Ponferrada where he was recuperating for a few days. I was delighted to learn that he had walked the last one hundred kilometres, despite the injury that had stopped him in his tracks ten days earlier.

      Last Supper Contingent

      Later I joined Mike, Jackie, Brett, Frank and Jill among others for the last supper and had a wonderful meal, followed by churros (doughnuts) with hot chocolate. But afterwards I headed away early to be alone with my loss, while my comrades seemed to be in more celebratory mood. In the last few days leading up to my arrival in Santiago I didn’t want the Camino to end. Of course I wanted to arrive in Santiago, but I didn’t want the adventure to be over. I had been on a long walk with my soul, exploring and discovering its deepest longing, and although it had been the most difficult experience of my life, it was also the most transformative, all of which meant that being in Santiago was bittersweet – the joy of arriving and the sadness of ending. For me, it was like being without my best friend.

      Earlier in the day when I had picked up my Camino certificate, I noticed how little it meant. In 2011, I had received a certificate of completion for walking the last one hundred kilometres of the Camino and it had meant a lot to me. Second time around I didn’t need it; I knew I had walked the Camino. It had taken me thirty-four days and my achievement felt deeply personal. Its meaning was something only I could know, and there was no certificate for that!

      Next day while I sat in a café over breakfast, I noticed a line of rucksacks resting against the counter and my heart jumped with longing to still be part of the pilgrim community. I assumed they were heading to Finisterre to meet the sea and what is known as the end of the world, and I wanted to go with them! But this part of my Camino was over. I had just one call to make before leaving; my last trip to the cathedral. Outside, a security guard prevented tourists entering during Mass. As Mass was already in progress, I knew it was pointless to pretend that that was what I had come for, so I told him the truth: I wanted to say goodbye. He indicated that that was good enough and stood back to allow me to enter. Inside, Mass was in full flow and I rested against another of the stone columns, absorbing fully what I was experiencing in my heart. I felt full of gratitude and love for the one who guided me, while I acknowledged, too, the heartbreak of the losses along the way.

      At the time I didn’t know what affect the Camino would have on me or how it would change my life. Now, I see it as the threshold that divides my life: the life before and the life after.

      The Camino is in me now.

      Posted in Day by Day | 1 Comment | Tagged Camino Certificate, camino de santiago, Finisterre, Goodbye, gratitude, guidance, heartbreak, Lavacolla, longing, Loss, Monte de Gozo, Ponferrada, Santiago, Santiago de Compostela, Soul walk, threshold, transformative
    • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km

      Posted at 7:21 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 12, 2020

      I set out knowing I was on schedule to arrive in Santiago the following day with just forty-two kilometres remaining. What I really wanted was to arrive in time for pilgrim Mass at midday. It was important to me that I arrive in my walking clothes with my rucksack straight from the Camino to take my place as a pilgrim before God. That would make my pilgrimage complete. However, the albergues were spread out in such a way as to make that wish impossible. No matter how I calculated the possibilities, I didn’t see how I could arrive in Santiago in time for midday Mass.

      With so many pilgrims now within two days of reaching their target, the route had become particularly busy in places, so I decided to let people go ahead while I crossed the road to a café to consider my unresolved dilemma. As I was removing my rucksack I heard my name being called and I looked around to see Frank, Jill and Brett. It transpired that the three of them were planning a long day’s walk to Lavacolla, which would get them within ten kilometres of Santiago. I had stayed in a hotel in Lavacolla the previous year, so I was aware that it was nicely placed for reaching Santiago in time for midday Mass. I had considered it as a possibility myself but dismissed it as I knew the village didn’t have an albergue. Jill and Frank were intending to make a hotel reservation and Jill asked to borrow my phone. She spoke Spanish sufficiently well to make such enquiries whereas I didn’t, and until then I hadn’t considered a hotel a viable or cost effective option. I had anticipated both a lack of availability and a prohibitive cost, given that the hotels were within striking distance of Santiago. However, I was amazed to discover that I could indeed get a hotel room for just €30. Not only that, Brett was staying in the same hotel so I had a dinner date too, while Frank and Jill found an alternative source of accommodation. Synchronicity at it’s best! My decision to cross the road at that moment brought about the resolution to my dilemma.

      My perspective on the day was completely changed as I set off again. It would be a long one; thirty two kilometres is no joke, but well worth it in the circumstances. I couldn’t have been happier. I felt as free as a bird as I walked between the eucalyptus trees on my way to Lavacolla. When I reached the hotel and discovered it was real; there was actually a room booked in my name, I felt so relieved. There had been a little worry at the back of my mind that it might not materialise. It was a tiny space but nevertheless a palace in my eyes. I had made it! I could taste it. Ten kilometres from Santiago, something that seemed almost unattainable five weeks earlier. It was a moment to celebrate. I switched on my phone for only the second or third time since I had left home. My Camino was a very internal experience and I had kept it to myself but now I wanted to share my joy with my friends.

      In the hotel foyer later as I waited to meet Brett, I noticed my nervousness. It wasn’t really a date, so why was I nervous? I think because of his ministry. Sometimes, I can view people who choose religious life as something other; maybe not entirely relatable. That misperception is probably leftover from childhood and a time when Priests were more revered as high moral authority figures, while the rest of us were the sinners! At the same time I was fascinated by his vocation, and how his partner fitted into his life of ministry. Partnership or marriage isn’t allowed within the Catholic Church so my interest was piqued about Brett’s life of ministry and how it was intertwined with an intimate relationship.

      Brett quickly showed me that concerns about his relatability were misplaced. I enjoyed his company very much and he took as much interest in me as I in him. We talked so easily, openly and freely. He was ordinary, approachable and full of good humour. I felt nourished by the encounter and the opportunity to share what gives meaning to me in my life.

      I really liked him.

      Posted in Day by Day | 3 Comments | Tagged albergue, God, Lavacolla, pilgrim mass, pilgrimage, Ribadiso, Santiago, vocation
    • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km

      Posted at 7:39 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 11, 2020

      My plan for the day was clear: I was going to walk to Arzúa and spend the night there regardless of what anyone else was doing. Why? The answer to that question lay with my experience of attending Mass in Arzúa the previous year.

      On that occasion I knew I was in a special place when I heard the soulful sound of a singing congregation as soon as I entered the church. Then without any knowledge of the language I felt completely enthralled by the Priest when he spoke. It wasn’t what he said as much as where it came from, and I knew the scene was set for a powerful experience.

      Moving towards the altar to receive holy communion I felt a oneness with the community of people around me. As I met each person, I watched their facial expressions and the devotion in their movement as they returned to their seats. I experienced a level of grace and connection that is impossible to describe and out of that space the words came; ‘if I die now it’s okay’. It would be okay because I had experienced everything.   

      Later the Priest invited the pilgrims amongst the congregation join him at the altar to receive a blessing, and we stood before him in a semi-circle whilst he searched internally for his words. When he spoke, my mind had no idea what he said but my heart recognised their source and tears streamed down my face. I felt loved absolutely.

      Mass in Arzúa is a nightly event, just as it is in most towns along the route. The blessing is a nightly event too, yet its impact was such that I felt it was the one and only time it had ever been given. Of course, I wanted to return in the hope of the experience being repeated, without any guarantee that it would be.

      During the day I talked to Leo, who was part of the Spanish/Limerick contingent I had met a couple of days earlier in Samos. He told me that he had received reports advising that accommodation in Arzúa was already fully booked. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear and initially I blocked it out. I wasn’t going to be easily diverted from my goal. However, as I thought more about it, I realised that I ought to listen to what I was being told, even though I didn’t like it. The prospect of not being able to get a bed in Arzúa was not one I really wanted to test, and although it wasn’t easy to let go of what I wanted, my day became a lot easier once I did. My Camino was teaching me about flexibility; without realising it, that had been a persistent challenge for me over the previous thirty-two days. By letting go of my fixation on a particular outcome, other things became possible.

      That night I stayed in Ribadiso, a hamlet with a couple of albergues two or three kilometres from Arzúa. After the initial relief of checking in and completing my chores, I went to the bar with my journal and a beer, and I noticed how lost I felt without my new friends. In Mike, Jackie, Frank, Jill, Brett and a few others I had found an inclusive circle where I felt safe. I didn’t know where any of them were and I was afraid of losing them. With only two days to go before arriving in Santiago I was afraid that I would be celebrating alone and I didn’t want that.

      However, as I sat there Leo came in and joined me at my table while Javier joined some friends he knew. Soon we expanded to become a trio when a UK pilgrim joined us, and when I spotted Heather and Eugene arriving, I invited them over to join us for dinner. The things I worried about sometimes manifested into being while probably mostly they did not!

      Posted in Day by Day | 2 Comments | Tagged albergue, Alone, Arzúa, Blessing, Camion, Connection, devotion, flexibility, grace, journal, letting go, love, Mass, oneness, Palas de Rei, pilgrim, Ribadiso, Samos, Santiago, Soul
    • Day 30; Sarria – Portomarín – 22.4 km

      Posted at 2:55 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 9, 2020

      In the morning I left shortly after 6 a.m. while the Limerick and Spanish contingent slept on. Outside the albergue I met Jim, Richard’s dinner companion from the night before. While we talked, we lost our way in the darkness, but doubled back before we got into too much trouble. Soon we were tangled up with quite a few other pilgrims and I was content to just follow, trusting that those ahead could see where they were going. There seemed to be an influx of Spanish pilgrims walking the last one hundred kilometres to Santiago, so it was quite noisy. When a group of Spaniards got together, no matter what time of day, they could be loud, and so I looked forward to getting away from them.

      As the morning stretched out before us, so too did the line of pilgrims, and I separated from Jim until we met again mid morning over coffee. At the café I saw Kathy with her group and we chatted briefly before she moved on again. Then Peter, a man from Dublin who was travelling with his wife, took a seat nearby. I greeted him; we had walked together briefly a few days earlier, although his expression told me that he didn’t remember me. Then after my companions left, he came over to make amends for forgetting me and we left together to walk the ten kilometres to Portomarín.

      Peter didn’t seem to notice that I shrunk as our walk progressed; by the time we got to Portomarín I was feeling utterly crushed. Although he walked alongside me, Peter seemed oblivious to me, as he talked and talked. There was no connection between us; we were walking alongside each other without actually meeting. My experience with Peter helped me to connect with another pain within and I knew I needed my own space; I couldn’t stay in a crowded albergue. At the bridge on the entrance to town I left him to wait for his wife while I went ahead to find a hotel.

      In the hotel I waited as a young couple checked in, but when it was my turn the receptionist told me they were full. Fortunately, a young male employee with very good English overheard the conversation and told me they had rooms with shared facilities on the top floor for €25. That was all I needed: a room; sharing facilities wasn’t an issue. He showed me such kindness as he took my rucksack and escorted me upstairs, telling me that as I was first to arrive, the place was mine. It was as though he could see what I needed.

      The impact of his seeing me was powerful. Once inside the room, I broke down into convulsive tears as the crushed part of me expressed itself. What I felt was absolute abandonment. It was too intense to be about missing the people whom I had met and parted from on the Camino. I knew this pain had earlier, deeper roots.

      After I slept, I ventured out with my journal to get a beer and do some writing. There were lots of bars, but I wanted somewhere quiet. When I finally found one that met my needs I ordered my drink, and while I waited for it to come I heard my name called. It was Jackie; she was with Mike, Jim (the Alaskan) and Dave (the New Zealander). I couldn’t believe it. Of all the bars in town we could have chosen, how did we all end up in the same one? I joined them, even though I wasn’t sure I was ready for company. But within a short time I discovered it was just what I needed.

      Frank and Jill, a father and daughter duo from New York, joined us too and we all became so comfortable that we stayed in the bar for dinner. Later, we were expertly guided through a selection of local aperitifs by the young male hotel employee who had helped me find a room; he turned out to also be a barman. Then we went outside, wrapped up, to enjoy our drinks and the remainder of the night. By then I felt relaxed. I really liked the people I was with; it felt like being in a family. Mike and Jackie were clearly at the helm, as they created the welcoming environment for waifs and strays to come into the fold. We might not have met at all that night, so I felt really blessed with good fortune. It was also nice to have the freedom of a hotel and not to have a curfew to comply with.

      Earlier, when we were in the bar, Darren had come in and I waved to him, but he looked a bit preoccupied. I guessed he was asking about accommodation; it was about 9 p.m., very late to be looking for somewhere to sleep. When I saw him leave, I was in two minds about whether to go after him. I was worried in case he couldn’t find anywhere to stay and I wondered if I should offer to let him sleep in my room. When I confided my thoughts to Mike, he asked me whether that was what I really wanted. No, it wasn’t what I wanted. I was torn between what I wanted for myself and my impulse to rescue Darren, which came from my own fear of being unable to find room at the proverbial inn. Then as we sat outside later, the Australian woman with whom Darren had left Villafranca a few days earlier, came by our table. She had just arrived and was staying a few doors down. I guessed then that she was with Darren, so I knew he wasn’t homeless after all and I was very glad that I hadn’t interfered or acted on impulse.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged abandonment, albergue, Camion, Connection, journal, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Portomarín, Santiago, Sarria, seeing, seen
    • Day 22; Leon – Hospital de Órbigo

      Posted at 3:25 pm by Mary Murphy, on April 1, 2020

      After a breakfast of tea and toast supplied by the nuns, Kathy and I departed the albergue in high spirits; in fact, it was the most carefree I’d felt in three weeks. Although, initially I enjoyed mingling with other pilgrims as we exited the City, after an hour or so I felt tired and I longed to return to stillness.

      With the busyness behind us, the rhythm of the day fell into place as we all spread out again. And in the quietness of the unfolding day, an easy peace settled upon us. We were reunited with life without distraction of any kind and we had nothing to do but put one foot in front of the other. In Kathy’s presence I felt held in a sacred, invisible and powerful container, and I experienced an inner stillness that gave me access to a deeper layer. There was no need to speak, and out of the silence the phrase follow the footsteps of Jesus came to me. It was, in fact, exactly what I felt I was doing in that moment.

      It was evening time when we arrived in Hospital de Órbigo, a really beautiful town, but I had no interest in exploring it. My needs were basic after walking 37.5 km and all I wanted was a bed. Kathy planned to reach Santiago a couple of days ahead of me, and for her that meant some very long days. As our time together was limited, I was prepared to push myself for one day, while knowing the next would be a much short one for me.

      After dinner I advised Kathy that there was no need to set an alarm. We were sharing the dorm with Toby, a young German man I had first met in Carrión de los Condes, where I discovered that one of his habits was to leave each day by 6 a.m., and I thought he couldn’t do that without disturbing me.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged albergue, Camino, Carrion de los Condes, Hispital de Orbigo, Jesus, Leon, peace, Santiago, stillness
    • Day 21; Mansilla de las Mulas – León

      Posted at 7:37 pm by Mary Murphy, on March 31, 2020

      Day twenty-one marked the end of my journey across the Meseta, and for me the unfortunate arrival in another city. I was sad to say goodbye, as I felt the Meseta had nourished me so well. Many mornings as I left on my own, I had felt that there was someone behind me holding a torch that shone light straight at my feet. Often I had turned around to check, but I was alone. Or was I?

      For most of the morning I walked with Eugene and Heather and we talked about the possibility of hopping onto a bus to take us through the suburbs and into the city. My purist attitude of a week earlier had gone; by this time I would have accepted a bus without difficulty. No longer did I think it necessary to walk all the way to Santiago. After a while I let them get ahead of me, and I walked on my own until I met Branu and an anxious Kirsten. Branu approached the city leisurely, browsing the shop windows on the way, while Kirsten worried about finding an albergue. So I asked if she wanted to come with me to the Benedictine convent and let Branu follow in his own time.

      The nuns were certainly in charge in what was the only albergue where I experienced men and women with separate sleeping quarters. There was something about the place that I loved; maybe it was that the beds had crisp white sheets – I don’t know. In particular, I loved the safety I felt there. After arriving, Branu, Kirsten and I shared a picnic lunch in the courtyard. While I only had bread to contribute, as usual Branu had enough for both of us. He used his rucksack for carrying food rather than physical attire. When he offered me wine from his yogurt container, I thought he was joking, but I was tempted to find out and it was, in fact, red wine. I was impressed. Kirsten had something of great value too – a sharp penknife – and it was lovely to have actual slices of cheese as opposed to bitten off chunks, which is what I often had. Not only was the experience an upgrade on my own cobbled-together picnics, but it was also better than any café lunch, and I was struck again by Branu’s generosity: he always had food to offer and at all times wanted to share what he had.

      As we rested in the aftermath of a satisfying lunch, I spotted Kathy, the American woman with the blisters who had stayed with me at the hotel in Castrojeriz. I was excited and delighted to see her again and we headed off for a drink, although I felt a little guilty about leaving Kirsten and Branu straight after eating. Kathy and I had so much to share that we spent the remainder of the day catching up. I saw nothing of the beauty of León; that would have to wait for another occasion. Later, Kathy gave me her iPod to listen to the poet David Whyte in conversation about Mary Oliver’s poetry. He was offering his thoughts on the importance of retaining innocence in adulthood. That night I drifted off to sleep on my white sheet to the sound of David Whyte’s mystical voice.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Benedictine, Camino, Castrojeriz, David Whyte, innocence, Leon, Mansilla de las Mulas, Mary Oliver, Meseta, mystical, Nuns, Santiago
    • Day 10; Cirueña – Santo Domingo de la Calzada

      Posted at 12:47 pm by Mary Murphy, on February 6, 2020

      After six kilometres we arrived in Santo Domingo de la Calzada, where we stopped for coffee and a discussion about the day ahead. I wanted to explore the town without being under the pressure of time, although it became apparent, that my interest in Santo Domingo was not shared by all. It was clear that Sue wanted to pass through it as quickly as possible, in the same way we had done with many other places, and as we left the café I felt that the disharmony between us was evident.

      Santo Domingo, the man after whom the town is named, was an eleventh-century Benedictine monk who devoted his life to caring for pilgrims. However, what piqued my interest was a story featuring a young German pilgrim who paid the price for rejecting the local innkeeper’s daughter in favour of continuing his pilgrimage. She wasn’t best pleased, and decided to exact her revenge on him by planting a church treasure in his belongings. The crime was duly reported, the young pilgrim was charged with theft, found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. All very swift.

      His parents, despite their grief, continued their pilgrimage to Santiago, and as they approached the town on their return journey, a voice told them that their son had been saved by Santo Domingo. Hearing this they went to see the judge who had sentenced the young pilgrim to death to tell him that their son was still alive, despite being hanged. The judge, who was in the middle of roasting chickens when he heard the news, was not inclined to believe them. ‘Your son is as alive as these chickens I am going to eat,’ he said. Just at that moment, the chickens he was cooking – a cock and a hen – leapt from the spit and crowed ‘Santo Domingo de la Calzada where the chickens crow after being roasted’. Since then, descendants of the cock and hen remain in residence in the cathedral in celebration of the local legend.

      The Cathedral was first on my list of places to visit, but I couldn’t gain access without a ticket; for that I was directed to the tourist office. There, I cast my eyes around at the souvenir collection and found myself particularly drawn to an emerald green rosary. As I touched the cross, tears came to my eyes and I began to realise that I was facing a decisive moment; continue ahead with my comrades or take a risk.

      As I walked around the Cathedral my decision became clear. Even though I had only walked six kilometres, and it was still hours before midday, I would stop in Santo Domingo. I accepted that I needed to slow down to really experience here, and to do that I had to take the risk of following my inner compass. Oddly, I also felt it was time to return to the municipal albergue experience. In some ways my Camino had begun to feel less like a pilgrimage and more of a walking holiday – or perhaps I hadn’t learned how to have both. The pilgrimage experience, something that is really personal to each individual in its meaning, was what I had come to experience. Although the social contact was important, I wondered if it took me away from my deeper journey, or maybe I just hadn’t learned how to navigate between them. My feelings had guided me to a deeper longing, and I sensed that my Camino at that point was about following the courage of my heart.

      At the agreed meeting time, I returned to tell the others my decision, which they accepted without question. Elisabeth had returned with pastries and we gorged on those before saying goodbye. I didn’t know if we would meet again, it seemed unlikely as they would be a whole day’s walk ahead of me. After they headed away I sat outside on a bench wondering how I would kill time until the municipal albergue opened at lunchtime. Not to mention the though of the long day stretching ahead with nothing to do and no friends to do nothing with.

      The albergue reception provided a view into the large downstairs dining room with access to a rough and ready garden for relaxing and hanging out washing. Upstairs I walked through the old, empty, dilapidated rooms. It was like going back in time to 1950s Ireland, with brown patterned wallpaper and lino floor covering, threadbare carpet, crooked walls, squeaky floors and stiff water taps. It didn’t feel in any way nurturing or comforting and I noticed how empty I felt after the exhilaration of my earlier decision. The reality of my loss began to sink in fully. I didn’t want to spend any time upstairs so I returned to the relative homeliness of the ground floor dining room. From there I had a good vantage point, and I watched some of the first pilgrims arrive; notable amongst them was the advance party of two who were booking beds for seven men from Friesland (a province in Holland). Such a request got my attention and I knew I would remember them.

      I felt more alone than ever as I realised all the familiar faces had gone ahead – not just Manoel, Sue and Elisabeth, but all my other Camino acquaintances. The full impact of my decision hit me and in part, I regretted my decision. It was like beginning all over again. I hadn’t anticipated how vulnerable I would feel without my friends, but at the same time I knew there wouldn’t be anything new without letting go of the old. In the dorm, I felt lost among all the new arrivals with their different languages and I asked two women where they were from without actually being interested in their response. Although they told me they were from Holland, they could have been from Mars for all I cared; my enquiry was merely an attempt to conceal how lost I felt.

      As I look back, I realise how important the group was for me. Its protection fortified me until I could set out on my own again. Yet to have remained with the group for longer than was necessary would have masked what I needed to resolve within myself.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Alone, Benedictine, Camino, cathedral, Ciruena, courage, heart, here, inner camino, inner compas, inner guidance, Loss, lost, municipal albergue, pilgrim, pilgrimage, Santiago, vulnerable
    • Meeting and Letting go

      Posted at 11:55 am by Mary Murphy, on April 17, 2013

      OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI was feeling pretty crap on day 15 – my throat hurt and I decided to end my day  before 9am after walking 10k.  I stopped for breakfast at a café and ordered an enormous chocolate croissant and I had two café con leche – there was no need to hurry.  By the time I had finished, the café had cleared and when I got outside, I saw Kathy just standing up from her table, she was alone, everyone from outside had left too.  As I passed her table I said to her ‘I don’t feel great today so I’ve decided to stay’ and she replied ‘So have I’, showing me her blistered feet.

      I had met Kathy briefly before and as waited for our accommodation to be ready we sat outside on a bench in the early morning being completely open our lives, our experience of the camino and how we were feeling.  I’m not sure I have ever made such an instant friend, I don’t think I have.  I felt we were really meant to meet and I was awestruck at how serendipitous our encounter was.  I was aware how easily I could have just walked by her saying ‘beun camino’.   After we checked in we went our separate ways for the day and I hoped we would meet again.

      It was in fact six days before we met again.  We stayed in the same albergue in Leon, a beautiful City.  I was outside sitting with some people when I spotted Kathy as she returned from hanging out her washing.  I was delighted and we headed off for a drink.  We spent the remainder of the day together and walked and talked for the next two days. I really felt this was an experience I was meant to have. I experienced Kathy as a real friend and particularly I felt she was bearing witness to my journey.  That is an incredibly powerful experience – Kathy held the space really naturally as we walked, consciously following the footsteps of others and I expressed the depth of my internal journey.  It is with the deepest gratitude that I recall this experience as I try to express it’s holiness – it was for me a most spiritual experience and perhaps the most spiritual phases of my whole camino.  And it is perhaps with hindsight that the significance of our meeting becomes clear.

      And then it was over, Kathy pushed on as she wanted to get to Santiago two days before my intended date.  I felt so sad when she left, I knew I would miss her but I really, really missed her.  That evening in Astorga I felt bereft,  in a daze, so sad and so lost.  Then the following day I honoured our encounter by carrying her in my heart as I walked and I reminded myself, ‘there is more’, there is always more.

      It seemed easier to live from the place of ‘there is always more’ whilst on the camino because in a way that feels a certainty.  Moving each day means that the comfort that is reached is internal and therefore there is less dependence on external familiarities and comforts.  With that an acceptance emerged within me that relationships can be intense, purposeful and transient.   And so it was easier to cherish the moments as people weaved in and out of my life.

      Then much to my surprise I met Kathy again five days later.  And whilst it was lovely to see her and catch up, I knew the moment we met that the purpose of our camino encounter had already been satisfied.  As Kathy would say ‘another etapa’.

      Love is accepting, love is flowing, love is allowing and love attracts more love.

      And so, there is always more.

      Posted in Themes | 2 Comments | Tagged acceptance, Camino, friendship, letting go, love, Santiago, witness
    • Mary Murphy

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