Camino Santiago Pilgrimage June 2000
Introduction
On June 15, 2000 I was forced out of my comfort zone, familiar surroundings, proximity to family and friends, and daily habits; all that tethers our existence and keeps us grounded. I would carry my ‘home’ on my back for the next 10-12 weeks; with no set agenda, destination or timetable, free to follow my ‘spirit’. Free to respond to events as they unfolded each day.
The Camino Santiago called me and seems there was no alternative but respond. Today tens of thousands of Christian pilgrims and other travelers set out each year from their front doorstep or popular starting points across Europe, to make their way to Santiago de Compostela. Most travel by foot, some by bicycle, and a few travel as some of their medieval counterparts did, on horseback or by donkey。 In addition to people undertaking a religious pilgrimage, there are many travelers and hikers who walk the route for non-religious reasons: travel, sport, or simply the challenge of weeks of walking in a foreign land. Also, many consider the experience a spiritual adventure to remove themselves from the hustle bustle of modern life. It acts as a retreat for many modern "pilgrims".
What happened to my free will? Circumstances beyond our control often influence our decisions more than we are comfortable admitting. St Augustine wrote “Lord, you provide the pricks that move us in the direction you want us to move.” St Augustine was referring to the stressful teaching conditions in Carthage that prompted him to move to Rome. There is no doubt in my mind that our Lord supplied the ‘pricks’ that compelled me to abandon my comfort zone and plunge into the ‘darkness’; a life with no boundaries or constraints.
About 2-3 weeks before catching the plane to Paris my life was pretty normal; a full time job, a mortgage, a car payment and some credit card debt. Main stream society had me firmly in its grip; a slave to the consumerism and materialism of our culture.
At work, on a Thursday late in May, went to chat with the general manager, an acquaintance from a previous job. While having only been on this job for three months I was very uncomfortable with my colleagues, the work and the owner. My philosophy on life at that time was incompatible with the business style and personality of the owner. I wanted to resign but would stay on until he could find a replacement, which in my mind would leave me with a month or so to find myself alternate employment.
The next day, Friday, the general manager informed me that this would be my last day; apparently the owner felt the same way about me. Manifestation of the first ‘prick’, I found myself unexpectedly and abruptly unemployed.
Saturday cried on my sister’s shoulder, lamenting about being at yet another fork in the road with no idea which way to go; no job, no job prospects and all this debt ... what to do?
Sunday brought the decision to buy two 'House for Sale' signs, planted one in my front lawn and another at the corner of the street. Selling the house would provide more options; failure to sell the house would mean finding another job … quickly.
By the following Tuesday … only two days later the house was sold and the purchaser wanted possession in two weeks. The second ‘prick’ just appeared … and so quickly. The Lord must be in a hurry to get me somewhere. Now I have no place to live, no place to work and still no idea what to do next. Wow! … Did that happen fast!
During the next several days while cleaning out the kitchen cupboards I found the 'Credential' for the Camino Santiago. This ‘Credential’ was one of the souvenirs from my visit to Santiago Compostella almost exactly a year earlier; in June 1999. The Credential is required for admission to the many Hostels along the Camino Santiago.
In a flash it all came together, it was time to go for a long, long walk; I would attempt walking the Camino Santiago. No research, no planning, no preparation … just go!
June 9, 2000
A few days later, as the reality of my recent decision started sinking in, anxiety came along in its train. Serious questions popped into my mind.
· Why a pilgrimage?
· Where is this pull/push coming from?
· Where did it start?
· What are my sincere reasons for going?
There were no easy answers to any of these questions. Was this simply another escape, running from the two recent failed attempts at building a lasting friendship? For the past five years my few remaining friendships were evaporating; uncomfortable feelings of isolation were steadily creeping into my life. Uncertain whether this was self imposed or God’s will for me; remembering that my parish priest told me several years ago if God was calling me, He would take me alone. Hmmm
Something is drawing me to the 'pilgrim's way' and something else is pulling me back ... the familiarity and pleasures of life for almost 50 years.
Oh! ... What a struggle!
St Augustine wrote sixteen hundred years ago ... "Oh you torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?"
Did I really want to rebel against mainstream society? Perhaps my frequent griping and whining was simply a result of my failures playing the game according to society’s rules. Vacillating between moderate success and serious failure; never resolving that restlessness feeling. St Augustine wrote “Lord, our hearts were made for you and they will remain forever restless until they find rest in you.” Hmmm
Where is the truth? Will I ever know? Is this particular pilgrimage another attempt at discovering the TRUTH ... my truth ... or strictly vanity?
There appear to be only two possible motivations for this pilgrimage; escape or discovery? I simply don’t know. I will know by the 'fruits' ... the outcome.
It's rare indeed the occasions when people act without "an investment in the outcome". When we pursue pleasure of any sort, a quiet walk through the forest, a night out, or a relationship we drag along our personal investment in a favorable outcome. All are undertaken with an investment in the outcome. We travel to our favorite location to begin our walk with the expectation that the walk will be pleasurable ... good weather, pleasant scenery, song birds singing etc
So how do we change this habit? Habit because it seems to be included in the intention of the term "human custom", meaning acceptable human behavior. We are socialized or programmed to act solely with an investment in the outcome
Has this always been the case? My immediate response is yes. The Hebrews left Egypt and slavery with an expectation of liberty, peace and prosperity. They had an investment in the outcome, an expectation, a reward for their efforts. No wonder they whined and complained while wandering around the Sinai Desert. The desert experience did not conform to their expectation, their investment in the outcome.
This 'investment in the outcome' is at odds with the words in the Lords’ prayer … "thy will be done". Many, many 'spiritual' people were able to somehow overcome these "chains of slavery"(torrent of human custom), whether they were Buddhist, Christian or Muslim. How did they conquer their habits? Many writings suggest "surrender" ... dying to oneself as a prerequisite to being reborn ... the seed must fall to the ground before new life can start.
This reminds me of the scene in the movie “Horse Whisperer”, when Robert Redford forces the horse to surrender. Redford binds one of the horse’s front legs yet the horse continues to resist, limping along on his remaining three legs. Only after the horse goes down on his knees and finally rolls over, surrendering its’ independence, can its healing journey begin. Perhaps it’s the same with a spiritual journey; only after we have completely surrendered our will, our need for self control, our self reliance; can God begin the healing process, the transformation.
St Francis of Assisi said something to the effect ‘the second death is easy, the first one is most difficult’. Seems he was referring to what is know as ‘dying to oneself’ … surrendering oneself completely and totally. For those people who successfully achieve this end, their physical death is apparently uneventful.
Seems logical enough ...why is it so difficult? Why does one have to attempt it so many times before one succeeds? What does success look like?
I remember my walk in September 1994 along the highway between Cobden and Barry's Bay. I don't know how my frame of mind got to where I was able to walk into cold water with all my clothes on and attempt to drown myself. I was literally following the wind. Thinking of it now still gives me goose bumps.
A significant factor was my recent separation. Was that the whole reason? I ‘m sure there was more to it. I was experiencing a spiritual transformation of sorts for a year or so already ... the milestone was the morning in the restaurant - Angie's Kitchen. Maybe I need to plough through the bowels of my memory to reconstruct that morning. I will attempt it the next time I pick up my pen to write.
Later when sharing this bizarre attempted suicide experience with my parish priest, he suggested it may represent one of the baptisms described in John’s Gospel.(Baptism by water and baptism by fire). He was very candid, saying “Bruce … either you’re crazy or you’re destined to be a Saint”. He went on to say that if it was God calling me He would take me alone. I would have to go through the purification process … like gold is purified with fire. He was again referring to John’s Gospel ... first baptism with water and later baptism with fire. Yikes! This sounded pretty intimidating.
What about my discovery that my first name is not Bruce; that I am not named after my uncle who died in World War II? My baptismal certificate and birth certificate both list my first name as Thomas. Is there some connection here? I am only now becoming the real me?
My notes from June 15, 2000
Woke up early, no clock in the house and no idea what time it is. Wide awake so decided to get up and head out for my morning coffee. In the car discovered it was 4:00 AM. Oh well! I'm up now ... let's go.
Scared ... really scared ... don't know why. What’s a pilgrim? … Is a pilgrim a seeker? … Is a pilgrim a wanderer? Am I a pilgrim? ... Do I want to be a pilgrim?
I've talked about it for several years now. In the last 5 years I’ve wandered around Israel a few times checking out the Biblical sights, climbed Mount Sinai twice, made several visits to Medugorje and toured the hometowns of several prominent Saints in Italy and France. The memories are mostly pleasant however; these experiences hardly qualify for pilgrim status.
Can one be a pilgrim and stay in the crowd? Work in a business whose only purpose for existence is accumulating profits; where one exchanges labor for the necessities of life … shelter, food and pleasure. How is it that even with all these human comforts so many people feel a huge emptiness inside?
I’ve gone down that street so many times now. Wanting to be part of modern community and wanting to be a pilgrim at the same time … it simply doesn’t work. Reminds me of the scene in the movie “Matrix” where the car stops and the man is invited to get out. He looks down the street and says something to the effect “Oh no. another dead end street, been there to many times, not going there again.”
I have tried to establish new friendships, offering myself and my new ideals ... no takers ... they all seem to be stuck in the ‘world’. The last two weeks were very difficult, every day being forced to face the trauma associated with unemployment and homelessness; every day forced to make a decision to remain unemployed and homeless; every day forced to accept the lonely life of a pilgrim. How long I can keep this up? The temptations to return to the ‘world’ have been severe. Seems I’m being given the opportunity to walk alone with God … my decision or His?
Questions ... only questions! No answers!
"In my times of trouble mother Mary came to me ... speaking words of wisdom ... let it be ... let it be” (Beatles song)
Oh! How difficult it is to achieve the state described with these simple words of wisdom “Let it Be”... Why? ... Why? Humility and patience don’t come easy.
AgainSt Augustine’s words come to mind … “Woe to you, torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?”
Maybe the answers lie in St Augustine's words ... I found these few words so profound.
The pace of life today is so fast. So many authors and individuals speak of the speed of life these days ... the 'microwave' society ... the instantaneous gratification society.
The 'torrent' in St Augustine's sentence leads me to believe that the 'force' is very real, it’s the invisible force behind today’s' pace of life that keeps us from being still. We can't stay still ... we are caught up in the turbulence. This has always likely been the case ... is today any different than any other time in history? Not likely, simply a question of degree.
The desert fathers, hermits, monks in history all seemed to acknowledge the 'torrent' and all wanted to 'escape', seek shelter in isolation ... Why is the escape to isolation so necessary?
I am just now reminded of the story of Elijah ... he too was seeking God. In his Mount Sinai experience where he thought he could hear God in the thunder, the wind and finally he discovered God in the silence. Is this it? We need silence and solitude to meet our God!
Many say we all yearn to know God. How can it be otherwise if we are the created and God is the Creator? It can’t be otherwise. We are caught up in the "torrent". We are in the "flock" which is on the move at breathtaking speeds and all we can see is the 'asshole' in front of us.
We can't stop; we can't move sideways, backwards or in any direction and still survive. We must keep up with the 'flock' … “Woe to you, torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?”
So why or how is it that some people who have been 'stuck' in the 'flock' for so long suddenly find themselves on the peripheral of the 'flock', with the choice; continue to move along with the 'flock' or move away from the ‘flock’ into isolation and solitude.
Any attempt to pull away is met with serious resistance. We are pulled back in; the force is so strong, the familiarity, the comforts and the pleasures of the life we know. Most of us choose to remain inside our ‘bubble of comfort’. Resisting these temptations is humanly impossible. Only by the Grace of God do we have the strength to resist.
So what is the reward? Here I am this morning, struggling with the feelings of being blessed and being cursed.
Drawn out of the 'flock'(crowd) and pointed in a new direction. The new direction is complete ‘darkness’ as in the book written by St John of the Cross ‘The Dark Night of the Soul'.
So what is the 'dark night of the soul'? The journey of our inner self to union with God; where our physical self resists the efforts of our soul every inch of the way.
Feeling tears, sadness and joy all blended together. The prospect of meeting my God is so exciting, yet so intimidating! My parish priest’s comments of five years ago ... "If God is calling you ... He will take you alone. i.e. One cannot meet God in the crowd, not even in a crowd of two.
These memories are somewhat comforting when I consider the possibility that my efforts, however weak and insubstantial, may finally win the prize. Not likely! Forever the pessimist eh!
Where was I? Meeting my God, being drawn into isolation and solitude, the prerequisite for the ultimate blessing of coming face to face with my God. Oh how thinking and writing these words brings tears ... tears ... and more tears.
I’m feeling a bit better now ... I’ll go for my morning walk.
June 16, 2000 … Leave for Paris
Arrive in Paris with mixed feelings, lacking clarity on where to go from here. The two options that prevailed were a visit with Sarah in Lille or return to Lisieux to visit Ste Therese. Surprisingly neither option involved getting started on my walk. The desire for solitude won the day, decided to head for Lisieux for a couple of days of rest, slow down and get my bearings.
I’m sitting in the train station in Paris where zillions of people are coming and going; the opposite of what I am looking for. I really feel out of place, although regularly enough a part of me wants to return to the hustle and bustle of the 'market place' and endure all that comes with it.
Why am I here? Where am I going? Am I making the decisions? Am I pushing for something that is not meant to be?
June 18, 2000
Why Lisieux? I'm not sure but finding that money while cleaning out the closet inside the card of Ste Therese is reason enough for me. I’m also thinking it will be cheap. Yuk! How money seems to dominate my decisions. Why? Without finding the money in my closet and the expectation of free or very cheap accommodation would I still be here in Lisieux this morning?
How was the visit? Quite enjoyable, quite moving; influenced no doubt by the memories of my last visit. The tender moments in the Carmel Convent, the reminder that Ste Therese is the Patron Saint of Missionaries. Wondering to myself if that is where I am headed; to a degree that is where I've been. I recall the occasional moments where I felt I was doing missionary work at the office in Guelph. At the time some colleagues even referred to me as Father Bruce. Seems to me I was 'preaching' to some extent, tough crowd though, caught up in the fast pace of life.
The small chapel behind the Pain de Vie was lined with acknowledgements from Our Lady of Lourdes. While sitting quietly in this chapel the feeling come up that I should visit Ste Bernadette in Nevers on my way to Spain.
Just writing this reminds me that in 1994 Rebecca and I were looking for Ste Therese’s shrine when we found ourselves in Nevers and accidentally discovered Ste Bernadette. Now I’m in Lisieux being directed to Nevers. Hmmm
Here is the story about how I come to know both Ste Bernadette and Ste Therese.
Rebecca and I were in Belgium at the time, visiting the gravesite of one of my uncles who died in World War II. He is buried in Flanders Fields. Rebecca had long harbored an interest in Ste Therese and really wanted to visit her shrine; while at that time I’d never heard of her.
We went to enquire at the local parish rectory. A kind elderly priest didn’t know but he took the time to investigate. He found some reference to Ste Therese in an old book in one of the cupboards in his office and told us we would have to go to Nevers to visit her shrine.
Reluctantly I agreed to drive the 800(??) kilometers to Nevers. We couldn’t find the shrine and after driving around Nevers for a while we decided to stop and enquire at the next church. Since I could speak some French, I sheepishly entered the church to try and get directions to Ste Therese’s shrine. I learned there is no shrine dedicated to Ste Therese in Nevers! However, this particular church has a glass casket with a nun inside who looks like she died yesterday.
Expecting Rebecca to be disappointed; was quite surprised that she became animated when I explained the glass casket to her; she also knew of Ste Bernadette. Today I learned about Ste Bernadette; both she and Ste Therese have been a very strong influence in my life since this day. A year later I found myself in Lisieux visiting the shrine of Ste Therese … alone. This incident is yet more evidence of my walk with God … alone.
The circumstances surrounding my first visit to Lisieux are full of mystery, a story worth sharing.
On the same trip involving Nevers, Rebecca and I visited Assisi. The visit was quite pleasant ... nothing 'spiritual' ... at least nothing that was in my conscious mind at the time. While in Assisi I got a 'heads up' on the fact that Interpol was looking for me, I purchased a book about the life of St Francis and a 2 volume series about St Teresa of Avila thinking it was a book about the Ste Therese Rebecca talked about.
The countryside was immensely picturesque, rolling hills etc. Assisi was the first authentic 'walled city' that until now I had only read about in history books. Seems this real life observation of a city surrounded by walls would come back to mind many, many times when reflecting on human nature and the evolution of mankind. The walled city is the child or grandchild of what we know today as the nation state ... e.g. Canada. Wonder what the next major shuffle of social structures and societies will bring?
In February 1995 while living at the Maples Inn in Guelph, the only place where you could rent a self contained apartment for a day, a week, a month etc. I was still very much in limbo ... no job ... no hobby ... no purpose etc. I read St Teresa of Avilla's book and particularly remember the section titled 'Interior Castles' ... deeply moved or touched by St Teresa's writings about her mystical experiences. Learned later that many scholars consider her writings on mysticism some of the best available; yet she was an uneducated Spanish peasant.
Also read the book on the life of St Francis ... again deeply moved and touched... difficult to explain.
For example, one night while lying on my bed I heard the name Jesus in my mind. I can't remember if I intentionally attempted to form the name or if it arrived in my mind without any effort on my part. A few seconds later I felt an 'electrical current' in my body. I can't really explain the feeling. I decided to intentionally speak the word Jesus ... my lips didn't move ... this all happened in my mind. Again the same result; like an electric current running through my body. I was afraid to do it again. This experience left me with an unusually quiet and peaceful feeling.
Within days of this experience the decision to enrol in some kind of Franciscan association was born; perhaps finding something to do with all my free time. I called my parish priest who had helped me a lot in the previous couple of years and he told me about the Third Order of Franciscans. An organization of lay people involved in various activities. He also mentioned there may be some in London Ontario.
For some reason I didn't take his advice, decided to go to Toronto instead. Without understanding why, drove to Mississauga and pulled into the first major hotel, went to the lobby and started looking through the yellow pages under 'Franciscan'. After making several phone calls, and actually talking to a Franciscan, Maurice Richard. I remember saying to myself at the time that I would remember his name because of the Montreal hockey player of the same name. Brother Richard was very kind and friendly on the telephone and we would exchange letters (only one) several months later where he informed me that there is only one true ‘spiritual director’ ... the Virgin Mary. All others who claim to be spiritual directors are, at best, cheerleaders. St Teresa of Avila’s comment … something to the effect ‘don’t send me any more dumb priests’.
Somewhat disappointed with my research I decided to head home; seemed like just another 'dead end street'. A spontaneous and impulsive action with no basis in logic, actions rooted solely in 'faith' ... a faith that seemed to be failing me at the time. Or so I thought ... was I in for a surprise!
As I was pulling off onto the ramp for the 401 I passed two young women hitch hiking. Decided to stop and give them a ride ... not sure of my motives ... was I feeling charitable (Franciscan) ... was I lonely ... who knows?
The young women were hitch hiking to London on their way back to school. They were pleasant young ladies so I decided to drive them all the way to London; a considerable distance past Guelph ... hmmm. Here I am on my way to London ... the place my parish priest suggested … the advice I chose to ignore the day before. ... Hmmm.
Along the way, I am pretty sure somewhere past the turn off to Guelph, the young lady in the back seat starts to talk about her experience on a kibbutz in Israel. My ears perk right up; this topic is very appealing. She doesn't say much, only that people who go to a kibbutz, work six days a week in exchange for free room and board. Sounds perfect to me ... a chance to wander around Israel ... within my budget!
The kibbutz movement in Israel started in the 1920’s. It’s basically a commune where all property is held in common, no member owns any private property. What a concept! Sounds like the early Christians described in Luke’s Gospel. 20th century Communism was also a move in this direction and we all know how many countless lives were lost, both in the attempted implementation and later by the Western powers attempts to stamp out Communism around the world. Hmmm
The next day I visit my sister and ask her for a ticket to Tel Aviv on the next available flight. At this time Air Canada provided what they call 'buddy passes' ... staff could give these buddy passes to family and friends. The holder could travel standby on any Air Canada flight for a nominal fee.
You can imagine the reaction from my sister and her husband. I had only been back a couple of months from my trip to Medugorje and here I wanted to 'run away' again. Remember her husband’s reaction in particular. He said to me ... “Bruce ... go to the Israeli consulate in Toronto, find out about the kibbutz program and then decide if you still want to go.” Being the strong willed (stubborn) and self reliant type, I ignored his practical advice and pressed my sister for a ticket. My sister, being the kind hearted soul she is ... obliged and within a couple of days I was checked out of the Maples Inn and on my way to Israel!
Reflecting on these experiences today, seems there may be a connection between my ‘Jesus’ experience in my room at the Maples Inn and a few days later my rather abrupt and unexpected privilege of walking the very ground He walked during his life on earth. Scary!
Rev. Karban writes “Most of us live our lives as though they’re just a series of disconnected events. We rarely find anything to join and make sense out of even one day’s happenings, much less a lifetime filled with them. We constantly go from one thing to another without being able to "connect the dots."
Socrates stated “the unexamined life is not worth living”. Surely, Socrates is suggesting that regular and sincere examinations of our life will help us to ‘connect the dots’, discover the thread that holds the countless events of our life together. Our self-portrait is painted by regular and sincere reflections on the ever growing repository of our life experiences.. We will never know who we really are otherwise.
Arrived at the airport in Tel Aviv and found an information Kiosk where I was able to get directions to the administration offices of the kibbutz program. Found the bus into the city ... overheard some ladies chatting behind me on the bus ... in English ... which is highly unusual in Israel. One of the ladies was explaining that the bus driver was nervous because another bus had just been blown up in downtown Tel Aviv ... Yikes!! Welcome to Israel! My guess is the bus blew up about the same time the wheels of the Air Canada jet touched down at the Tel Aviv airport ... must be an omen I thought to myself. I am not welcome in Israel. This thought foreshadowed my fifth and final trip to Israel in 2003 where I was almost arrested.
Found the kibbutz administration office. Within a few minutes I was being interviewed by one of the administrators; he had a strange look on his face. A look that says “What is this guy doing here enquiring about the kibbutz program” He asks me if I am familiar with the rules and regulations of their program ... I respond ... nope! He passes me a sheet a paper with the main regulations ... the second or third regulation written on this sheet was ... maximum age 32 ... oh shit!!
My sister’s husband right! I should have went to the Israeli consulate in Toronto and checked out the Kibbutz program before travelling all the way here. This explains the look on his face ... at age 43 I was obviously well over the age limit. He explained to me that most of the volunteers were between the ages of 18-22; young people trying to get away from parental influence and older volunteers had caused lots of problems in the past. I symbolize everything these young people are trying to escape from. Oh joy!!
I guess he recognized the 'Oh Shit' look on my face because he suddenly became friendlier. He asked me how long I intended to stay in Tel Aviv. I replied ... I'll probably grab a coffee and go home! He suggested I go for the coffee and come back in a couple of hours.
I went and had my coffee ... surprisingly my feelings were peaceful, no anger, not particularly discouraged, not overly optimistic and no regret. that I had come all this way for nothing. I returned to the office a couple of hours later; and to my utter amazement found myself on Kibbutz Erez later that evening. Wow! ... If I had gone to the Israeli consulate in Toronto as my sister’s husband suggested, I would never have come to Tel Aviv ... synchronicity? It would be a few years yet before I learned the meaning of the word ‘synchronicity’ and it wasn’t until 2009 that I learned the connection between the word and Carl Jung. It was Carl Jung who first coined the term in relation to his pioneer work on unconscious collective.
Arrived at Kibbutz Erez which is less than a kilometre from Gaza; probably explains why the machine gun was laying on the front seat as I got into the jeep that picked me up at the kibbutz.
So here I am ... a long way from Third Order Franciscan activity ... yet it seems I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
The barracks where the volunteers live are not 5 star ... a bit rugged ... yet comfortable enough. Here's something amusing ... I am on a kibbutz ... a Jewish commune ... living with a bunch of 'runaway' or 'adventurous' teenagers ... at best very young adults.
I set up an altar beside my bed ... several miniature statues and a crucifix ... you can imagine how much gossip this would cause around the kibbutz!
More about some of my experiences on the kibbutz later ... perhaps one comical yet profound event before I leave this subject.
Kibbutz volunteers receive a spending allowance equivalent to about $75.00 per month which could only be spent at the kibbutz store, similar to a Mac's Milk store. I would buy cigarettes and occasionally an ice cream treat or chocolate bar.
One day after my milking chores were finished, on my way back to my room for a rest ... I stopped and bought a chocolate bar ... a big one. I started eating it on the way to my room. A little further along there was a group of volunteers sitting on the grass chatting. One of them saw me coming and invited me to join them. I mentally agreed and while I was heading in their direction I got to worrying about my chocolate bar. I was in no mood this particular day to share my precious chocolate bar ... see I am not very Franciscan at all!
I decide to keep my chocolate bar out of sight of the volunteers. I sit down on the grass and put my chocolate bar behind my back ... for safe keeping!! ...Wrong!! A minute or two later this big dog comes along grabs my chocolate bar and takes off with it. I lunge after the dog to retrieve my chocolate bar ... no luck ... the dog knew the value of his treasure … he was too fast.
You can imagine my embarrassment. I'm sure several of the volunteers would have figured out that I had selfishly hidden my chocolate bar from them so I wouldn't have to share it. I made it kind of obvious when I lunged after the dog!
On that day and so many times since then I have tried to figure out the 'lesson' to be learned from this particular experience. The obvious answer is ... it’s important to share ... even personal treats!
Today I have another twist on the potential lesson ... don't know why after all these years I come up with this today? Perhaps the 'lesson' was intended to go beyond the 'material' world ... something to the effect ... if one doesn’t share the wisdom one has been given ... it will be taken away.
I believe Kabbala teaches this truism ... Kabbala is the mystical sect of Judaism. I believe they claim if their followers do not share what wisdom they receive from the Divine; the tap will be shut off so to speak.
I have always tried to be deferential with all my teachers; at home, at school, at work and at church. Though my nature is much too self-reliant and rebellious to comfortably subscribe one hundred percent to anyone’s teaching. Yet writing this book I am responding to ‘a lesson’ provided by a dog! Go figure!
Suppose it’s no different than the lessons I learned from the sheep I observed for several years. Come to think of it, experts say mankind has learned from animals since the beginning of time; claiming that in antiquity we learned which plants and fruits were edible by watching other animals eat them.
Wisdom is a gift; not to be selfishly preserved for our own personal pleasure and since it is received freely, not to be sold to others at a profit. This opinion renders the laws concerning the propriety of intellectual property immoral. St Augustine states that an unjust law is no law at all. Hmmm
Seems the same phenomenon was at work with the North American Indian mystic ... Black Elk ... he only recovered after he shared his vision and later his tribe developed a celebration around his vision.
During my stay on Kibbutz Erez I befriended a young man from France. He told me at one point that he felt drawn to me the moment we first met. After many twists and turns in the following three months we would leave the Kibbutz together on our way to Medugorje. During this trip he was kicked off the train near Kosovo. Mysteriously, I was given a Visa for travel through Macedonia and later learned because he was a French citizen he was denied this privilege. We would exchange one letter after this time but never see each other … living … again.
Several months later while staying in Medugorje for the third time I would be directed mysteriously to his funeral. How did this happen?
I’d been in Medugorje for several weeks and was running out of money. At the same time I was becoming increasingly restless, such a shock after passing several of the most peaceful weeks in memory. This restlessness would lead me to seek a way out of town; remember I have almost no money. After several days, my efforts to find free transport out of town were fruitless and I was prepared to go anywhere. I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t run away from my restless feelings.
One night a priest knocked on the door of the home where I was staying. He had gotten separated from his group and was looking for directions to the church. We chatted for a while and I learned he had exchanged letters with Ste Therese’s sister at the Carmelite Convent in Lisieux. Wow! … This was really exciting news for me, to meet someone who had actually communicated with Ste Therese’s sister.
I helped him find his way back to the church and meet up with his group. He told me I would be blessed for my kindness. Hmmm
A few days later I am sitting on an airplane headed for Lille France. The same airplane the priest’s group was traveling on. Apparently one member of the group couldn’t make the trip and this left the seat vacant on the return flight. All of this was free, the trip to the airport in Split, the flight, everything; didn’t cost me a cent. Another wow! Was this the blessing the priest was referring to the night I helped him find the church?
I have no idea where Lille is in France but something tells me it is near the hometown of the friend I met on the Kibbutz in Israel. I decide to try and visit him. During the flight I make some enquiries and learn that I can walk to his hometown from the Lille airport. Yikes!! Where is this trip taking me?
I do in fact walk into his village and again after several twists and turns I find myself standing in his home where his family is grieving his suicide of the day before. His sister asks me … “Bruce … Why are you here? It’s too late to help my brother”. I have asked myself the same question many, many times since.
I still have no idea how these strange circumstances came together … synchronicity? The restlessness in Medugorje, the failure to find a way out of town for several days and finally finding a free flight to France where I could walk to JF’s hometown from the airport … the convergence is certainly mysterious. As I mentioned earlier, I learned about the word ‘synchronicity’ from a Jesuit Priest who listened to my story shortly after my return to Guelph several months later. He used the word to describe my experience.
I attended the funeral and spent the next few days with his family. It was amazing … felt like the people in this small village knew me. Apparently JF shared much about the time we spent together in Israel with his family and friends. Left with no agenda and no destination, where can I go now? Decided to find Lisieux, and check out this Ste Therese Shrine that Rebecca and I tried to find about five years earlier.
How winding a road I seem to travel ... am I to learn something from all this? I don't know ... all I know is most of the time I am prepared to go anywhere, feeling comfortable trusting the Virgin Mary will lead me ... and when it is not the Her leading me, trusting that She will lead me back where She wants me when the time is right ... Her time ... not mine.
Back to my pilgrimage story … I am in Lisieux for the second time in a year trying to figure out what to do next.
I am also reminded how last year at this time ... almost to the day ... I had purchased a ticket for Portsmouth and I was on my way to Lisieux but ... didn't make it there. Found myself a week later in Santiago Compostella Spain. This year I leave Canada en route to Santiago Compostella Spain and I find myself in Lisieux ... go figure!!
So why am I going to Lille? I will try to recall the 'signs' that got me here. The paper with Sarah’s (JF’s sister in Lille) phone number kind of fell into my hand about 10 days ago. I was going to call her that day but decided to wait several days. No answer the first time ... she answered the 2nd call. I was intrigued by her question during our conversation ... “where are you calling from?” Wonder what she was thinking? Even more intrigued by her comment that she was thinking about me almost precisely the same time I was thinking about her. Even more surprising ... she was thinking about how she never answered my letter. I was thinking the same and part of my reluctance to call was the fact that she never answered my letter.
So how is it that two people who barely know each other, having only spent several hours together almost four years ago at a traumatic time in her life, living 8,000 kilometers apart; yet here we are thinking about each other days before I hope to leave for Spain via Paris. Did my thoughts travel to Sarah? Did Sarah’s thoughts travel to me? Did the thoughts originate somewhere else and were delivered to each of us by an angel? Ste Therese? Ste Bernadette? At the very least on this day we experienced a psychic connection.
We will never know, perhaps after our death. Yet another coincidence, almost four years ago I said goodbye to Sarah and headed for Lisieux. Today I am leaving Lisieux and headed to Lille to say hello to Sarah? Am I making the return trip I should have made almost four years ago ... no way!! ... The timing is perfect ... it must be!
The next time I put pen to paper the experience with Sarah should be complete. Will the visit be eventful? ... Will it be uneventful? ... Who knows?
June 21, 2000
I spent the day in Lille, a day with so many surprises. Woke up later ...8:40AM ... five minutes left to get free coffee and bread ... I made it!
I walked more aimlessly today, decided against the familiar route, not particularly energetic ... thinking about the past couple of days ... looking for an answer to ..."Why am I here?" The visit has been OK Sarah suggests a cheap means of transportation south; Auto Pass is an organization that connects people who are driving somewhere with people who want a ride somewhere. The passenger is only asked to share the gas expense.
There were two options available for me, Orleans and Vierzon. . I talked about Joan of Arc with Sarah yesterday, explaining that Joan of Arc was the reason I was considering Orleans as my next stop. Find myself walking in Lille ... who knows where ... I look at the street sign and it's "Jeanne d' Arc" street ... hmmm ... symbolic? Continuing on, a church with the door open ... I am OK to visit ... not really drawn ... but OK. I spend an hour or so ... not too peaceful ... but OK.
I walk down the street and find myself sitting under a tree at an intersection of Jeanne D'Arc Street and something else. A few minutes later I look up and within ten meters is a statue of Jeanne D'Arc on a horse. I got up for a close look. The artist created a look of steely determination on her face ... or so it seemed to me. Recalled the many instances where Jeanne D'Arc was on my 'path', especially the time in the coffee shop where I felt compelled to write down my thoughts. Also, the two recent movies featuring Joan of Arc, and my chat with my sister’s husband concerning Joan of Arc.
The recurring theme is her example as someone who went against the "flow" and simply did what she believed God wanted her to do, even when facing the most horrible of deaths. I find the reflections both encouraging and frightening. The thought of martyrdom doesn't have a lot of appeal right now. The thought of getting on a horse with "LOVE" as my sword and trying to get people to buy into it has some appeal. I need to learn to trust God and wait for Him.
Worry about taking all these little "nuances" as sound indications of guidance by the Virgin Mary. I need to keep reminding myself about patience and humility. I have strong feelings and some sort of inner drive to get on with the pilgrimage to Santiago. I get an email from Rebecca saying she is so excited about doing the pilgrimage that she almost bought a plane ticket. I don't feel real positive about the prospects of walking with Rebecca who is occasionally too jumpy and pushy, where I prefer gentleness and going with the flow.
I will simply have to wait and see where God takes me. I am even more convinced that I am prepared to go anywhere and I am becoming stronger in my resolve to "not compromise" my faith and my particular journey with the Virgin Mary as my protector, guide, mother and comforter.
The gentleman at Auto Pass knew about the Camino Santiago yet he directed me to Vierzon rather than the historic departure point of Vezelay. Was this a Freudian slip? Four years later I would arrive in Vezelay to start my fourth and final pilgrimage. Hmmm
June 29, 2000
Traveled from Paris to Vierzon ... misunderstood the gentleman at Auto Pass ... I think he was referring to Vezelay. I stayed in an Auberge at Vierzon, very pleasant young lady who seemed quite interested in 'pilgrims'. She loaned me a magazine article on the pilgrimage ... she had saved this magazine since 1994. Here I am learning about the Camino Santiago in this village of Vierzon. I had not done any research in Canada ... true to my 'nature' ... I simply closed my eyes and jumped in so to speak.
I spent two nights in Vierzon ... forced to move on ... the Auberge was booked. Didn't do much ... decided to head for Lourdes and walk from there. Reflected quite a bit on my visit to Nevers where I was again touched deeply by the notion of LOVE. Why can't I LOVE? Why can't most people LOVE today ... I mean LOVE in the fullest sense ... when strangers pass you on the street ... the look on their faces is not at all peaceful ... loving ... even when I say bonjour ... most of them don't even respond ... it seems to me that LOVE is not present.
Touched by Ste Bernadette’s' words ..."Love without limit" ... seem to spend a lot of time on this notion of LOVE ... touched by the sentence I read in my previous visit to Lourdes ... "Ste Bernadette's parents loved each other tenderly" ... very moving experience. I can imagine the relationship ... but I certainly never experienced it myself ... don't think that kind of tenderness existed between mom and dad either ... perhaps to a degree.
People in the past century or perhaps for several centuries ... but it seems to me particularly in the past fifty years have become 'hardened' ... 'desensitized'. I think the result of $$$ ... higher standard of living ... a society that promotes individualism and in the process diminishes the 'sense of family' For example, it’s illegal to have a granny flat on your lot in Canada ... contrast this with Ste Bernadette's early life. She lived with her grandparents, aunts and cousins ... in the mill where her father worked ... very close quarters ... yet LOVE was nurtured and cherished.
Where are we going? We were not made to be 'hard' and 'insensitive' ... we were made to LOVE and we all seek to LOVE and to be LOVED.
What happened in Nevers? I almost started to write about it several times in the past couple of days but somehow the inspiration passed. Almost as though I was still influenced by the experience ... the 'experience' was still in process. Even writing while waiting for the train to Lourdes, am feeling light headed ... can't describe it ... this could all be psychological. Perhaps I set myself up with expectations when I decided to go to Nevers. I don't know ... doesn't matter. I seem to be attracted to the notion of LOVE ... what is LOVE? It’s a word that is used to describe so many situations, circumstances, emotions etc. At the core ... what is LOVE?
In English we say:
Agape love on the other hand is intended to convey the 'face of love' ... where there is nothing in it for me ... and I love anyway ... no wonder it is so rare in today’s 'me' cultures!
Seems to me for some time now that those who proclaim LOVE is the basic and most fundamental "need" of all human beings have it right. John, the apostle, writes ..."GOD IS LOVE". Does this suggest that these notions of what I am describing as "LOVE" are a manifestation of the presence of GOD within me? Am I simply being placed in a 'state' where I recognize GOD within me ... and at all other times I am too preoccupied with the 1000's of distractions in daily life.
I don't know ... I don't know ... will I ever know for sure? I want to ... I want to ... I am not even sure why I want to ... and why this desire comes and goes. I become somewhat satisfied with life for brief periods and later kaboom! Out of the blue I find myself wanting to withdraw from the world ... crawl into a cave ... lick my wounds and wait for healing ... and the cycle starts all over again ... Why? ... How many times must I go through this?
On to my pilgrimage … my first day of walking held many surprises.
I left Lourdes with no information about the 'Camino' in France. I had my 'Credential' which included a sketch of the route through Spain starting at Col Somport. I had consulted a map in Lourdes and took the road that seemed to be in the direction of Col Somport.
I’m a lifetime pencil pusher, spending most of my adult life sitting on my butt. Here I am carrying a backpack weighing approximately 35 pounds up these mountains, the French Pyrenees. My first day on the road, with no previous ‘walking’ experience, no idea that I should be carrying enough to eat and drink between 'pit stops'; no idea where’s the next pit stop. After walking about 22 kilometers, I arrive at this Hamlet which fortunately for me includes a small restaurant. I’m starving and pooped, with a painful sweat rash in my crutch; the first day of this pilgrimage is not a lot of fun!
The restaurant is closed! ... Now what? ... Where will I stay? Seems I’ll pay a heavy price for my arrogance, my refusal to do my homework and plan my route ahead of time. I’m looking around for some indication of what to do next, as if some answer would fall out of the sky. Notice a billboard across the street with an advertisement for a Gite (bed and breakfast) ... 4.5 kilometers away ... not in the direction I’m headed. After taking a few minutes to consider my alternatives, realizing I had none, decided to try hitch hiking to the Gite. The decision to hitch hike bothered me a bit. I’m supposed to be on a walking pilgrimage! Since the Gite was in the opposite direction of my walk figured it was justified!
After several minutes of sticking my out my arm with thumb raised, Canadian body language for please give me a ride, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I didn't see the lady approaching me ... fatigue? ... Daydreaming? ... Who knows? As it turned out this lady owned the Gite announced on the billboard. Perhaps not terribly surprising, only local traffic uses this road. The big surprise would come on the drive to the Gite.
While driving home she tells me her husband had just returned from his pilgrimage to Santiago Compostela about a week earlier ... he had started from their farm and walked for 38 days. Unbelievable! What’s the chance of this happening? Rather than paying a heavy price for my arrogance it seems I receive a blessing for my blind faith.
A few weeks ago my world fell apart so quickly, at the time I found it incredible that it happened so fast. Perhaps the answer to this question is in the timing of my departure from Lourdes. Almost the same day I left Lourdes heading for Fatima in Portugal the Third Secret of Fatima was revealed to the public, after more than 50 years of secrecy. Hmmm
Sitting in an elevated verandah at the Gite, after walked about 22 kilometers on my first day ... Hard enough ... pack is very heavy ... feet hurt ... overcast day mostly. What a blessing! I’m looking out onto a corn field ... the French Pyrenees in the background ... how picturesque. Sheep and chickens around the back ... the owner was born here ... am I jealous? Yes!
June 30, 2000
Day 2 on the road ... very tiring ... not too hot though ... thank goodness! Thank you Lord. Took a rest on the side of the road ... several cows munching away across the road ... thoughts went to ... why in the human species have we made "sex objects" of the organs whose natural function relates only to reproduction ... so contrary to nature ... a woman's breast exists to nurture ... to feed ... the baby until it is old enough to eat solid food. Cows do the same ... the mother knows when it is time to wean the calf and the udder and teats go to sleep, so to speak, until the next calf is born. What happened in the animal species called the "human species"? When did it happen? We are told Eve was created as a companion for Adam and to multiply the species.
When did women become a "sex objects"? I remember Sarah talking about this and how this was the principal reason she refused to get married or enter into a relationship. Seems she was given some deep wisdom on this subject. Is this part of the reason mankind has become so 'hard'? The reason we cannot seem to express "tenderness amongst ourselves". Seems logical that 'tenderness' would have been the first sentiment or feeling expressed between Adam and Eve.
As the story goes Adam saw all the other animals species 'mingling' with each other and he was lonely being the only member of the human species. I try to imagine myself in his shoes ... not that difficult these days! I am all alone ... somewhat by choice ... anyhow ... it seems to me that Adam would extend a sincere expression of tenderness and gratitude towards Eve ... and given the 'pleasantness' of the experience ... Eve would reciprocate ... or perhaps the other way around ... the order is not important ... the reciprocal 'tenderness' is the key!
So what happened and when did it happen? We see today the cumulative effect of the phenomenon ... where both men and women seem to be 'driven' to seek pleasure from the flesh ... worse yet ... men from men and women form women. We are told this is not new ... in past cultures ... it was as bad or worse ... why? If worse, what happened to improve the situation?
Certainly the human species has biological characteristics that come with being human. Surely these biological characteristics have the same behavioral natures as other animal species. For example, most animal species engage in intercourse only when prompted by nature; something happens which triggers the act leading to reproduction. I believe this same chemical or biological trigger exists in the human species. As a child growing up I knew nothing about sex, a taboo subject in the family. I was not 'driven' into sexual relationships. I did not look at the female species as 'sex objects'.
It did start at some point though. I wonder how much was biological and how much was external or environmental. For example, to what extent does what we see and hear in our society affect our behavior? We as a species are programmable; it's simply a question of degree. Much evidence exists to support the hypothesis ... isn't cultural uniqueness simply a manifestation of this 'programmable nature'. So let's suppose the human anatomy is constructed much along the lines of other animal species, female reproductive organs should not be visually attractive. They are not there to attract the mate as coloring is assumed with some species of birds. Cows don't stare at udders and teats ... why do we humans? Slick marketers have exploited this phenomenon to promote consumerism; the slogan ‘sex sells’.
As St Augustine wrote Lord, I really would like to understand why., if you do not open my eyes I will never know. My eyes see all the grief caused by today’s' human behavior, yet I cannot know for sure why it is so. If it be Your will to let me know ... so be it.
I should note here that I spent this night in a camper trailer. The lady who rented me the trailer was very kind, gave me coffee, bread and jam ... in the evening and in the morning.
During the night I woke up and had a very strange experience. The only way I know how to describe it is with an image. When we turn off our televisions ... the image disappears almost instantaneously and often all we see is a little white dot in the middle of a dark screen.
It was as though someone 'pulled the plug' or ‘turned off' my mind/brain. I was awake yet I felt like my brain was kaput. It was a memorable and frightening experience. The next day I thought perhaps the meditations while watching the cows in the field was 'connected' with this frightening experience. I was contemplating something I should not go near?
In Bedous again! The second time here in the last two days, after my accidental excursion to Adeus ... accidental?
The walk up the mountain to the tiny valley on top was excruciatingly difficult! It was another six kilometers after having already walked 16-17 kilometers. Today as I reflect on what I saw and learned, I am grateful for the experience. It provided yet another opportunity to reflect on the question of 'progression' or 'regression in human evolution.
The top of this mountain was a leper colony 100's of years ago and today it is a vacation paradise ... what a contrast!! Also, I was informed by the people where I spent the night that 100 years ago there were 60 shepherds and 1,000 sheep in the valley. Today, there is only one shepherd for 1,000 sheep. For centuries people lived in the valley with the same lifestyle and within 100 years so much changed. People have hydro, telephone, paved roads and numerous other creature comforts; yet no means of supporting life. The 70-80 inhabitants are likely all wealthy retirees. Only two or three working farms left in the valley. Is this progress?
So where is mankind headed from here? We are 'hardened' and 'wired'. This seems necessary to live at the pace we live, support the lifestyle we are programmed to believe is progressive.
I am reminded many, many times of the words ... "they loved each other tenderly". Tenderness is a characteristic of being or of living that has slipped into history. We hear the word so rarely and I know I can’t recall the word being used to describe anyone in my lifetime. I can’t recall a situation involving people where I would use the word to describe what I was observing. Perhaps I am too harsh or too cynical!
OK ... Let's say what I have just written has some basis of 'truth'. Why is it so? How did we get here? What do we have to do to get back? Assuming there was a time in history where people treated each other with 'brotherly love'(psalms) and tenderness. Today, no doubt there remain some isolated locations, even in large cities, where this sentiment prevails among a few people. Wish I could find one.
I’m feeling really hopeful right now; for the moment convinced that I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. Perhaps my dream, vision, or wish that somehow I’m destined to help souls for the rest of my journey here on earth. Although, I have much difficulty reducing this pleasant thought to practical actions. Perhaps I’ simply driven by vanity! Yuk!
Here’s another memory from yesterday. I realized at some point during my walk I had lost track of what day it is and the date; what liberty, what freedom! I thought to myself, here I am, don't know what day it is, don't know where I am, don't know where I’m going(short term anyway) and I don't care!. It's as though all the chains of slavery have been removed.
Contrast this with life back home where most people are concerned with even the "hour"; constantly rushed, agitated and consumed with stress; evangelizing the notion ‘time is money’! Chasing what? We are all headed for the same destination ... "death". Why are we in such a rush to get there?
I mention this to some people along the way and their body language confirms they have no difficulty understanding what I’m trying to say.
I’m sitting in a café writing these notes and a couple walks in. After noticing my backpack and walking stick they insist on buying me a coffee and dessert. I think to myself what generosity ... I’m a complete stranger, no beggars bowl and minding my own business. They stopped by the table on their way out to say 'bon voyage'. The older lady asked me to say a prayer to St Jacques for her. Lord please help me to remember their generosity and kindness. Clearly a manifestation of the tenderness I was just writing about; reflected in their voices, in the look on their faces. Making a note of this experience brings tears. I’m crying as I write, I must be experiencing a moment of LOVE. Certainly a rare moment ... I think for me anyway ... again why?
We are made to LOVE ... all serious minded people must know that being human it’s natural to crave LOVE ... both giving and receiving. I say LOVE ... not the reciprocal exchange of goods and services and affections we seem to promote and nurture in these times. The 'tongue' of my pen seems to be tired right now. I suppose I will just sit for a while and listen to the Spanish music being played here ... nope! Its 2:20PM ... off to the mill. the tour is at 3:00PM.
Still influenced by the unsolicited incident of affection at the café, I find myself standing in front of a bulletin board near the mill; the only still functional mill of its kind in France. Perhaps Ste Bernadette wants to give me a peak at what her life was like as a child when she lived with her family in a similar mill. She was about 14 years old when the Virgin Mary visited her in the grotto near Lourdes.
My eyes fixed on a pamphlet fastened to the bulletin board: this moment is a milestone in my journey … both the words and the image seem to be speaking directly to me.
"Il est des lieux qui tirent l'ame de sa lethargie, des lieux enveloppes, baignes de mystere, elus de toute eternite pour etre le siege de l'emotion humaine"?
My French is not very good but I could feel these words touch the depths of my soul and they are somehow connected to the experience of ‘tenderness’ in the restaurant. My translation is:
“There are places that pull the soul from its lethargy, places enveloped, bathed in mystery. Since the beginning of time in order to be the seat of human emotion.”
Certainly my soul is being yanked from its lethargy and my recent life experiences are full of mystery.
The English version of the words in the picture are: take the road (journey through life), listen, share, feel, look and understand. This is exactly what I’m trying to do.
Seems to me Ste Bernadette is giving me instructions for my pilgrimage.
I stopped about 2:00PM in Urcos today, earlier than usual. Figured the 15 kilometers to Col Somport would be too much. The young lady at the tourist office told me there is no place to stay between here and Col Somport ... not even a place to camp. Did my laundry at the camp site ... went to town ... about 1 kilometer, thinking I might buy a hot meal at the restaurant ... no luck it’s closed until 7:30 PM
Changed my mind, bought a chocolate bar and now my teeth hurt. Hung my laundry on the fence, the sun is gone down and it feels like it could rain any minute Oh well, there’s a building here that’s open 24 hours with toilets and showers. Figure I can spend the night inside if it rains. I feel a bit unsettled, don't know why? Kind of wish I had the creature comforts available last night without the conversation.
Don't feel like any conversation or company, can't seem to simply enjoy the rest. Feels like I should be doing something ...YUK!! Is this just me, the force of habit from watching too much television? So, so difficult to simply "be" where ever you are eh! Suppose that's what they mean when they say you carry your "baggage" with you where ever you go. As long as you are occupied with distractions, in my case ... simply walking ... you don't seem to notice the restlessness. I assume underneath this restlessness is the 'baggage' ... whatever that means? I’m not bad ... but not as serene and peaceful as I think I should be.
"They loved each other tenderly" ... still on my mind a lot. I believe it’s possible, not only between man and wife, but among siblings, parents etc. I walked through a cemetery this afternoon ... don't know why? When I entered wondering how old the community is ... probably medieval but grave sites ... the older ones ... the markings were illegible. I was particularly drawn to one plot. In this cemetery they have mostly family plots versus individual ones. Anyway this one plot was covered with more than 25 elaborate stone nick knacks. They were from brothers, cousins, friends etc. It occurred to me that this particular family would have known and experienced "tender love" for each other.
Will I ever experience it, on the giving or the receiving side? How much "housekeeping" needs to be done to remove all the "corrosion" in my inner self; in the process creating a capacity to ‘love tenderly’. Surely all human beings are born with that capacity ... don't know!
Walking still seems to be what I should be doing. My memory went back to my visit to the church in Urcos. As usual on my way to the restaurant I find myself going by the church and the door was open. Didn't stay long ... one of the statues I looked at for a while was St Mary Magdalene ... it had a skull at her feet. At the time I remembered thinking ... that's what I will look like a few months after my death ... YUK!
Today my mind went back to the image of that skull ... that's what we’ll all look like ... except those who choose cremation. A thought that occurred to me is that having a skull in plain view every day may not be such a bad thing. It would certainly remind us where we’re all going ... not to focus on death ... quite the opposite ... to focus on life!! 'Life' versus existence ... LOVE.
Again so many times the phrase "they loved each other tenderly" came to mind. Forgot to mention a day or so ago, today as well, that I found myself singing as I climbed the Pyrenees ... “quand le soleil dit bonjour au montagne”. The sun was just coming up over the mountains. Makes me wonder why this one line of the song would pop into my mind now; likely heard the song sometime in my childhood. Why that particular phrase stuck in my memory ... another mystery eh! I have since heard the song on the radio and another line struck me as profound ... "je ne veux penser que toi" ... I don't want to think about anyone but you ... hmmm In English: When the sun says good day to the mountain, I am alone, I only want to think about you.
Just after supper tonight the lady turned the music on, the radio, a CD … I don't know. An English song ... wow!!. The words that really touched me were: ... "when you find love, when you know love exists”. Jesus was also mentioned in the chorus. This reminded me of how sometimes I feel as though I have found love ... the love of GOD ... so different from creature love. Seems to me if a man and a woman have both experienced this kind of love they would have a much better chance of "loving each other tenderly".
I also forgot to mention the 'cow bells' and 'sheep bells'. I have been hearing them for a week now. Whenever I hear them I think of my mom with her cow bell at the hockey games. I wonder where she got the cow bell. I wonder what happened to it. I find it amusing that as a child I had no idea cow bells served any practical purpose! ... Even as an adult!!
The bells on the sheep I saw a few nights ago, about 200-300 of them, sounded like an orchestra as the sheep wandered around the mountainside. They were wearing bells that made different sounds when they were clanging at the same time ... the music was pleasant and appealing. Heard the same sound on the road today, seemed to be coming from way up on the mountain covered with mostly trees ... couldn't see anything!
Back to the skull, the human being is quite an animal. When you consider the coordination and capability of a human being while there is flesh on the bones, it's astounding, only really hit me today. Saw all the skulls at the monastery in St Catherine’s on Mount Sinai 4 years ago and never got the feeling of "awe" I had today. Again the question of the "source" of life arises ... where does it come from?
Scientists tell us we are all energy. I think of the electric shock therapy used to revive a heart attack patient whose heart has stopped beating. Now that' s intriguing; the heart stops beating and we discovered that by pouring gobs of electricity in the area of the heart on occasion the heart starts beating again. Almost as though it takes electricity to get it going and than our being seems to generate its' own electricity ... is this so?
On the other hand, if the source of life is energy, electricity or whatever; is GOD through our soul? The human anatomy is a mystery. I suppose every living anatomy; humans, animals, trees, flowers are all mysteries. Sure scientists have learned some of the 'science' of life but it seems to me we only know the tip of the iceberg.
I often wonder where I get my strength and stamina for this walk. Here I am, a lifetime pencil pusher, carrying a backpack weighing approximately 35 pounds up these mountains while not eating very well; goat cheese and bread. Although I suppose there could be a lot of nutrition in the goat cheese. I know I come from strong stalk ... mom and dad ... yet I still find it amazing that I made it.
I was often walking up hill and smoking at the same time, a real athlete eh!! Why do I keep going? Don't know. I’m worried a bit today that it’s to get attention or affection. I really hope not ... that sounds so vain!!
I pray regularly that if I’m doing this in pursuit of personal glory that GOD stop me and send me home!! The pilgrim that just joined me is from Madrid. He speaks some English. I’m not interested in any conversation. I hope he doesn't plan on walking together, seems to me that most people who do this pilgrimage prefer to walk alone.
July ?
In Sanguesa ... all but one pilgrim has left. I’m reminded of the 'flock' behavior ... one leaves ... another follows and soon there seems to be a force that tries to get you up to follow. I don't know why but I naturally resist this tendency. At the moment, I prefer to travel alone away from the crowd. Still find myself too focused on the destination ... the next coffee stop ... the next stop over.
Oh! How I hope that will change before this pilgrimage is complete. Is this simply habit, something I have learned or been taught to do over the years. And now I’m finding it most difficult to change. Or am I simply not ‘into the pilgrimage’ and have put up with the walking to get to my next coffee and get it done! An important question!
Again I pray I will know one way or the other before I'm done. I think a lot about the encounter with Brother Joe. My initial reluctance to accept his offer to go with him to visit Pamplona the night we met in the restaurant. Yet here I am thinking of going to Pamplona. I worry that the annual ‘Running of the Bulls’ festival may still be going on and I’m not keen on being there during the festival.
Back to Joe, he is doing something that doesn’t appeal to me at the moment; solitude is my friend these days. Although sometimes on the trail I wonder why I can't simply "stop" and "be still" ... always moving on!!
So why did I leave Puenta La Reina de Jaca the next morning? The pain from the blister on my right foot woke me up in the middle of the night ... I knew it was infected or something! The lady at the hotel told me there was nothing between Puenta La Reina and the next stop, 20 kilometers down the road. No coffee break ... with my feet in this condition?
It was an unexpected blessing that she advised me to take along a sandwich. After ordering a cheese sandwich I hit the road, limping along in my shower sandals.
After walking several kilometers, realized I was lost and headed back to the hotel … my feet couldn’t take any more. Why did I miss the turn? I was looking right at the road sign ...”Arres 3.3 kilometers”, thinking to myself ... Oh! How I wish I was going that way. I could have a coffee break after the 3.3 kilometers. Then for some strange reason, completely ignoring the impulse, headed in the opposite direction ... the wrong direction.
My mind was off contemplating the wonder of camels ... how they are built to do without water for days and days and how their feet are like slippers. Most other animals like the horse, donkey, cow, deer and pig have hard hooves. So I walk 5 or 6 or 7 kilometers in the wrong direction. Why so far before doubting myself? The same little old yellow car that prompted me to turn around and head back to the hotel was pulling into the hotel at the same time as I arrive ... Hmmm.
Off to Javier and Lyre the next day. As it turns out ... 2 places I would not have seen if I hadn't gone the wrong way.
I am especially grateful ... well perhaps grateful is not all I’m feeling. I am intrigued that the circumstances and encounter with Brother Joe brought me to Javier. I would never have known that Javier was the birthplace of St Francis Xavier. This experience reminds me of the twists and turns on my trip to London that landed me in Loyola Spain a year ago. Loyola is the hometown of St Ignacio; Francis and Ignacio were classmates at the University of Paris and founded the Order of the Jesuits together. Hmmm again!
10:30AM
This is one of those moments ... got kicked out of the albergue in the middle of writing the above comments ... about 9:30AM. A lot has happened in the past hour ... no earth shaking stuff ... but subtle intriguing stuff. I write about not being able to stop an hour or so ago and here I am stopped on the road after less than 2 kilometers walking. How so eh?
Didn't eat my breakfast at the albergue, don't know why just didn't feel hungry, drank 2-3 coffees and a smoked several cigarettes. I guess that's why breakfast this morning is the leftover fruit and cheese and biscuits from yesterday. Just finished, they tasted great! Still a pear left for the road.
I am sitting at a picnic table at a site marked as the first Franciscan monastery in Spain. I learned last night in a book at the tourist office that St Francis of Assisi did the pilgrimage! The sign seems to indicate he passed through Sanguese ... any connection?
I decided at the bottom of the hill that I would eat when I got to the top, after one more cigarette. When I butt my cigarette on the ground, I decide to pick it up and put it in my bag thinking to myself that St Francis would never approve! This thought has occurred to me a couple of times in the past few days. I decide to carry a plastic bag for my cigarette butts.
More than 9 years later, when smoking without access to an ash tray, I still separate the filter and keep it in my pocket until I find a garbage disposal.
Nothing left ... a couple of picnic tables and a bit of stone wall. Hey I walked right by the place a few minutes ago. After walking past the gate I said to myself ... wait ... picnic tables ... breakfast ... St Francis ... any connection?
I decided to stop and eat and at the same time record this moment here!!
Already passed a couple of places where the yellow arrows pointed in 2 different directions ... just to confuse me eh! Seems there are a couple of routes out of Sanguese ... good! ... I have no idea where the next coffee break is ... good!!
I’m thinking a lot about the decision concerning Pamplona, torn between wanting to connect with some of the people in my small world (via email) and hanging around with my new friend … ‘solitude’.
Who knows eh! We'll have to see where the day takes me. Here the birds are singing, a gentle breeze is wafting softly, the sun is shining ... a perfect day for walking.
Oh! ... About the phone card I bought yesterday; the gentleman gave me another $10 card. I said is this dos (2) mille card? ... He went oops! And gave me a $20 card without any questions or hesitations ... hmmm!!
Also saw the gentleman selling tickets on the street again this morning, passed him a couple of times yesterday and simply said "no thanks". I only saw that he was selling some kind of lottery ticket and I wasn’t interested. This morning as he was walking towards me ... I noticed he walked with a limp! I also noticed this morning that his right arm and hand were deformed ... perhaps polio?
What a different sentiment when I approached him ... this time I wanted to help him so gave him $1. This happened prior to the phone card exchange ... any connection?
One thing is for sure ... I am still half blind and moving too fast. I should have noticed yesterday that this gentleman had polio or some serious handicap ... why didn't I?
How many times when we see someone ... we only see such a small part of them ... disinterest? Self interest ... Moving too fast? This is a problem or challenge that we all have. We should take the time and focus all of our being on our personal encounters.
I am not suggesting we should stare or scan each individual we encounter ... different than that! I am not sure how to describe what I feel I am trying to learn. Like the phone card ... never thought to check it at the store when I bought it ... even opened the package and looked at the back of the card ... no glasses! That’s it! Can’t see and in too big a hurry.
Same with people it seems to me ... the encounters GOD presents to us are intentional ... we have something to give or something to receive or both from each encounter.
Why am I on this pilgrimage? I’m still asking the same question. Still no answer ... still no interest in calling it quits. Am I helping anyone? ... myself?
Yesterday the answer I gave myself and the people I was chatting with in my mind ... life is simply one long prayer ... I really do hope so!
Feeling patient, feeling humble, listening to the whine of the propeller like windmills, the trickle of the water into the reservoir and savoring the broad span of human history visible within the limited view of this picnic table ... wow!!
A gust of wind ... must be time to move on ... I quite enjoyed this quiet moment A storm is unknowingly brewing on the horizon.
9:20 PM
Back again ... what a day! I need to be more careful of what I ask for! This morning I wrote about my wish to just walk without knowing or thinking about where the next stop is ... coffee or sleep ... well I found out today!
A couple of hours after I put down my pen this morning, I became completely lost! There was supposed to be a village with restaurants after 4.9 kilometers. I walked a lot more than that and no village!
The trail finally come out at a highway and there was one of those maps, not the typical map with simple info and lines but a topographical map ... almost impossible for me to read. At this point I am out of water and food and I’m hoping beyond hope that a coffee is close. A white vehicle is parked 10 meters away ... I think ... oh good! I approach the two young Spanish men sitting in the vehicle, only to discover that coffee is about 12 kilometers away. Yikes!!
Somehow I missed the towns ... both of them! They suggested going down the road in the opposite direction about 3-4 kilometers, have a coffee and come back. I briefly considered there advice and than ignoring it, hit the goat trail ... another 12 kilometers ... oh well!
An hour or so later the yellow markers that indicate which way to go disappeared. Somehow I knew this was going to happen. I'm on an old logging road that winds its' way up and through these mountains. I remember the night before in Sanguese where this gentleman pointed out in his book that the trail markers were wrong or something after Nuares. I saw the sign indicating Nuares and thought all would be OK until I got there ... never got there either! ... Oh! Oh!
I keep going anyway, arriving near the top of a mountain and the road seems to be heading back down now. Oh No! Been there!! I look at the hydro lines, the standard line and this wind mill hydro line. I decide to head into the bush and see if there is a road along either one of these lines. Turns out there is one for each ... absolutely breath taking lookout at the end of the windmill road not that it was very comforting. I walked up a ways and a kilometer or so in the distance spotted a building and what looked like a farmer’s field.
What a relief! Back down to get my back pack, walking through the bush is very difficult, very thick with lots of thorns. I make it down to the road, quite hopeful with no water now and no food!
I come walking out of the bush through an open area and see two men at this building. What a relief! Figuring I would now find access to water and directions to the next stop. So I think! No water available and nothing but bad news for directions, 8-9 kilometers to anywhere. One choice is back to the town I somehow missed this morning. The other being this place called Ixco down the windmill line where I knew from the night before, there was a refuge. Some choices eh!! ... Still no water!
A little unsure whether I even understood what the gentleman was saying correctly. I head for the highway, get about 15-20 meters and the gentleman calls out to me ... something about water ... he motions using international body language that he may be able to get me a bottle of water. I'm feeling a bit guilty about taking from his personal water supply but than again facing another 7-8 kilometer walk with no water; I accept his generosity.
He takes me around the building and he goes up to the door looking for someone. His body language suggests the people in the building, whoever they were, are superior to him. As I get to the doorway he hands me a can of Fanta ... fine I think to myself. Seconds later a young man comes to the door ... Yup! ... The same young man that was in the truck at the map several hours ago comes to the door ... hmmm.
I think he tries to convince me to take the windmill road to Ixco. I think he is saying ... “the heck with the Camino Santiago trail ... take the power line”! He chats with his friends ...3-4 more men arrive ... they all know I’m lost ... my feet are killing me. The young man who provided the can of Fanta communicates via body language he thinks I’m crazy and he is not happy that I don't seem interested in his suggestion of the power line route.
Oh well! I decide to take the gravel road to the highway. I think it leads to a stop sign if I understood the Spanish correctly. I head out. Down the road about 50 meters or so and the white truck pulls up ... Yup, the gentleman who had just given me the can of Fanta. He opens the door and motions for me to get in, doesn't seem real happy about his decision or whoever decided for him ... but I figure he is offering me a ride somewhere.
I can hardly walk ... I don't care about the Camino anymore. I just want some rest ... a coffee ... reorientation. I get in and he takes me down the windmill line and down the mountain to Ixco. I'm thinking all the way ... this is a long, long way and there were several opportunities for me to take a wrong turn along the way. Oh! How thankful I am.
I walk about a kilometer up hill to the village where an old man is on the road. You know this is really amazing how there always seems to be someone there when I am lost or when I’m in trouble. I remember the lady standing in her doorway at Albrirge ... the symbol IHS over her doorway that I noticed later; the only doorway in town with that symbol. She directed me to the local bar, it was unmarked and I had just walked by it. I remember at the time ... I was so tired ... I wanted a coffee so bad ... instead I had 2 beers $1.25 each ... pretty cheap eh! ... Cute little bar ... I was the only customer.
Back to the old man at Ixca, he seemed chatty enough. Interesting how some Spanish people keep talking to you even after they realize you don't understand a word they’re saying. I understood from this man that the refuge was closed; his body language suggested I should keep walking to Monreal ... another 9 or so kilometers. No bar ... no restaurant in town ... so disappointed ... I know I saw the symbol ... a fork and knife in the book the night before.
I go back and forth on the decision and finally decide to head for Monreal; don't know if the decision was motivated by coffee or food or what? I can hardly walk, he gives me hand directions which way to go.
Just as I am walking out of the village, I realize again that I have no water ... Oh poop! I should have filled up at the fountain on the other side of town. I unload my back pack, take out my 2 little water bottles and head for the fountain. I walk past the sign for the refuge again ... see another little old man prompting me to ask him about the refuge. He doesn't seem to know anything.
I walk up to the door of the refuge and find it’s locked! I ring the bell ... no answer ... Oh well! I head for the fountain. I see the first old man again. He goes into his house and opens his garage door ... he offers me some water which I graciously accept.
He keeps chickens in his garage ... neat! I am changing my mind while I’m standing in his garage. I use body language to let him know that I’m simply too tired to walk to Monreal. I will wait for the refuge to open.
Back up to the refuge ... off with the back pack ... laying it on the cement ... no idea how long I may have to wait ... at this point I don't care! ... Too tired to care!
A few minutes later a car pulls up and a woman gets out ... my first thought is ... oh how coincidental! ... How opportune! ... Than I realize that she arrived because someone, likely the first old man, had called her. Ixca is a village of only 25 or so homes.
How kind of both individuals! The lady opens the refuge ... this place is 5 star ...clean ... new etc 8 beds ... 4 bunks and I am all alone ... wow!!
I can't understand her response to my hand language about eating until she opens the cupboards and voila ... a grocery store!! Off to the fridge ... the same!! ... Oh! How wonderful.
I buy 3 eggs, a 5 pack of wieners, 1/2 a bread, large glass of wine and a package of cookies. I am so, so grateful ... amazing how circumstances change in an hour or so eh! I cook my eggs etc ... eat and go to bed ... so, so tired ... I can't believe how quiet it is ... inside and out. The lady left indicating she would be back around 7:00 PM ... wow! ... How wonderful! The silence is broken ... some Spanish conversation ... people ... back packs ... oh no! I am not alone any more ... a young couple ... turns out they have walked from Ruesta ... more than 40 kilometers.
I decide to get up ... eventually learn it is 9:00PM (haven't had a watch for years) ... wow! ... I slept almost 4 hours! Stayed up for an hour or so and went back to bed ... bought 3 more eggs for the next morning.
I'm writing in Monreal ... 36 hours later ... seems to me it's the small things in life that really count. I spend too much time hoping and expecting the "big" one that I lose much of the "joy" that is available to us in the small things. e.g. I was so excited the morning I woke up in Ixco when I discovered some coffee and a coffee maker. I thought all I would have for breakfast was a bit of wine left over from the previous night ... drank it and it was OK ... but the coffee ... wow!! ... The best coffee ever!!
The young couple left me just enough milk too! Now that is a 'miracle'! I remember the moments before I made the discovery ... the thought of walking 9 kilometers without a coffee ... me? ... Not a pleasant outlook ... and than I find the coffee ... like striking gold!!
Let’s move on to the experience in Pamplona. Given the experience of the previous day, when in the morning I considered taking the bus from the first town ...after 4.9 kilometers ... only to find myself completely lost 15 kilometers later. I’m not too sure what GOD expects. Anyhow shortly after arriving in Monreal I go to the local café ... of course eh! Ask about the bus and learn it leaves at 3:20PM and the bus stop is across the road.
It feels OK to go to Pamplona. Hope to find tourist info in bus station or close by ... nope ... only encouragement is a sign on the door to the bus station advertising rooms and 'internet. It's still San Fermin festival time. Now all I have to do is find the address, the notice says central location, so I figure it's not too far.
I wander around a bit ... have a coffee ... feeling lost! How am I going to find this place? No English speaking people. I see a sign 'Cathedral' and I think to myself ... that's a good direction to head in. On my way I notice the Lyre Hotel and I remember the monastery ... good omen I figure. I go in ... man at reception speaks English ... gives me a city map ... points out where we are and where the Kings III Hotel is ... wow eh!
The small events in life! Eventually I find it ... a bit of hand signals from kind people ... third floor ... a bit of a challenge ... owner not in ... must wait. I look at the map and see the tourist office is not far away. I head for it thinking there may be other internet sites. Find myself in San Francisco plaza. Remember yesterdays' experience ... go to the office ... find alternate internet site ... long walk ... decide to try original place again
A mute person on the street tries to help me ... now that's another example of being attentive to the small seemingly meaningless encounters. I think I have a challenge with the language ... well how would it feel to be unable to speak?
He provided assistance without being asked. Suppose his 'senses' are better tuned than mine ... it must have been my posture or look on my face that he noticed. Standing on the sidewalk ... he rang the buzzer and motioned for me to go in. I didn't know how to tell him that I had already been in ... later I thought maybe that was God's way of telling me the owner is now home.
The owner is home ... he gives me a look that says the internet is only for those people staying in the rooms for rent ... than he changes his mind and welcomes me in ... $10.00 per hour. On the way out he shows me that he has the same hat as me ... looks new ... never worn ... small things eh! I had purchased my hat in San Sebastian in June 1999.
I meet a young man from Houston on the bus ... his dad was raised in Monreal, now a doctor in Houston. Young man feels he has no skills ... wants to learn Spanish to improve his earning power. My day of rest ... heard the church bells from 4AM on ... felt urge to get up with the other pilgrims and hit the road.
Don't know where that comes from, am feeling their 'hurried' energy. Seems to me the 'flock' syndrome exists with pilgrims and this pilgrimage as well. I have to work to slow down, to be at rest, it was difficult enough today. Always have the feeling I should be doing something. Read a bit of Kempis’s book Imitation of Christ ... found it inspirational ... music band in Pamplona ... wow ... what a sound ... flutes ... seemed to send me away ... who knows why eh!!. At any other time I may have just found it to be "noise".
‘Rope bridge’ ... remember today my experience with the rope bridge. I walked across a dried up river bed on a rope bridge ... it had all the characteristics necessary to construct my theory ... planks missing ... hideous skeleton of a cow or something similar hanging ion the other side ... dilapidated ... I walked across nonetheless. Fortunately whoever lived in the shack on the other side was not at home that day.
The walk across the rope bridge symbolizes the journey from City of Man to City of God described in St Augustine’s book.
Two pilgrims have mentioned there will be much more "traffic" the rest of the way ... from Puente La Reina. I read a couple of times how all the roads converge in Puente La Reina ... King legislated it a long time ago ... apparently to settle the disputes among villages who were clambering for pilgrim "business". I am not looking forward to more traffic ... it may be more difficult to walk alone ... all alone ... with no one in site all day!!
I found myself thinking today … how "neat" some of the journey has been, without plans or a book that provides details and warnings etc. Seems what I need to know comes to me some how ... I get inquisitive ... or someone volunteers info. The case in Sanguesa comes to mind ... seems my being lost was foreshadowed the night I spent at the Refugio Sanguesa ... the hydro symbols I saw in the book were my anchor when I knew I was lost. I kept them as a reference point and in the end went up to the hydro line ... took the road etc
I would walk for another 2 months ... approximately 1,100 kilometers ... to Fatima in Portugal. Yet ... no more 'scribbling' for the rest of this particular walk. I would not 'scribble' again until 2 years later ... July 2002 ... and where would I start writing again?
At the picnic tables just outside Sanguesa ... the site of the first Franciscan Monastery in Spain ... hmmm
The end of solo pilgrimage was foreshadowed in Logrono where I lost me Credential … I would meet Rachael in Monreal and we completed the walk to Santiago Compostella together. This seems to confirm the hypothesis that one cannot walk with God in a crowd … even a crowd of only two.
Nonetheless, meeting Rachael would bring me back to Spain several times where my wisdom would be nurtured.
Introduction
On June 15, 2000 I was forced out of my comfort zone, familiar surroundings, proximity to family and friends, and daily habits; all that tethers our existence and keeps us grounded. I would carry my ‘home’ on my back for the next 10-12 weeks; with no set agenda, destination or timetable, free to follow my ‘spirit’. Free to respond to events as they unfolded each day.
The Camino Santiago called me and seems there was no alternative but respond. Today tens of thousands of Christian pilgrims and other travelers set out each year from their front doorstep or popular starting points across Europe, to make their way to Santiago de Compostela. Most travel by foot, some by bicycle, and a few travel as some of their medieval counterparts did, on horseback or by donkey。 In addition to people undertaking a religious pilgrimage, there are many travelers and hikers who walk the route for non-religious reasons: travel, sport, or simply the challenge of weeks of walking in a foreign land. Also, many consider the experience a spiritual adventure to remove themselves from the hustle bustle of modern life. It acts as a retreat for many modern "pilgrims".
What happened to my free will? Circumstances beyond our control often influence our decisions more than we are comfortable admitting. St Augustine wrote “Lord, you provide the pricks that move us in the direction you want us to move.” St Augustine was referring to the stressful teaching conditions in Carthage that prompted him to move to Rome. There is no doubt in my mind that our Lord supplied the ‘pricks’ that compelled me to abandon my comfort zone and plunge into the ‘darkness’; a life with no boundaries or constraints.
About 2-3 weeks before catching the plane to Paris my life was pretty normal; a full time job, a mortgage, a car payment and some credit card debt. Main stream society had me firmly in its grip; a slave to the consumerism and materialism of our culture.
At work, on a Thursday late in May, went to chat with the general manager, an acquaintance from a previous job. While having only been on this job for three months I was very uncomfortable with my colleagues, the work and the owner. My philosophy on life at that time was incompatible with the business style and personality of the owner. I wanted to resign but would stay on until he could find a replacement, which in my mind would leave me with a month or so to find myself alternate employment.
The next day, Friday, the general manager informed me that this would be my last day; apparently the owner felt the same way about me. Manifestation of the first ‘prick’, I found myself unexpectedly and abruptly unemployed.
Saturday cried on my sister’s shoulder, lamenting about being at yet another fork in the road with no idea which way to go; no job, no job prospects and all this debt ... what to do?
Sunday brought the decision to buy two 'House for Sale' signs, planted one in my front lawn and another at the corner of the street. Selling the house would provide more options; failure to sell the house would mean finding another job … quickly.
By the following Tuesday … only two days later the house was sold and the purchaser wanted possession in two weeks. The second ‘prick’ just appeared … and so quickly. The Lord must be in a hurry to get me somewhere. Now I have no place to live, no place to work and still no idea what to do next. Wow! … Did that happen fast!
During the next several days while cleaning out the kitchen cupboards I found the 'Credential' for the Camino Santiago. This ‘Credential’ was one of the souvenirs from my visit to Santiago Compostella almost exactly a year earlier; in June 1999. The Credential is required for admission to the many Hostels along the Camino Santiago.
In a flash it all came together, it was time to go for a long, long walk; I would attempt walking the Camino Santiago. No research, no planning, no preparation … just go!
June 9, 2000
A few days later, as the reality of my recent decision started sinking in, anxiety came along in its train. Serious questions popped into my mind.
· Why a pilgrimage?
· Where is this pull/push coming from?
· Where did it start?
· What are my sincere reasons for going?
There were no easy answers to any of these questions. Was this simply another escape, running from the two recent failed attempts at building a lasting friendship? For the past five years my few remaining friendships were evaporating; uncomfortable feelings of isolation were steadily creeping into my life. Uncertain whether this was self imposed or God’s will for me; remembering that my parish priest told me several years ago if God was calling me, He would take me alone. Hmmm
Something is drawing me to the 'pilgrim's way' and something else is pulling me back ... the familiarity and pleasures of life for almost 50 years.
Oh! ... What a struggle!
St Augustine wrote sixteen hundred years ago ... "Oh you torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?"
Did I really want to rebel against mainstream society? Perhaps my frequent griping and whining was simply a result of my failures playing the game according to society’s rules. Vacillating between moderate success and serious failure; never resolving that restlessness feeling. St Augustine wrote “Lord, our hearts were made for you and they will remain forever restless until they find rest in you.” Hmmm
Where is the truth? Will I ever know? Is this particular pilgrimage another attempt at discovering the TRUTH ... my truth ... or strictly vanity?
There appear to be only two possible motivations for this pilgrimage; escape or discovery? I simply don’t know. I will know by the 'fruits' ... the outcome.
It's rare indeed the occasions when people act without "an investment in the outcome". When we pursue pleasure of any sort, a quiet walk through the forest, a night out, or a relationship we drag along our personal investment in a favorable outcome. All are undertaken with an investment in the outcome. We travel to our favorite location to begin our walk with the expectation that the walk will be pleasurable ... good weather, pleasant scenery, song birds singing etc
So how do we change this habit? Habit because it seems to be included in the intention of the term "human custom", meaning acceptable human behavior. We are socialized or programmed to act solely with an investment in the outcome
Has this always been the case? My immediate response is yes. The Hebrews left Egypt and slavery with an expectation of liberty, peace and prosperity. They had an investment in the outcome, an expectation, a reward for their efforts. No wonder they whined and complained while wandering around the Sinai Desert. The desert experience did not conform to their expectation, their investment in the outcome.
This 'investment in the outcome' is at odds with the words in the Lords’ prayer … "thy will be done". Many, many 'spiritual' people were able to somehow overcome these "chains of slavery"(torrent of human custom), whether they were Buddhist, Christian or Muslim. How did they conquer their habits? Many writings suggest "surrender" ... dying to oneself as a prerequisite to being reborn ... the seed must fall to the ground before new life can start.
This reminds me of the scene in the movie “Horse Whisperer”, when Robert Redford forces the horse to surrender. Redford binds one of the horse’s front legs yet the horse continues to resist, limping along on his remaining three legs. Only after the horse goes down on his knees and finally rolls over, surrendering its’ independence, can its healing journey begin. Perhaps it’s the same with a spiritual journey; only after we have completely surrendered our will, our need for self control, our self reliance; can God begin the healing process, the transformation.
St Francis of Assisi said something to the effect ‘the second death is easy, the first one is most difficult’. Seems he was referring to what is know as ‘dying to oneself’ … surrendering oneself completely and totally. For those people who successfully achieve this end, their physical death is apparently uneventful.
Seems logical enough ...why is it so difficult? Why does one have to attempt it so many times before one succeeds? What does success look like?
I remember my walk in September 1994 along the highway between Cobden and Barry's Bay. I don't know how my frame of mind got to where I was able to walk into cold water with all my clothes on and attempt to drown myself. I was literally following the wind. Thinking of it now still gives me goose bumps.
A significant factor was my recent separation. Was that the whole reason? I ‘m sure there was more to it. I was experiencing a spiritual transformation of sorts for a year or so already ... the milestone was the morning in the restaurant - Angie's Kitchen. Maybe I need to plough through the bowels of my memory to reconstruct that morning. I will attempt it the next time I pick up my pen to write.
Later when sharing this bizarre attempted suicide experience with my parish priest, he suggested it may represent one of the baptisms described in John’s Gospel.(Baptism by water and baptism by fire). He was very candid, saying “Bruce … either you’re crazy or you’re destined to be a Saint”. He went on to say that if it was God calling me He would take me alone. I would have to go through the purification process … like gold is purified with fire. He was again referring to John’s Gospel ... first baptism with water and later baptism with fire. Yikes! This sounded pretty intimidating.
What about my discovery that my first name is not Bruce; that I am not named after my uncle who died in World War II? My baptismal certificate and birth certificate both list my first name as Thomas. Is there some connection here? I am only now becoming the real me?
My notes from June 15, 2000
Woke up early, no clock in the house and no idea what time it is. Wide awake so decided to get up and head out for my morning coffee. In the car discovered it was 4:00 AM. Oh well! I'm up now ... let's go.
Scared ... really scared ... don't know why. What’s a pilgrim? … Is a pilgrim a seeker? … Is a pilgrim a wanderer? Am I a pilgrim? ... Do I want to be a pilgrim?
I've talked about it for several years now. In the last 5 years I’ve wandered around Israel a few times checking out the Biblical sights, climbed Mount Sinai twice, made several visits to Medugorje and toured the hometowns of several prominent Saints in Italy and France. The memories are mostly pleasant however; these experiences hardly qualify for pilgrim status.
Can one be a pilgrim and stay in the crowd? Work in a business whose only purpose for existence is accumulating profits; where one exchanges labor for the necessities of life … shelter, food and pleasure. How is it that even with all these human comforts so many people feel a huge emptiness inside?
I’ve gone down that street so many times now. Wanting to be part of modern community and wanting to be a pilgrim at the same time … it simply doesn’t work. Reminds me of the scene in the movie “Matrix” where the car stops and the man is invited to get out. He looks down the street and says something to the effect “Oh no. another dead end street, been there to many times, not going there again.”
I have tried to establish new friendships, offering myself and my new ideals ... no takers ... they all seem to be stuck in the ‘world’. The last two weeks were very difficult, every day being forced to face the trauma associated with unemployment and homelessness; every day forced to make a decision to remain unemployed and homeless; every day forced to accept the lonely life of a pilgrim. How long I can keep this up? The temptations to return to the ‘world’ have been severe. Seems I’m being given the opportunity to walk alone with God … my decision or His?
Questions ... only questions! No answers!
"In my times of trouble mother Mary came to me ... speaking words of wisdom ... let it be ... let it be” (Beatles song)
Oh! How difficult it is to achieve the state described with these simple words of wisdom “Let it Be”... Why? ... Why? Humility and patience don’t come easy.
AgainSt Augustine’s words come to mind … “Woe to you, torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?”
Maybe the answers lie in St Augustine's words ... I found these few words so profound.
The pace of life today is so fast. So many authors and individuals speak of the speed of life these days ... the 'microwave' society ... the instantaneous gratification society.
The 'torrent' in St Augustine's sentence leads me to believe that the 'force' is very real, it’s the invisible force behind today’s' pace of life that keeps us from being still. We can't stay still ... we are caught up in the turbulence. This has always likely been the case ... is today any different than any other time in history? Not likely, simply a question of degree.
The desert fathers, hermits, monks in history all seemed to acknowledge the 'torrent' and all wanted to 'escape', seek shelter in isolation ... Why is the escape to isolation so necessary?
I am just now reminded of the story of Elijah ... he too was seeking God. In his Mount Sinai experience where he thought he could hear God in the thunder, the wind and finally he discovered God in the silence. Is this it? We need silence and solitude to meet our God!
Many say we all yearn to know God. How can it be otherwise if we are the created and God is the Creator? It can’t be otherwise. We are caught up in the "torrent". We are in the "flock" which is on the move at breathtaking speeds and all we can see is the 'asshole' in front of us.
We can't stop; we can't move sideways, backwards or in any direction and still survive. We must keep up with the 'flock' … “Woe to you, torrent of human custom! Who can stand against you?”
So why or how is it that some people who have been 'stuck' in the 'flock' for so long suddenly find themselves on the peripheral of the 'flock', with the choice; continue to move along with the 'flock' or move away from the ‘flock’ into isolation and solitude.
Any attempt to pull away is met with serious resistance. We are pulled back in; the force is so strong, the familiarity, the comforts and the pleasures of the life we know. Most of us choose to remain inside our ‘bubble of comfort’. Resisting these temptations is humanly impossible. Only by the Grace of God do we have the strength to resist.
So what is the reward? Here I am this morning, struggling with the feelings of being blessed and being cursed.
Drawn out of the 'flock'(crowd) and pointed in a new direction. The new direction is complete ‘darkness’ as in the book written by St John of the Cross ‘The Dark Night of the Soul'.
So what is the 'dark night of the soul'? The journey of our inner self to union with God; where our physical self resists the efforts of our soul every inch of the way.
Feeling tears, sadness and joy all blended together. The prospect of meeting my God is so exciting, yet so intimidating! My parish priest’s comments of five years ago ... "If God is calling you ... He will take you alone. i.e. One cannot meet God in the crowd, not even in a crowd of two.
These memories are somewhat comforting when I consider the possibility that my efforts, however weak and insubstantial, may finally win the prize. Not likely! Forever the pessimist eh!
Where was I? Meeting my God, being drawn into isolation and solitude, the prerequisite for the ultimate blessing of coming face to face with my God. Oh how thinking and writing these words brings tears ... tears ... and more tears.
I’m feeling a bit better now ... I’ll go for my morning walk.
June 16, 2000 … Leave for Paris
Arrive in Paris with mixed feelings, lacking clarity on where to go from here. The two options that prevailed were a visit with Sarah in Lille or return to Lisieux to visit Ste Therese. Surprisingly neither option involved getting started on my walk. The desire for solitude won the day, decided to head for Lisieux for a couple of days of rest, slow down and get my bearings.
I’m sitting in the train station in Paris where zillions of people are coming and going; the opposite of what I am looking for. I really feel out of place, although regularly enough a part of me wants to return to the hustle and bustle of the 'market place' and endure all that comes with it.
Why am I here? Where am I going? Am I making the decisions? Am I pushing for something that is not meant to be?
June 18, 2000
Why Lisieux? I'm not sure but finding that money while cleaning out the closet inside the card of Ste Therese is reason enough for me. I’m also thinking it will be cheap. Yuk! How money seems to dominate my decisions. Why? Without finding the money in my closet and the expectation of free or very cheap accommodation would I still be here in Lisieux this morning?
How was the visit? Quite enjoyable, quite moving; influenced no doubt by the memories of my last visit. The tender moments in the Carmel Convent, the reminder that Ste Therese is the Patron Saint of Missionaries. Wondering to myself if that is where I am headed; to a degree that is where I've been. I recall the occasional moments where I felt I was doing missionary work at the office in Guelph. At the time some colleagues even referred to me as Father Bruce. Seems to me I was 'preaching' to some extent, tough crowd though, caught up in the fast pace of life.
The small chapel behind the Pain de Vie was lined with acknowledgements from Our Lady of Lourdes. While sitting quietly in this chapel the feeling come up that I should visit Ste Bernadette in Nevers on my way to Spain.
Just writing this reminds me that in 1994 Rebecca and I were looking for Ste Therese’s shrine when we found ourselves in Nevers and accidentally discovered Ste Bernadette. Now I’m in Lisieux being directed to Nevers. Hmmm
Here is the story about how I come to know both Ste Bernadette and Ste Therese.
Rebecca and I were in Belgium at the time, visiting the gravesite of one of my uncles who died in World War II. He is buried in Flanders Fields. Rebecca had long harbored an interest in Ste Therese and really wanted to visit her shrine; while at that time I’d never heard of her.
We went to enquire at the local parish rectory. A kind elderly priest didn’t know but he took the time to investigate. He found some reference to Ste Therese in an old book in one of the cupboards in his office and told us we would have to go to Nevers to visit her shrine.
Reluctantly I agreed to drive the 800(??) kilometers to Nevers. We couldn’t find the shrine and after driving around Nevers for a while we decided to stop and enquire at the next church. Since I could speak some French, I sheepishly entered the church to try and get directions to Ste Therese’s shrine. I learned there is no shrine dedicated to Ste Therese in Nevers! However, this particular church has a glass casket with a nun inside who looks like she died yesterday.
Expecting Rebecca to be disappointed; was quite surprised that she became animated when I explained the glass casket to her; she also knew of Ste Bernadette. Today I learned about Ste Bernadette; both she and Ste Therese have been a very strong influence in my life since this day. A year later I found myself in Lisieux visiting the shrine of Ste Therese … alone. This incident is yet more evidence of my walk with God … alone.
The circumstances surrounding my first visit to Lisieux are full of mystery, a story worth sharing.
On the same trip involving Nevers, Rebecca and I visited Assisi. The visit was quite pleasant ... nothing 'spiritual' ... at least nothing that was in my conscious mind at the time. While in Assisi I got a 'heads up' on the fact that Interpol was looking for me, I purchased a book about the life of St Francis and a 2 volume series about St Teresa of Avila thinking it was a book about the Ste Therese Rebecca talked about.
The countryside was immensely picturesque, rolling hills etc. Assisi was the first authentic 'walled city' that until now I had only read about in history books. Seems this real life observation of a city surrounded by walls would come back to mind many, many times when reflecting on human nature and the evolution of mankind. The walled city is the child or grandchild of what we know today as the nation state ... e.g. Canada. Wonder what the next major shuffle of social structures and societies will bring?
In February 1995 while living at the Maples Inn in Guelph, the only place where you could rent a self contained apartment for a day, a week, a month etc. I was still very much in limbo ... no job ... no hobby ... no purpose etc. I read St Teresa of Avilla's book and particularly remember the section titled 'Interior Castles' ... deeply moved or touched by St Teresa's writings about her mystical experiences. Learned later that many scholars consider her writings on mysticism some of the best available; yet she was an uneducated Spanish peasant.
Also read the book on the life of St Francis ... again deeply moved and touched... difficult to explain.
For example, one night while lying on my bed I heard the name Jesus in my mind. I can't remember if I intentionally attempted to form the name or if it arrived in my mind without any effort on my part. A few seconds later I felt an 'electrical current' in my body. I can't really explain the feeling. I decided to intentionally speak the word Jesus ... my lips didn't move ... this all happened in my mind. Again the same result; like an electric current running through my body. I was afraid to do it again. This experience left me with an unusually quiet and peaceful feeling.
Within days of this experience the decision to enrol in some kind of Franciscan association was born; perhaps finding something to do with all my free time. I called my parish priest who had helped me a lot in the previous couple of years and he told me about the Third Order of Franciscans. An organization of lay people involved in various activities. He also mentioned there may be some in London Ontario.
For some reason I didn't take his advice, decided to go to Toronto instead. Without understanding why, drove to Mississauga and pulled into the first major hotel, went to the lobby and started looking through the yellow pages under 'Franciscan'. After making several phone calls, and actually talking to a Franciscan, Maurice Richard. I remember saying to myself at the time that I would remember his name because of the Montreal hockey player of the same name. Brother Richard was very kind and friendly on the telephone and we would exchange letters (only one) several months later where he informed me that there is only one true ‘spiritual director’ ... the Virgin Mary. All others who claim to be spiritual directors are, at best, cheerleaders. St Teresa of Avila’s comment … something to the effect ‘don’t send me any more dumb priests’.
Somewhat disappointed with my research I decided to head home; seemed like just another 'dead end street'. A spontaneous and impulsive action with no basis in logic, actions rooted solely in 'faith' ... a faith that seemed to be failing me at the time. Or so I thought ... was I in for a surprise!
As I was pulling off onto the ramp for the 401 I passed two young women hitch hiking. Decided to stop and give them a ride ... not sure of my motives ... was I feeling charitable (Franciscan) ... was I lonely ... who knows?
The young women were hitch hiking to London on their way back to school. They were pleasant young ladies so I decided to drive them all the way to London; a considerable distance past Guelph ... hmmm. Here I am on my way to London ... the place my parish priest suggested … the advice I chose to ignore the day before. ... Hmmm.
Along the way, I am pretty sure somewhere past the turn off to Guelph, the young lady in the back seat starts to talk about her experience on a kibbutz in Israel. My ears perk right up; this topic is very appealing. She doesn't say much, only that people who go to a kibbutz, work six days a week in exchange for free room and board. Sounds perfect to me ... a chance to wander around Israel ... within my budget!
The kibbutz movement in Israel started in the 1920’s. It’s basically a commune where all property is held in common, no member owns any private property. What a concept! Sounds like the early Christians described in Luke’s Gospel. 20th century Communism was also a move in this direction and we all know how many countless lives were lost, both in the attempted implementation and later by the Western powers attempts to stamp out Communism around the world. Hmmm
The next day I visit my sister and ask her for a ticket to Tel Aviv on the next available flight. At this time Air Canada provided what they call 'buddy passes' ... staff could give these buddy passes to family and friends. The holder could travel standby on any Air Canada flight for a nominal fee.
You can imagine the reaction from my sister and her husband. I had only been back a couple of months from my trip to Medugorje and here I wanted to 'run away' again. Remember her husband’s reaction in particular. He said to me ... “Bruce ... go to the Israeli consulate in Toronto, find out about the kibbutz program and then decide if you still want to go.” Being the strong willed (stubborn) and self reliant type, I ignored his practical advice and pressed my sister for a ticket. My sister, being the kind hearted soul she is ... obliged and within a couple of days I was checked out of the Maples Inn and on my way to Israel!
Reflecting on these experiences today, seems there may be a connection between my ‘Jesus’ experience in my room at the Maples Inn and a few days later my rather abrupt and unexpected privilege of walking the very ground He walked during his life on earth. Scary!
Rev. Karban writes “Most of us live our lives as though they’re just a series of disconnected events. We rarely find anything to join and make sense out of even one day’s happenings, much less a lifetime filled with them. We constantly go from one thing to another without being able to "connect the dots."
Socrates stated “the unexamined life is not worth living”. Surely, Socrates is suggesting that regular and sincere examinations of our life will help us to ‘connect the dots’, discover the thread that holds the countless events of our life together. Our self-portrait is painted by regular and sincere reflections on the ever growing repository of our life experiences.. We will never know who we really are otherwise.
Arrived at the airport in Tel Aviv and found an information Kiosk where I was able to get directions to the administration offices of the kibbutz program. Found the bus into the city ... overheard some ladies chatting behind me on the bus ... in English ... which is highly unusual in Israel. One of the ladies was explaining that the bus driver was nervous because another bus had just been blown up in downtown Tel Aviv ... Yikes!! Welcome to Israel! My guess is the bus blew up about the same time the wheels of the Air Canada jet touched down at the Tel Aviv airport ... must be an omen I thought to myself. I am not welcome in Israel. This thought foreshadowed my fifth and final trip to Israel in 2003 where I was almost arrested.
Found the kibbutz administration office. Within a few minutes I was being interviewed by one of the administrators; he had a strange look on his face. A look that says “What is this guy doing here enquiring about the kibbutz program” He asks me if I am familiar with the rules and regulations of their program ... I respond ... nope! He passes me a sheet a paper with the main regulations ... the second or third regulation written on this sheet was ... maximum age 32 ... oh shit!!
My sister’s husband right! I should have went to the Israeli consulate in Toronto and checked out the Kibbutz program before travelling all the way here. This explains the look on his face ... at age 43 I was obviously well over the age limit. He explained to me that most of the volunteers were between the ages of 18-22; young people trying to get away from parental influence and older volunteers had caused lots of problems in the past. I symbolize everything these young people are trying to escape from. Oh joy!!
I guess he recognized the 'Oh Shit' look on my face because he suddenly became friendlier. He asked me how long I intended to stay in Tel Aviv. I replied ... I'll probably grab a coffee and go home! He suggested I go for the coffee and come back in a couple of hours.
I went and had my coffee ... surprisingly my feelings were peaceful, no anger, not particularly discouraged, not overly optimistic and no regret. that I had come all this way for nothing. I returned to the office a couple of hours later; and to my utter amazement found myself on Kibbutz Erez later that evening. Wow! ... If I had gone to the Israeli consulate in Toronto as my sister’s husband suggested, I would never have come to Tel Aviv ... synchronicity? It would be a few years yet before I learned the meaning of the word ‘synchronicity’ and it wasn’t until 2009 that I learned the connection between the word and Carl Jung. It was Carl Jung who first coined the term in relation to his pioneer work on unconscious collective.
Arrived at Kibbutz Erez which is less than a kilometre from Gaza; probably explains why the machine gun was laying on the front seat as I got into the jeep that picked me up at the kibbutz.
So here I am ... a long way from Third Order Franciscan activity ... yet it seems I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
The barracks where the volunteers live are not 5 star ... a bit rugged ... yet comfortable enough. Here's something amusing ... I am on a kibbutz ... a Jewish commune ... living with a bunch of 'runaway' or 'adventurous' teenagers ... at best very young adults.
I set up an altar beside my bed ... several miniature statues and a crucifix ... you can imagine how much gossip this would cause around the kibbutz!
More about some of my experiences on the kibbutz later ... perhaps one comical yet profound event before I leave this subject.
Kibbutz volunteers receive a spending allowance equivalent to about $75.00 per month which could only be spent at the kibbutz store, similar to a Mac's Milk store. I would buy cigarettes and occasionally an ice cream treat or chocolate bar.
One day after my milking chores were finished, on my way back to my room for a rest ... I stopped and bought a chocolate bar ... a big one. I started eating it on the way to my room. A little further along there was a group of volunteers sitting on the grass chatting. One of them saw me coming and invited me to join them. I mentally agreed and while I was heading in their direction I got to worrying about my chocolate bar. I was in no mood this particular day to share my precious chocolate bar ... see I am not very Franciscan at all!
I decide to keep my chocolate bar out of sight of the volunteers. I sit down on the grass and put my chocolate bar behind my back ... for safe keeping!! ...Wrong!! A minute or two later this big dog comes along grabs my chocolate bar and takes off with it. I lunge after the dog to retrieve my chocolate bar ... no luck ... the dog knew the value of his treasure … he was too fast.
You can imagine my embarrassment. I'm sure several of the volunteers would have figured out that I had selfishly hidden my chocolate bar from them so I wouldn't have to share it. I made it kind of obvious when I lunged after the dog!
On that day and so many times since then I have tried to figure out the 'lesson' to be learned from this particular experience. The obvious answer is ... it’s important to share ... even personal treats!
Today I have another twist on the potential lesson ... don't know why after all these years I come up with this today? Perhaps the 'lesson' was intended to go beyond the 'material' world ... something to the effect ... if one doesn’t share the wisdom one has been given ... it will be taken away.
I believe Kabbala teaches this truism ... Kabbala is the mystical sect of Judaism. I believe they claim if their followers do not share what wisdom they receive from the Divine; the tap will be shut off so to speak.
I have always tried to be deferential with all my teachers; at home, at school, at work and at church. Though my nature is much too self-reliant and rebellious to comfortably subscribe one hundred percent to anyone’s teaching. Yet writing this book I am responding to ‘a lesson’ provided by a dog! Go figure!
Suppose it’s no different than the lessons I learned from the sheep I observed for several years. Come to think of it, experts say mankind has learned from animals since the beginning of time; claiming that in antiquity we learned which plants and fruits were edible by watching other animals eat them.
Wisdom is a gift; not to be selfishly preserved for our own personal pleasure and since it is received freely, not to be sold to others at a profit. This opinion renders the laws concerning the propriety of intellectual property immoral. St Augustine states that an unjust law is no law at all. Hmmm
Seems the same phenomenon was at work with the North American Indian mystic ... Black Elk ... he only recovered after he shared his vision and later his tribe developed a celebration around his vision.
During my stay on Kibbutz Erez I befriended a young man from France. He told me at one point that he felt drawn to me the moment we first met. After many twists and turns in the following three months we would leave the Kibbutz together on our way to Medugorje. During this trip he was kicked off the train near Kosovo. Mysteriously, I was given a Visa for travel through Macedonia and later learned because he was a French citizen he was denied this privilege. We would exchange one letter after this time but never see each other … living … again.
Several months later while staying in Medugorje for the third time I would be directed mysteriously to his funeral. How did this happen?
I’d been in Medugorje for several weeks and was running out of money. At the same time I was becoming increasingly restless, such a shock after passing several of the most peaceful weeks in memory. This restlessness would lead me to seek a way out of town; remember I have almost no money. After several days, my efforts to find free transport out of town were fruitless and I was prepared to go anywhere. I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t run away from my restless feelings.
One night a priest knocked on the door of the home where I was staying. He had gotten separated from his group and was looking for directions to the church. We chatted for a while and I learned he had exchanged letters with Ste Therese’s sister at the Carmelite Convent in Lisieux. Wow! … This was really exciting news for me, to meet someone who had actually communicated with Ste Therese’s sister.
I helped him find his way back to the church and meet up with his group. He told me I would be blessed for my kindness. Hmmm
A few days later I am sitting on an airplane headed for Lille France. The same airplane the priest’s group was traveling on. Apparently one member of the group couldn’t make the trip and this left the seat vacant on the return flight. All of this was free, the trip to the airport in Split, the flight, everything; didn’t cost me a cent. Another wow! Was this the blessing the priest was referring to the night I helped him find the church?
I have no idea where Lille is in France but something tells me it is near the hometown of the friend I met on the Kibbutz in Israel. I decide to try and visit him. During the flight I make some enquiries and learn that I can walk to his hometown from the Lille airport. Yikes!! Where is this trip taking me?
I do in fact walk into his village and again after several twists and turns I find myself standing in his home where his family is grieving his suicide of the day before. His sister asks me … “Bruce … Why are you here? It’s too late to help my brother”. I have asked myself the same question many, many times since.
I still have no idea how these strange circumstances came together … synchronicity? The restlessness in Medugorje, the failure to find a way out of town for several days and finally finding a free flight to France where I could walk to JF’s hometown from the airport … the convergence is certainly mysterious. As I mentioned earlier, I learned about the word ‘synchronicity’ from a Jesuit Priest who listened to my story shortly after my return to Guelph several months later. He used the word to describe my experience.
I attended the funeral and spent the next few days with his family. It was amazing … felt like the people in this small village knew me. Apparently JF shared much about the time we spent together in Israel with his family and friends. Left with no agenda and no destination, where can I go now? Decided to find Lisieux, and check out this Ste Therese Shrine that Rebecca and I tried to find about five years earlier.
How winding a road I seem to travel ... am I to learn something from all this? I don't know ... all I know is most of the time I am prepared to go anywhere, feeling comfortable trusting the Virgin Mary will lead me ... and when it is not the Her leading me, trusting that She will lead me back where She wants me when the time is right ... Her time ... not mine.
Back to my pilgrimage story … I am in Lisieux for the second time in a year trying to figure out what to do next.
I am also reminded how last year at this time ... almost to the day ... I had purchased a ticket for Portsmouth and I was on my way to Lisieux but ... didn't make it there. Found myself a week later in Santiago Compostella Spain. This year I leave Canada en route to Santiago Compostella Spain and I find myself in Lisieux ... go figure!!
So why am I going to Lille? I will try to recall the 'signs' that got me here. The paper with Sarah’s (JF’s sister in Lille) phone number kind of fell into my hand about 10 days ago. I was going to call her that day but decided to wait several days. No answer the first time ... she answered the 2nd call. I was intrigued by her question during our conversation ... “where are you calling from?” Wonder what she was thinking? Even more intrigued by her comment that she was thinking about me almost precisely the same time I was thinking about her. Even more surprising ... she was thinking about how she never answered my letter. I was thinking the same and part of my reluctance to call was the fact that she never answered my letter.
So how is it that two people who barely know each other, having only spent several hours together almost four years ago at a traumatic time in her life, living 8,000 kilometers apart; yet here we are thinking about each other days before I hope to leave for Spain via Paris. Did my thoughts travel to Sarah? Did Sarah’s thoughts travel to me? Did the thoughts originate somewhere else and were delivered to each of us by an angel? Ste Therese? Ste Bernadette? At the very least on this day we experienced a psychic connection.
We will never know, perhaps after our death. Yet another coincidence, almost four years ago I said goodbye to Sarah and headed for Lisieux. Today I am leaving Lisieux and headed to Lille to say hello to Sarah? Am I making the return trip I should have made almost four years ago ... no way!! ... The timing is perfect ... it must be!
The next time I put pen to paper the experience with Sarah should be complete. Will the visit be eventful? ... Will it be uneventful? ... Who knows?
June 21, 2000
I spent the day in Lille, a day with so many surprises. Woke up later ...8:40AM ... five minutes left to get free coffee and bread ... I made it!
I walked more aimlessly today, decided against the familiar route, not particularly energetic ... thinking about the past couple of days ... looking for an answer to ..."Why am I here?" The visit has been OK Sarah suggests a cheap means of transportation south; Auto Pass is an organization that connects people who are driving somewhere with people who want a ride somewhere. The passenger is only asked to share the gas expense.
There were two options available for me, Orleans and Vierzon. . I talked about Joan of Arc with Sarah yesterday, explaining that Joan of Arc was the reason I was considering Orleans as my next stop. Find myself walking in Lille ... who knows where ... I look at the street sign and it's "Jeanne d' Arc" street ... hmmm ... symbolic? Continuing on, a church with the door open ... I am OK to visit ... not really drawn ... but OK. I spend an hour or so ... not too peaceful ... but OK.
I walk down the street and find myself sitting under a tree at an intersection of Jeanne D'Arc Street and something else. A few minutes later I look up and within ten meters is a statue of Jeanne D'Arc on a horse. I got up for a close look. The artist created a look of steely determination on her face ... or so it seemed to me. Recalled the many instances where Jeanne D'Arc was on my 'path', especially the time in the coffee shop where I felt compelled to write down my thoughts. Also, the two recent movies featuring Joan of Arc, and my chat with my sister’s husband concerning Joan of Arc.
The recurring theme is her example as someone who went against the "flow" and simply did what she believed God wanted her to do, even when facing the most horrible of deaths. I find the reflections both encouraging and frightening. The thought of martyrdom doesn't have a lot of appeal right now. The thought of getting on a horse with "LOVE" as my sword and trying to get people to buy into it has some appeal. I need to learn to trust God and wait for Him.
Worry about taking all these little "nuances" as sound indications of guidance by the Virgin Mary. I need to keep reminding myself about patience and humility. I have strong feelings and some sort of inner drive to get on with the pilgrimage to Santiago. I get an email from Rebecca saying she is so excited about doing the pilgrimage that she almost bought a plane ticket. I don't feel real positive about the prospects of walking with Rebecca who is occasionally too jumpy and pushy, where I prefer gentleness and going with the flow.
I will simply have to wait and see where God takes me. I am even more convinced that I am prepared to go anywhere and I am becoming stronger in my resolve to "not compromise" my faith and my particular journey with the Virgin Mary as my protector, guide, mother and comforter.
The gentleman at Auto Pass knew about the Camino Santiago yet he directed me to Vierzon rather than the historic departure point of Vezelay. Was this a Freudian slip? Four years later I would arrive in Vezelay to start my fourth and final pilgrimage. Hmmm
June 29, 2000
Traveled from Paris to Vierzon ... misunderstood the gentleman at Auto Pass ... I think he was referring to Vezelay. I stayed in an Auberge at Vierzon, very pleasant young lady who seemed quite interested in 'pilgrims'. She loaned me a magazine article on the pilgrimage ... she had saved this magazine since 1994. Here I am learning about the Camino Santiago in this village of Vierzon. I had not done any research in Canada ... true to my 'nature' ... I simply closed my eyes and jumped in so to speak.
I spent two nights in Vierzon ... forced to move on ... the Auberge was booked. Didn't do much ... decided to head for Lourdes and walk from there. Reflected quite a bit on my visit to Nevers where I was again touched deeply by the notion of LOVE. Why can't I LOVE? Why can't most people LOVE today ... I mean LOVE in the fullest sense ... when strangers pass you on the street ... the look on their faces is not at all peaceful ... loving ... even when I say bonjour ... most of them don't even respond ... it seems to me that LOVE is not present.
Touched by Ste Bernadette’s' words ..."Love without limit" ... seem to spend a lot of time on this notion of LOVE ... touched by the sentence I read in my previous visit to Lourdes ... "Ste Bernadette's parents loved each other tenderly" ... very moving experience. I can imagine the relationship ... but I certainly never experienced it myself ... don't think that kind of tenderness existed between mom and dad either ... perhaps to a degree.
People in the past century or perhaps for several centuries ... but it seems to me particularly in the past fifty years have become 'hardened' ... 'desensitized'. I think the result of $$$ ... higher standard of living ... a society that promotes individualism and in the process diminishes the 'sense of family' For example, it’s illegal to have a granny flat on your lot in Canada ... contrast this with Ste Bernadette's early life. She lived with her grandparents, aunts and cousins ... in the mill where her father worked ... very close quarters ... yet LOVE was nurtured and cherished.
Where are we going? We were not made to be 'hard' and 'insensitive' ... we were made to LOVE and we all seek to LOVE and to be LOVED.
What happened in Nevers? I almost started to write about it several times in the past couple of days but somehow the inspiration passed. Almost as though I was still influenced by the experience ... the 'experience' was still in process. Even writing while waiting for the train to Lourdes, am feeling light headed ... can't describe it ... this could all be psychological. Perhaps I set myself up with expectations when I decided to go to Nevers. I don't know ... doesn't matter. I seem to be attracted to the notion of LOVE ... what is LOVE? It’s a word that is used to describe so many situations, circumstances, emotions etc. At the core ... what is LOVE?
In English we say:
- I love my dog
- I love my wife
- I love my job
- I love chocolate
Agape love on the other hand is intended to convey the 'face of love' ... where there is nothing in it for me ... and I love anyway ... no wonder it is so rare in today’s 'me' cultures!
Seems to me for some time now that those who proclaim LOVE is the basic and most fundamental "need" of all human beings have it right. John, the apostle, writes ..."GOD IS LOVE". Does this suggest that these notions of what I am describing as "LOVE" are a manifestation of the presence of GOD within me? Am I simply being placed in a 'state' where I recognize GOD within me ... and at all other times I am too preoccupied with the 1000's of distractions in daily life.
I don't know ... I don't know ... will I ever know for sure? I want to ... I want to ... I am not even sure why I want to ... and why this desire comes and goes. I become somewhat satisfied with life for brief periods and later kaboom! Out of the blue I find myself wanting to withdraw from the world ... crawl into a cave ... lick my wounds and wait for healing ... and the cycle starts all over again ... Why? ... How many times must I go through this?
On to my pilgrimage … my first day of walking held many surprises.
I left Lourdes with no information about the 'Camino' in France. I had my 'Credential' which included a sketch of the route through Spain starting at Col Somport. I had consulted a map in Lourdes and took the road that seemed to be in the direction of Col Somport.
I’m a lifetime pencil pusher, spending most of my adult life sitting on my butt. Here I am carrying a backpack weighing approximately 35 pounds up these mountains, the French Pyrenees. My first day on the road, with no previous ‘walking’ experience, no idea that I should be carrying enough to eat and drink between 'pit stops'; no idea where’s the next pit stop. After walking about 22 kilometers, I arrive at this Hamlet which fortunately for me includes a small restaurant. I’m starving and pooped, with a painful sweat rash in my crutch; the first day of this pilgrimage is not a lot of fun!
The restaurant is closed! ... Now what? ... Where will I stay? Seems I’ll pay a heavy price for my arrogance, my refusal to do my homework and plan my route ahead of time. I’m looking around for some indication of what to do next, as if some answer would fall out of the sky. Notice a billboard across the street with an advertisement for a Gite (bed and breakfast) ... 4.5 kilometers away ... not in the direction I’m headed. After taking a few minutes to consider my alternatives, realizing I had none, decided to try hitch hiking to the Gite. The decision to hitch hike bothered me a bit. I’m supposed to be on a walking pilgrimage! Since the Gite was in the opposite direction of my walk figured it was justified!
After several minutes of sticking my out my arm with thumb raised, Canadian body language for please give me a ride, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I didn't see the lady approaching me ... fatigue? ... Daydreaming? ... Who knows? As it turned out this lady owned the Gite announced on the billboard. Perhaps not terribly surprising, only local traffic uses this road. The big surprise would come on the drive to the Gite.
While driving home she tells me her husband had just returned from his pilgrimage to Santiago Compostela about a week earlier ... he had started from their farm and walked for 38 days. Unbelievable! What’s the chance of this happening? Rather than paying a heavy price for my arrogance it seems I receive a blessing for my blind faith.
A few weeks ago my world fell apart so quickly, at the time I found it incredible that it happened so fast. Perhaps the answer to this question is in the timing of my departure from Lourdes. Almost the same day I left Lourdes heading for Fatima in Portugal the Third Secret of Fatima was revealed to the public, after more than 50 years of secrecy. Hmmm
Sitting in an elevated verandah at the Gite, after walked about 22 kilometers on my first day ... Hard enough ... pack is very heavy ... feet hurt ... overcast day mostly. What a blessing! I’m looking out onto a corn field ... the French Pyrenees in the background ... how picturesque. Sheep and chickens around the back ... the owner was born here ... am I jealous? Yes!
June 30, 2000
Day 2 on the road ... very tiring ... not too hot though ... thank goodness! Thank you Lord. Took a rest on the side of the road ... several cows munching away across the road ... thoughts went to ... why in the human species have we made "sex objects" of the organs whose natural function relates only to reproduction ... so contrary to nature ... a woman's breast exists to nurture ... to feed ... the baby until it is old enough to eat solid food. Cows do the same ... the mother knows when it is time to wean the calf and the udder and teats go to sleep, so to speak, until the next calf is born. What happened in the animal species called the "human species"? When did it happen? We are told Eve was created as a companion for Adam and to multiply the species.
When did women become a "sex objects"? I remember Sarah talking about this and how this was the principal reason she refused to get married or enter into a relationship. Seems she was given some deep wisdom on this subject. Is this part of the reason mankind has become so 'hard'? The reason we cannot seem to express "tenderness amongst ourselves". Seems logical that 'tenderness' would have been the first sentiment or feeling expressed between Adam and Eve.
As the story goes Adam saw all the other animals species 'mingling' with each other and he was lonely being the only member of the human species. I try to imagine myself in his shoes ... not that difficult these days! I am all alone ... somewhat by choice ... anyhow ... it seems to me that Adam would extend a sincere expression of tenderness and gratitude towards Eve ... and given the 'pleasantness' of the experience ... Eve would reciprocate ... or perhaps the other way around ... the order is not important ... the reciprocal 'tenderness' is the key!
So what happened and when did it happen? We see today the cumulative effect of the phenomenon ... where both men and women seem to be 'driven' to seek pleasure from the flesh ... worse yet ... men from men and women form women. We are told this is not new ... in past cultures ... it was as bad or worse ... why? If worse, what happened to improve the situation?
Certainly the human species has biological characteristics that come with being human. Surely these biological characteristics have the same behavioral natures as other animal species. For example, most animal species engage in intercourse only when prompted by nature; something happens which triggers the act leading to reproduction. I believe this same chemical or biological trigger exists in the human species. As a child growing up I knew nothing about sex, a taboo subject in the family. I was not 'driven' into sexual relationships. I did not look at the female species as 'sex objects'.
It did start at some point though. I wonder how much was biological and how much was external or environmental. For example, to what extent does what we see and hear in our society affect our behavior? We as a species are programmable; it's simply a question of degree. Much evidence exists to support the hypothesis ... isn't cultural uniqueness simply a manifestation of this 'programmable nature'. So let's suppose the human anatomy is constructed much along the lines of other animal species, female reproductive organs should not be visually attractive. They are not there to attract the mate as coloring is assumed with some species of birds. Cows don't stare at udders and teats ... why do we humans? Slick marketers have exploited this phenomenon to promote consumerism; the slogan ‘sex sells’.
As St Augustine wrote Lord, I really would like to understand why., if you do not open my eyes I will never know. My eyes see all the grief caused by today’s' human behavior, yet I cannot know for sure why it is so. If it be Your will to let me know ... so be it.
I should note here that I spent this night in a camper trailer. The lady who rented me the trailer was very kind, gave me coffee, bread and jam ... in the evening and in the morning.
During the night I woke up and had a very strange experience. The only way I know how to describe it is with an image. When we turn off our televisions ... the image disappears almost instantaneously and often all we see is a little white dot in the middle of a dark screen.
It was as though someone 'pulled the plug' or ‘turned off' my mind/brain. I was awake yet I felt like my brain was kaput. It was a memorable and frightening experience. The next day I thought perhaps the meditations while watching the cows in the field was 'connected' with this frightening experience. I was contemplating something I should not go near?
In Bedous again! The second time here in the last two days, after my accidental excursion to Adeus ... accidental?
The walk up the mountain to the tiny valley on top was excruciatingly difficult! It was another six kilometers after having already walked 16-17 kilometers. Today as I reflect on what I saw and learned, I am grateful for the experience. It provided yet another opportunity to reflect on the question of 'progression' or 'regression in human evolution.
The top of this mountain was a leper colony 100's of years ago and today it is a vacation paradise ... what a contrast!! Also, I was informed by the people where I spent the night that 100 years ago there were 60 shepherds and 1,000 sheep in the valley. Today, there is only one shepherd for 1,000 sheep. For centuries people lived in the valley with the same lifestyle and within 100 years so much changed. People have hydro, telephone, paved roads and numerous other creature comforts; yet no means of supporting life. The 70-80 inhabitants are likely all wealthy retirees. Only two or three working farms left in the valley. Is this progress?
So where is mankind headed from here? We are 'hardened' and 'wired'. This seems necessary to live at the pace we live, support the lifestyle we are programmed to believe is progressive.
I am reminded many, many times of the words ... "they loved each other tenderly". Tenderness is a characteristic of being or of living that has slipped into history. We hear the word so rarely and I know I can’t recall the word being used to describe anyone in my lifetime. I can’t recall a situation involving people where I would use the word to describe what I was observing. Perhaps I am too harsh or too cynical!
OK ... Let's say what I have just written has some basis of 'truth'. Why is it so? How did we get here? What do we have to do to get back? Assuming there was a time in history where people treated each other with 'brotherly love'(psalms) and tenderness. Today, no doubt there remain some isolated locations, even in large cities, where this sentiment prevails among a few people. Wish I could find one.
I’m feeling really hopeful right now; for the moment convinced that I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. Perhaps my dream, vision, or wish that somehow I’m destined to help souls for the rest of my journey here on earth. Although, I have much difficulty reducing this pleasant thought to practical actions. Perhaps I’ simply driven by vanity! Yuk!
Here’s another memory from yesterday. I realized at some point during my walk I had lost track of what day it is and the date; what liberty, what freedom! I thought to myself, here I am, don't know what day it is, don't know where I am, don't know where I’m going(short term anyway) and I don't care!. It's as though all the chains of slavery have been removed.
Contrast this with life back home where most people are concerned with even the "hour"; constantly rushed, agitated and consumed with stress; evangelizing the notion ‘time is money’! Chasing what? We are all headed for the same destination ... "death". Why are we in such a rush to get there?
I mention this to some people along the way and their body language confirms they have no difficulty understanding what I’m trying to say.
I’m sitting in a café writing these notes and a couple walks in. After noticing my backpack and walking stick they insist on buying me a coffee and dessert. I think to myself what generosity ... I’m a complete stranger, no beggars bowl and minding my own business. They stopped by the table on their way out to say 'bon voyage'. The older lady asked me to say a prayer to St Jacques for her. Lord please help me to remember their generosity and kindness. Clearly a manifestation of the tenderness I was just writing about; reflected in their voices, in the look on their faces. Making a note of this experience brings tears. I’m crying as I write, I must be experiencing a moment of LOVE. Certainly a rare moment ... I think for me anyway ... again why?
We are made to LOVE ... all serious minded people must know that being human it’s natural to crave LOVE ... both giving and receiving. I say LOVE ... not the reciprocal exchange of goods and services and affections we seem to promote and nurture in these times. The 'tongue' of my pen seems to be tired right now. I suppose I will just sit for a while and listen to the Spanish music being played here ... nope! Its 2:20PM ... off to the mill. the tour is at 3:00PM.
Still influenced by the unsolicited incident of affection at the café, I find myself standing in front of a bulletin board near the mill; the only still functional mill of its kind in France. Perhaps Ste Bernadette wants to give me a peak at what her life was like as a child when she lived with her family in a similar mill. She was about 14 years old when the Virgin Mary visited her in the grotto near Lourdes.
My eyes fixed on a pamphlet fastened to the bulletin board: this moment is a milestone in my journey … both the words and the image seem to be speaking directly to me.
"Il est des lieux qui tirent l'ame de sa lethargie, des lieux enveloppes, baignes de mystere, elus de toute eternite pour etre le siege de l'emotion humaine"?
My French is not very good but I could feel these words touch the depths of my soul and they are somehow connected to the experience of ‘tenderness’ in the restaurant. My translation is:
“There are places that pull the soul from its lethargy, places enveloped, bathed in mystery. Since the beginning of time in order to be the seat of human emotion.”
Certainly my soul is being yanked from its lethargy and my recent life experiences are full of mystery.
The English version of the words in the picture are: take the road (journey through life), listen, share, feel, look and understand. This is exactly what I’m trying to do.
Seems to me Ste Bernadette is giving me instructions for my pilgrimage.
I stopped about 2:00PM in Urcos today, earlier than usual. Figured the 15 kilometers to Col Somport would be too much. The young lady at the tourist office told me there is no place to stay between here and Col Somport ... not even a place to camp. Did my laundry at the camp site ... went to town ... about 1 kilometer, thinking I might buy a hot meal at the restaurant ... no luck it’s closed until 7:30 PM
Changed my mind, bought a chocolate bar and now my teeth hurt. Hung my laundry on the fence, the sun is gone down and it feels like it could rain any minute Oh well, there’s a building here that’s open 24 hours with toilets and showers. Figure I can spend the night inside if it rains. I feel a bit unsettled, don't know why? Kind of wish I had the creature comforts available last night without the conversation.
Don't feel like any conversation or company, can't seem to simply enjoy the rest. Feels like I should be doing something ...YUK!! Is this just me, the force of habit from watching too much television? So, so difficult to simply "be" where ever you are eh! Suppose that's what they mean when they say you carry your "baggage" with you where ever you go. As long as you are occupied with distractions, in my case ... simply walking ... you don't seem to notice the restlessness. I assume underneath this restlessness is the 'baggage' ... whatever that means? I’m not bad ... but not as serene and peaceful as I think I should be.
"They loved each other tenderly" ... still on my mind a lot. I believe it’s possible, not only between man and wife, but among siblings, parents etc. I walked through a cemetery this afternoon ... don't know why? When I entered wondering how old the community is ... probably medieval but grave sites ... the older ones ... the markings were illegible. I was particularly drawn to one plot. In this cemetery they have mostly family plots versus individual ones. Anyway this one plot was covered with more than 25 elaborate stone nick knacks. They were from brothers, cousins, friends etc. It occurred to me that this particular family would have known and experienced "tender love" for each other.
Will I ever experience it, on the giving or the receiving side? How much "housekeeping" needs to be done to remove all the "corrosion" in my inner self; in the process creating a capacity to ‘love tenderly’. Surely all human beings are born with that capacity ... don't know!
Walking still seems to be what I should be doing. My memory went back to my visit to the church in Urcos. As usual on my way to the restaurant I find myself going by the church and the door was open. Didn't stay long ... one of the statues I looked at for a while was St Mary Magdalene ... it had a skull at her feet. At the time I remembered thinking ... that's what I will look like a few months after my death ... YUK!
Today my mind went back to the image of that skull ... that's what we’ll all look like ... except those who choose cremation. A thought that occurred to me is that having a skull in plain view every day may not be such a bad thing. It would certainly remind us where we’re all going ... not to focus on death ... quite the opposite ... to focus on life!! 'Life' versus existence ... LOVE.
Again so many times the phrase "they loved each other tenderly" came to mind. Forgot to mention a day or so ago, today as well, that I found myself singing as I climbed the Pyrenees ... “quand le soleil dit bonjour au montagne”. The sun was just coming up over the mountains. Makes me wonder why this one line of the song would pop into my mind now; likely heard the song sometime in my childhood. Why that particular phrase stuck in my memory ... another mystery eh! I have since heard the song on the radio and another line struck me as profound ... "je ne veux penser que toi" ... I don't want to think about anyone but you ... hmmm In English: When the sun says good day to the mountain, I am alone, I only want to think about you.
Just after supper tonight the lady turned the music on, the radio, a CD … I don't know. An English song ... wow!!. The words that really touched me were: ... "when you find love, when you know love exists”. Jesus was also mentioned in the chorus. This reminded me of how sometimes I feel as though I have found love ... the love of GOD ... so different from creature love. Seems to me if a man and a woman have both experienced this kind of love they would have a much better chance of "loving each other tenderly".
I also forgot to mention the 'cow bells' and 'sheep bells'. I have been hearing them for a week now. Whenever I hear them I think of my mom with her cow bell at the hockey games. I wonder where she got the cow bell. I wonder what happened to it. I find it amusing that as a child I had no idea cow bells served any practical purpose! ... Even as an adult!!
The bells on the sheep I saw a few nights ago, about 200-300 of them, sounded like an orchestra as the sheep wandered around the mountainside. They were wearing bells that made different sounds when they were clanging at the same time ... the music was pleasant and appealing. Heard the same sound on the road today, seemed to be coming from way up on the mountain covered with mostly trees ... couldn't see anything!
Back to the skull, the human being is quite an animal. When you consider the coordination and capability of a human being while there is flesh on the bones, it's astounding, only really hit me today. Saw all the skulls at the monastery in St Catherine’s on Mount Sinai 4 years ago and never got the feeling of "awe" I had today. Again the question of the "source" of life arises ... where does it come from?
Scientists tell us we are all energy. I think of the electric shock therapy used to revive a heart attack patient whose heart has stopped beating. Now that' s intriguing; the heart stops beating and we discovered that by pouring gobs of electricity in the area of the heart on occasion the heart starts beating again. Almost as though it takes electricity to get it going and than our being seems to generate its' own electricity ... is this so?
On the other hand, if the source of life is energy, electricity or whatever; is GOD through our soul? The human anatomy is a mystery. I suppose every living anatomy; humans, animals, trees, flowers are all mysteries. Sure scientists have learned some of the 'science' of life but it seems to me we only know the tip of the iceberg.
I often wonder where I get my strength and stamina for this walk. Here I am, a lifetime pencil pusher, carrying a backpack weighing approximately 35 pounds up these mountains while not eating very well; goat cheese and bread. Although I suppose there could be a lot of nutrition in the goat cheese. I know I come from strong stalk ... mom and dad ... yet I still find it amazing that I made it.
I was often walking up hill and smoking at the same time, a real athlete eh!! Why do I keep going? Don't know. I’m worried a bit today that it’s to get attention or affection. I really hope not ... that sounds so vain!!
I pray regularly that if I’m doing this in pursuit of personal glory that GOD stop me and send me home!! The pilgrim that just joined me is from Madrid. He speaks some English. I’m not interested in any conversation. I hope he doesn't plan on walking together, seems to me that most people who do this pilgrimage prefer to walk alone.
July ?
In Sanguesa ... all but one pilgrim has left. I’m reminded of the 'flock' behavior ... one leaves ... another follows and soon there seems to be a force that tries to get you up to follow. I don't know why but I naturally resist this tendency. At the moment, I prefer to travel alone away from the crowd. Still find myself too focused on the destination ... the next coffee stop ... the next stop over.
Oh! How I hope that will change before this pilgrimage is complete. Is this simply habit, something I have learned or been taught to do over the years. And now I’m finding it most difficult to change. Or am I simply not ‘into the pilgrimage’ and have put up with the walking to get to my next coffee and get it done! An important question!
Again I pray I will know one way or the other before I'm done. I think a lot about the encounter with Brother Joe. My initial reluctance to accept his offer to go with him to visit Pamplona the night we met in the restaurant. Yet here I am thinking of going to Pamplona. I worry that the annual ‘Running of the Bulls’ festival may still be going on and I’m not keen on being there during the festival.
Back to Joe, he is doing something that doesn’t appeal to me at the moment; solitude is my friend these days. Although sometimes on the trail I wonder why I can't simply "stop" and "be still" ... always moving on!!
So why did I leave Puenta La Reina de Jaca the next morning? The pain from the blister on my right foot woke me up in the middle of the night ... I knew it was infected or something! The lady at the hotel told me there was nothing between Puenta La Reina and the next stop, 20 kilometers down the road. No coffee break ... with my feet in this condition?
It was an unexpected blessing that she advised me to take along a sandwich. After ordering a cheese sandwich I hit the road, limping along in my shower sandals.
After walking several kilometers, realized I was lost and headed back to the hotel … my feet couldn’t take any more. Why did I miss the turn? I was looking right at the road sign ...”Arres 3.3 kilometers”, thinking to myself ... Oh! How I wish I was going that way. I could have a coffee break after the 3.3 kilometers. Then for some strange reason, completely ignoring the impulse, headed in the opposite direction ... the wrong direction.
My mind was off contemplating the wonder of camels ... how they are built to do without water for days and days and how their feet are like slippers. Most other animals like the horse, donkey, cow, deer and pig have hard hooves. So I walk 5 or 6 or 7 kilometers in the wrong direction. Why so far before doubting myself? The same little old yellow car that prompted me to turn around and head back to the hotel was pulling into the hotel at the same time as I arrive ... Hmmm.
Off to Javier and Lyre the next day. As it turns out ... 2 places I would not have seen if I hadn't gone the wrong way.
I am especially grateful ... well perhaps grateful is not all I’m feeling. I am intrigued that the circumstances and encounter with Brother Joe brought me to Javier. I would never have known that Javier was the birthplace of St Francis Xavier. This experience reminds me of the twists and turns on my trip to London that landed me in Loyola Spain a year ago. Loyola is the hometown of St Ignacio; Francis and Ignacio were classmates at the University of Paris and founded the Order of the Jesuits together. Hmmm again!
10:30AM
This is one of those moments ... got kicked out of the albergue in the middle of writing the above comments ... about 9:30AM. A lot has happened in the past hour ... no earth shaking stuff ... but subtle intriguing stuff. I write about not being able to stop an hour or so ago and here I am stopped on the road after less than 2 kilometers walking. How so eh?
Didn't eat my breakfast at the albergue, don't know why just didn't feel hungry, drank 2-3 coffees and a smoked several cigarettes. I guess that's why breakfast this morning is the leftover fruit and cheese and biscuits from yesterday. Just finished, they tasted great! Still a pear left for the road.
I am sitting at a picnic table at a site marked as the first Franciscan monastery in Spain. I learned last night in a book at the tourist office that St Francis of Assisi did the pilgrimage! The sign seems to indicate he passed through Sanguese ... any connection?
I decided at the bottom of the hill that I would eat when I got to the top, after one more cigarette. When I butt my cigarette on the ground, I decide to pick it up and put it in my bag thinking to myself that St Francis would never approve! This thought has occurred to me a couple of times in the past few days. I decide to carry a plastic bag for my cigarette butts.
More than 9 years later, when smoking without access to an ash tray, I still separate the filter and keep it in my pocket until I find a garbage disposal.
Nothing left ... a couple of picnic tables and a bit of stone wall. Hey I walked right by the place a few minutes ago. After walking past the gate I said to myself ... wait ... picnic tables ... breakfast ... St Francis ... any connection?
I decided to stop and eat and at the same time record this moment here!!
Already passed a couple of places where the yellow arrows pointed in 2 different directions ... just to confuse me eh! Seems there are a couple of routes out of Sanguese ... good! ... I have no idea where the next coffee break is ... good!!
I’m thinking a lot about the decision concerning Pamplona, torn between wanting to connect with some of the people in my small world (via email) and hanging around with my new friend … ‘solitude’.
Who knows eh! We'll have to see where the day takes me. Here the birds are singing, a gentle breeze is wafting softly, the sun is shining ... a perfect day for walking.
Oh! ... About the phone card I bought yesterday; the gentleman gave me another $10 card. I said is this dos (2) mille card? ... He went oops! And gave me a $20 card without any questions or hesitations ... hmmm!!
Also saw the gentleman selling tickets on the street again this morning, passed him a couple of times yesterday and simply said "no thanks". I only saw that he was selling some kind of lottery ticket and I wasn’t interested. This morning as he was walking towards me ... I noticed he walked with a limp! I also noticed this morning that his right arm and hand were deformed ... perhaps polio?
What a different sentiment when I approached him ... this time I wanted to help him so gave him $1. This happened prior to the phone card exchange ... any connection?
One thing is for sure ... I am still half blind and moving too fast. I should have noticed yesterday that this gentleman had polio or some serious handicap ... why didn't I?
How many times when we see someone ... we only see such a small part of them ... disinterest? Self interest ... Moving too fast? This is a problem or challenge that we all have. We should take the time and focus all of our being on our personal encounters.
I am not suggesting we should stare or scan each individual we encounter ... different than that! I am not sure how to describe what I feel I am trying to learn. Like the phone card ... never thought to check it at the store when I bought it ... even opened the package and looked at the back of the card ... no glasses! That’s it! Can’t see and in too big a hurry.
Same with people it seems to me ... the encounters GOD presents to us are intentional ... we have something to give or something to receive or both from each encounter.
Why am I on this pilgrimage? I’m still asking the same question. Still no answer ... still no interest in calling it quits. Am I helping anyone? ... myself?
Yesterday the answer I gave myself and the people I was chatting with in my mind ... life is simply one long prayer ... I really do hope so!
Feeling patient, feeling humble, listening to the whine of the propeller like windmills, the trickle of the water into the reservoir and savoring the broad span of human history visible within the limited view of this picnic table ... wow!!
A gust of wind ... must be time to move on ... I quite enjoyed this quiet moment A storm is unknowingly brewing on the horizon.
9:20 PM
Back again ... what a day! I need to be more careful of what I ask for! This morning I wrote about my wish to just walk without knowing or thinking about where the next stop is ... coffee or sleep ... well I found out today!
A couple of hours after I put down my pen this morning, I became completely lost! There was supposed to be a village with restaurants after 4.9 kilometers. I walked a lot more than that and no village!
The trail finally come out at a highway and there was one of those maps, not the typical map with simple info and lines but a topographical map ... almost impossible for me to read. At this point I am out of water and food and I’m hoping beyond hope that a coffee is close. A white vehicle is parked 10 meters away ... I think ... oh good! I approach the two young Spanish men sitting in the vehicle, only to discover that coffee is about 12 kilometers away. Yikes!!
Somehow I missed the towns ... both of them! They suggested going down the road in the opposite direction about 3-4 kilometers, have a coffee and come back. I briefly considered there advice and than ignoring it, hit the goat trail ... another 12 kilometers ... oh well!
An hour or so later the yellow markers that indicate which way to go disappeared. Somehow I knew this was going to happen. I'm on an old logging road that winds its' way up and through these mountains. I remember the night before in Sanguese where this gentleman pointed out in his book that the trail markers were wrong or something after Nuares. I saw the sign indicating Nuares and thought all would be OK until I got there ... never got there either! ... Oh! Oh!
I keep going anyway, arriving near the top of a mountain and the road seems to be heading back down now. Oh No! Been there!! I look at the hydro lines, the standard line and this wind mill hydro line. I decide to head into the bush and see if there is a road along either one of these lines. Turns out there is one for each ... absolutely breath taking lookout at the end of the windmill road not that it was very comforting. I walked up a ways and a kilometer or so in the distance spotted a building and what looked like a farmer’s field.
What a relief! Back down to get my back pack, walking through the bush is very difficult, very thick with lots of thorns. I make it down to the road, quite hopeful with no water now and no food!
I come walking out of the bush through an open area and see two men at this building. What a relief! Figuring I would now find access to water and directions to the next stop. So I think! No water available and nothing but bad news for directions, 8-9 kilometers to anywhere. One choice is back to the town I somehow missed this morning. The other being this place called Ixco down the windmill line where I knew from the night before, there was a refuge. Some choices eh!! ... Still no water!
A little unsure whether I even understood what the gentleman was saying correctly. I head for the highway, get about 15-20 meters and the gentleman calls out to me ... something about water ... he motions using international body language that he may be able to get me a bottle of water. I'm feeling a bit guilty about taking from his personal water supply but than again facing another 7-8 kilometer walk with no water; I accept his generosity.
He takes me around the building and he goes up to the door looking for someone. His body language suggests the people in the building, whoever they were, are superior to him. As I get to the doorway he hands me a can of Fanta ... fine I think to myself. Seconds later a young man comes to the door ... Yup! ... The same young man that was in the truck at the map several hours ago comes to the door ... hmmm.
I think he tries to convince me to take the windmill road to Ixco. I think he is saying ... “the heck with the Camino Santiago trail ... take the power line”! He chats with his friends ...3-4 more men arrive ... they all know I’m lost ... my feet are killing me. The young man who provided the can of Fanta communicates via body language he thinks I’m crazy and he is not happy that I don't seem interested in his suggestion of the power line route.
Oh well! I decide to take the gravel road to the highway. I think it leads to a stop sign if I understood the Spanish correctly. I head out. Down the road about 50 meters or so and the white truck pulls up ... Yup, the gentleman who had just given me the can of Fanta. He opens the door and motions for me to get in, doesn't seem real happy about his decision or whoever decided for him ... but I figure he is offering me a ride somewhere.
I can hardly walk ... I don't care about the Camino anymore. I just want some rest ... a coffee ... reorientation. I get in and he takes me down the windmill line and down the mountain to Ixco. I'm thinking all the way ... this is a long, long way and there were several opportunities for me to take a wrong turn along the way. Oh! How thankful I am.
I walk about a kilometer up hill to the village where an old man is on the road. You know this is really amazing how there always seems to be someone there when I am lost or when I’m in trouble. I remember the lady standing in her doorway at Albrirge ... the symbol IHS over her doorway that I noticed later; the only doorway in town with that symbol. She directed me to the local bar, it was unmarked and I had just walked by it. I remember at the time ... I was so tired ... I wanted a coffee so bad ... instead I had 2 beers $1.25 each ... pretty cheap eh! ... Cute little bar ... I was the only customer.
Back to the old man at Ixca, he seemed chatty enough. Interesting how some Spanish people keep talking to you even after they realize you don't understand a word they’re saying. I understood from this man that the refuge was closed; his body language suggested I should keep walking to Monreal ... another 9 or so kilometers. No bar ... no restaurant in town ... so disappointed ... I know I saw the symbol ... a fork and knife in the book the night before.
I go back and forth on the decision and finally decide to head for Monreal; don't know if the decision was motivated by coffee or food or what? I can hardly walk, he gives me hand directions which way to go.
Just as I am walking out of the village, I realize again that I have no water ... Oh poop! I should have filled up at the fountain on the other side of town. I unload my back pack, take out my 2 little water bottles and head for the fountain. I walk past the sign for the refuge again ... see another little old man prompting me to ask him about the refuge. He doesn't seem to know anything.
I walk up to the door of the refuge and find it’s locked! I ring the bell ... no answer ... Oh well! I head for the fountain. I see the first old man again. He goes into his house and opens his garage door ... he offers me some water which I graciously accept.
He keeps chickens in his garage ... neat! I am changing my mind while I’m standing in his garage. I use body language to let him know that I’m simply too tired to walk to Monreal. I will wait for the refuge to open.
Back up to the refuge ... off with the back pack ... laying it on the cement ... no idea how long I may have to wait ... at this point I don't care! ... Too tired to care!
A few minutes later a car pulls up and a woman gets out ... my first thought is ... oh how coincidental! ... How opportune! ... Than I realize that she arrived because someone, likely the first old man, had called her. Ixca is a village of only 25 or so homes.
How kind of both individuals! The lady opens the refuge ... this place is 5 star ...clean ... new etc 8 beds ... 4 bunks and I am all alone ... wow!!
I can't understand her response to my hand language about eating until she opens the cupboards and voila ... a grocery store!! Off to the fridge ... the same!! ... Oh! How wonderful.
I buy 3 eggs, a 5 pack of wieners, 1/2 a bread, large glass of wine and a package of cookies. I am so, so grateful ... amazing how circumstances change in an hour or so eh! I cook my eggs etc ... eat and go to bed ... so, so tired ... I can't believe how quiet it is ... inside and out. The lady left indicating she would be back around 7:00 PM ... wow! ... How wonderful! The silence is broken ... some Spanish conversation ... people ... back packs ... oh no! I am not alone any more ... a young couple ... turns out they have walked from Ruesta ... more than 40 kilometers.
I decide to get up ... eventually learn it is 9:00PM (haven't had a watch for years) ... wow! ... I slept almost 4 hours! Stayed up for an hour or so and went back to bed ... bought 3 more eggs for the next morning.
I'm writing in Monreal ... 36 hours later ... seems to me it's the small things in life that really count. I spend too much time hoping and expecting the "big" one that I lose much of the "joy" that is available to us in the small things. e.g. I was so excited the morning I woke up in Ixco when I discovered some coffee and a coffee maker. I thought all I would have for breakfast was a bit of wine left over from the previous night ... drank it and it was OK ... but the coffee ... wow!! ... The best coffee ever!!
The young couple left me just enough milk too! Now that is a 'miracle'! I remember the moments before I made the discovery ... the thought of walking 9 kilometers without a coffee ... me? ... Not a pleasant outlook ... and than I find the coffee ... like striking gold!!
Let’s move on to the experience in Pamplona. Given the experience of the previous day, when in the morning I considered taking the bus from the first town ...after 4.9 kilometers ... only to find myself completely lost 15 kilometers later. I’m not too sure what GOD expects. Anyhow shortly after arriving in Monreal I go to the local café ... of course eh! Ask about the bus and learn it leaves at 3:20PM and the bus stop is across the road.
It feels OK to go to Pamplona. Hope to find tourist info in bus station or close by ... nope ... only encouragement is a sign on the door to the bus station advertising rooms and 'internet. It's still San Fermin festival time. Now all I have to do is find the address, the notice says central location, so I figure it's not too far.
I wander around a bit ... have a coffee ... feeling lost! How am I going to find this place? No English speaking people. I see a sign 'Cathedral' and I think to myself ... that's a good direction to head in. On my way I notice the Lyre Hotel and I remember the monastery ... good omen I figure. I go in ... man at reception speaks English ... gives me a city map ... points out where we are and where the Kings III Hotel is ... wow eh!
The small events in life! Eventually I find it ... a bit of hand signals from kind people ... third floor ... a bit of a challenge ... owner not in ... must wait. I look at the map and see the tourist office is not far away. I head for it thinking there may be other internet sites. Find myself in San Francisco plaza. Remember yesterdays' experience ... go to the office ... find alternate internet site ... long walk ... decide to try original place again
A mute person on the street tries to help me ... now that's another example of being attentive to the small seemingly meaningless encounters. I think I have a challenge with the language ... well how would it feel to be unable to speak?
He provided assistance without being asked. Suppose his 'senses' are better tuned than mine ... it must have been my posture or look on my face that he noticed. Standing on the sidewalk ... he rang the buzzer and motioned for me to go in. I didn't know how to tell him that I had already been in ... later I thought maybe that was God's way of telling me the owner is now home.
The owner is home ... he gives me a look that says the internet is only for those people staying in the rooms for rent ... than he changes his mind and welcomes me in ... $10.00 per hour. On the way out he shows me that he has the same hat as me ... looks new ... never worn ... small things eh! I had purchased my hat in San Sebastian in June 1999.
I meet a young man from Houston on the bus ... his dad was raised in Monreal, now a doctor in Houston. Young man feels he has no skills ... wants to learn Spanish to improve his earning power. My day of rest ... heard the church bells from 4AM on ... felt urge to get up with the other pilgrims and hit the road.
Don't know where that comes from, am feeling their 'hurried' energy. Seems to me the 'flock' syndrome exists with pilgrims and this pilgrimage as well. I have to work to slow down, to be at rest, it was difficult enough today. Always have the feeling I should be doing something. Read a bit of Kempis’s book Imitation of Christ ... found it inspirational ... music band in Pamplona ... wow ... what a sound ... flutes ... seemed to send me away ... who knows why eh!!. At any other time I may have just found it to be "noise".
‘Rope bridge’ ... remember today my experience with the rope bridge. I walked across a dried up river bed on a rope bridge ... it had all the characteristics necessary to construct my theory ... planks missing ... hideous skeleton of a cow or something similar hanging ion the other side ... dilapidated ... I walked across nonetheless. Fortunately whoever lived in the shack on the other side was not at home that day.
The walk across the rope bridge symbolizes the journey from City of Man to City of God described in St Augustine’s book.
Two pilgrims have mentioned there will be much more "traffic" the rest of the way ... from Puente La Reina. I read a couple of times how all the roads converge in Puente La Reina ... King legislated it a long time ago ... apparently to settle the disputes among villages who were clambering for pilgrim "business". I am not looking forward to more traffic ... it may be more difficult to walk alone ... all alone ... with no one in site all day!!
I found myself thinking today … how "neat" some of the journey has been, without plans or a book that provides details and warnings etc. Seems what I need to know comes to me some how ... I get inquisitive ... or someone volunteers info. The case in Sanguesa comes to mind ... seems my being lost was foreshadowed the night I spent at the Refugio Sanguesa ... the hydro symbols I saw in the book were my anchor when I knew I was lost. I kept them as a reference point and in the end went up to the hydro line ... took the road etc
I would walk for another 2 months ... approximately 1,100 kilometers ... to Fatima in Portugal. Yet ... no more 'scribbling' for the rest of this particular walk. I would not 'scribble' again until 2 years later ... July 2002 ... and where would I start writing again?
At the picnic tables just outside Sanguesa ... the site of the first Franciscan Monastery in Spain ... hmmm
The end of solo pilgrimage was foreshadowed in Logrono where I lost me Credential … I would meet Rachael in Monreal and we completed the walk to Santiago Compostella together. This seems to confirm the hypothesis that one cannot walk with God in a crowd … even a crowd of only two.
Nonetheless, meeting Rachael would bring me back to Spain several times where my wisdom would be nurtured.