Religion...In Retrospect

Growing up, I questioned my religion when the priest told my mom not to come to church unless she wore a dress. I questioned it further when the church condemned Disney films because the voice of Pumba was played by a gay actor. I rejected religion when the priest told my mother that my sister was going to hell because she didn't have a Greek Orthodox funeral.

Then of course there is all the cruelty and hate in the name of religion. And the horrific stories about Catholic schools from my friends.

So, why a pilgrimage to the cathedral of St. James? I wondered this every step of The Way. As I chanted my Sanskrit phrases and practiced mindful presence, I still wondered each time I entered a church and saw the painful imagery of Christ on the cross. I wondered out loud with the devout Christians I met. I didn't judge...most of the time.

I grew to admire the simple devout attention small villages gave to caring for and honoring their churches. I saw the candles and the small bouquets by the blessed virgin. I admired the beautiful artistry of the cathedrals.

But I just kept walking and stopped wondering after awhile. After all, it wasn't hurting me to explore other peoples’ religious beliefs and practices. I didn't mind wondering.

I did wonder about what it might be like when we arrived at Santiago. Would I have a religious awakening? Drop to my knees like others have done? Sobbed deeply for the forgiveness of my sins?

The final day of our journey was very different than I expected. We were a day behind some of our most special Camino companions. So when Tim texted me the photo of Olivia, Sandra, Dolf and, of course, his son, Josh. I felt deep regret that I wasn't there with them.

So much regret, that John and I agreed to walk our hardest, greatest distance that day in order to join them all for a celebratory dinner that night in the Plaza of the Cathedral of Santiago, the resting place of the apostle, James.

For the Camino walk, I brought a tee shirt that I got from a visit to Amma, the hugging saint of India. It has a quote from her on the front…”My Religion is Love”. So, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my greatest sacrifice of effort was not in order to see the remains of St. James, but in order to see the sweet faces of those with whom I shared the journey.

We gathered together at a great long table and shared stories of our own pilgrimages. We laughed and...I was deeply moved to hear the profound meaning this trip had for several of my friends.

For myself, I remain an even more devout follower of the religion of love.

Vicissitudes, Ennui, Angst and WTF.

It started with a sniffle and before he knew it, he had a full-fledged cold. So I wasn't surprised when John suggested that we take a day of “rest”.

One might think that with all my recent love and enlightenment from walking the Camino, that a day of rest is no big deal. What's wrong with being trapped in a hotel room with nothing but Wi-Fi and Facebook! Give these tired muscles a break. Except, of course, for the one between my ears.

At first I just chilled and scrolled through my newsfeed. Then, there is the feed from N.Y. Times and so on and so on. That starts to get old, but it managed to lower my vibration enough to get me THINKING.

Why am I doing this Camino anyway? Me and my middle class lifestyle. This is such a first world adventure. How many refugees walk because they have to … to survive!

I'm taking weeks off from work to WALK? What kind of work ethic is that? What am I really doing with my life? Does any of this really matter?

Then there is more of the endless stream of news and newsfeed and food porn and opinions about politics and will I have HEALTH INSURANCE? Will we go to war with North Korea? How do I compare to him or her or those fascinating people doing fascinating things?

Then there is the self doubt. And the self criticism and the purpose of life thoughts. 

This morning John felt better. Hallelujah! We started walking. Hallelujah! My mind stopped spinning. Hallelujah!

As we walked I shared my “rest” day thoughts with John. He helped me to find some lovely perspective. “What if this walk isn't about anything? What if it's just about being here...feeling the cool air...the rhythm of our steps?”

Then I saw a little road sign along the way and I burst into laughter.

Extra Baggage

When you walk a long time, things begin to feel very heavy...extremely heavy! A chapstick becomes heavy...a cell phone weighs a ton.

When I packed, I had a 14 lb limit, but I cheated and brought along a few extra things. Stuff I thought I couldn't live without. I ended up with 15.5 lbs. I assumed I could handle just an extra pound and a half. I mean, that's nothing...but when you walk a long time…

So...as my rhomboids and erectors began to throb and spasm, I began to see every little thing as a lead weight that I was dragging along the Camino.

I've heard that the secret to enlightenment is non-attachment...I also think that's the secret to lightenment. So the first thing I let go of was my bra!. I had burned it while trying to dry it in a microwave, so it was already pretty messed up, but it took me a week to fully realize that my modesty (or vanity) wasn't important enough to lug that thing around with me.

But baggage has meaning. A week ago we (John, me and my rhomboids) finally came to the decision that we wanted to send one of our bags ahead and just share carrying one bag while we walked. Yes. It's wonderful. Our bag just magically appears at the next albergue we plan to stay at.

A good decision.

So...the reasonable thing is for each of us to equally carry the other bag while we walked. But reasonable is not always the hallmark of a loving relationship.

John, my hero, has insisted on carrying the bag most of the time. Yes, there is guilt, but he reminds me that he is doing it because he loves me. More guilt...nope...fuck guilt. I have chosen to graciously receive his love! I mean, love isn't measured through negotiations. It’s not an “if you do this then…”

I struggled with this gift from John. I still do and I do sometimes carry the bag...but not nearly as much as him.

Accepting and receiving your partner’s love and kindness matters. And realizing that he WANTS to do it...matters.

So when I was walking and from behind I heard a couple singing “BINGO”, I wondered if that was a new hip song in Spain. As they passed, I saw, what looked like a skyscraper tent on the man’s back and I realized they were joyfully singing to their CHILD, who was their “extra baggage” along the Camino. That dad was carrying at least an extra 15 lbs and he was singing joyfully. Clearly it was a labor of love.

I recall that what a child experiences in the first two years of life is deeply formative. So this little guy is experiencing beautiful mountains, the rhythm of his parents’ footsteps, wind through wheat fields and so much more. What a generous gift and I'm sure it brings both of those parents deep joy and pleasure to know this.

Deep love and gratitude wins today!

Wonderful German Women!

Oh these amazing young German women.

The cool thing about the Camino is that you meet lots of people along the Way. Some of these people just pass thru once or twice and others seem to be in my “radar”.

I'm loving my radar!

I have met several young women along the way that have been so refreshing and delightful in their own individual ways!

First, there is Amelia. She is 18 years old and amazingly insightful about herself and her desire to grow and change. Her dad died a few years ago and she was walking the Camino to think about him. She apologized for her tears, but I found them beautiful.

She is carrying a small Polaroid ( yes. Polaroid) camera with which she takes one picture for each day of the trip,and writes about it. I admired her discipline, but she quickly assured me that she doesn't match the German stereotype of being super organized and disciplined.

This is a stereotype I was completely unaware of, so I pursued.

Soon...Olivia chimed in. Olivia is also 18 and fresh out of school. She is a delightful, intellectual “sprite”! With her impeccable English, she is little and feisty and full of love. Her hair is ¼ in. long. She hugs and prances and is constantly making little movies of her experiences. She delights in love and speaks easily and authentically about it.

Listening to Amelia and Olivia laughing and describing their “German identity” is delightful. They are both full of wonder and fascinated with so much about their adventures on the Camino. And they actually enjoy the company of a couple old folks like John and me.

The first time I met Sandra was while walking through a woodsy mountain path. She was listening to her music and singing along, but when we came into view, she quickly turned it off. When we caught up with each other I told her how I enjoyed her music, to which she replied, “Oh, you don't mind? I didn't want to destroy your peace.” Adorable!

I assured her we didn't mind and she gratefully went back to enjoying it, but not before John was able to snap a photo of us. She had long braids and was wearing a classic bowler hat.

Later in the journey I got to learn a little about her passion. Once she told a story of having discovered an abused dog howling in a shed. When she tried to rescue it, she was berated by the owner. But she persisted and gave up nearly a day on the Camino to find the authorities that could save the dog.

The next time I saw her, she hugged me and expressed her relief in seeing us because the previous night she had a heated discussion with a homophobic, bigot...and it was nice to be around “nice people”. What joy I felt in serving that purpose in Sandra’s journey. I just felt such compassion for Sandra, with her two moms, defending her beliefs and those she loved.

Maybe it was just coincidence that these German women were all less than 25 years old, but it all felt distinctly reminiscent of my past as a high school teacher and all the wonderful young women I got to know in those days. I love that I get to know these new women in this new way!

Yay radar!

Albergue or Bust

One of my many worries about traveling on the Camino was the albergues.

John and I have travelled on the cheap in India. We ran into a few places that were pretty rough, like Kukie’s Holiday Inn. (Don't let the name fool you!)
But most of the time we could find a hotel room that was pretty good for a cheap price.

The albergue is a very different kind of accommodation. You sleep in bunks with lots of other pilgrims. There are sometimes blankets and pillows...and sometimes not.

My fears were about privacy, safety and sleep. Trying to sleep in a room filled with snoring and farting..and most recently, a Spaniard singing rock music loudly while on his headphones, presents challenges.

But the experience of the Camino Albergue is one that has deeply enriched this journey for me.

For instance, there is the rich memory of eating bean soup and roasted lamb in Orisson, while folks from all parts of the world shared their reasons for walking the Camino. Although, John got the most applause when he shared, “My name is John. I'm from the United States and I’m walking the Camino to get away from my President.” And waking up in the middle of the night next to Raoul and Guadalupe to see a night sky brilliant with stars. Yes, the same Guadalupe that helped me find my shoe later down the road.

Then there was the stay at Villamayor de Monjardin. We slept in an ancient stone building with amazing views and sat out on the roof chatting with other pilgrims about God and love and cancer and, my favorite, “the German stereotype”.

My most recent favorite was when we strolled into Ciruena, which the guidebook accurately describes as having “soulless new suburbs”. We knew we were staying there because we weren't ready to walk the additional 7 kilometers to the next town. When we came,upon “The Virgen Guadalupe” I thought about Kukie's Holiday Inn and my heart began to sink. We were greeted by an eccentric old man that raced around showing us where to “poo poo” and “pee pee”. (His words). The bunk beds were covered in rubber along with the pillows. Thankfully, I was too shy to express my dismay, because it was an awesome experience filled with rich, animated conversations, delicious homemade food like chorizo and vegetable stew and a homemade fig preserve that made me swoon and beautiful artwork all made by our eccentric host.

Another great experience happened last night when we stayed in another small town called Viloria de la Rioja. This albergue, Parada Viloria, was owned by Tony and Maria, a clearly in love hippy couple that hosted us and 4 Italian Veterinarians that all went to University together 25 years ago. The vets walk the Camino together every year for a week and spent most of the pilgrim dinner warmly teasing Andre about how much weight he has gained. And there was also a delightful Italian bicyclist whose little dog, Milly, was biking the Camino with him, via backpack. (I still regret not getting a photo of them).

I sat and chatted with Maria with the enormous help of Google translate, while Tony listened to Eric Clapton and made Paella. I got to be his estudiante. The paella was amazing and they only asked for a donation for it.

When we were in Logrono, we decided to splurge and get a hotel with a sauna, a Jacuzzi and our very own bed with sheets and blankets and everything. We even opted to go out for dinner instead of having the Pilgrims communal dinner. But the next day I woke up just a little dead inside. I think the albergue is worth the snores, the singing Spaniard and maybe...the farts.

Shoe

Many people on the Camino spend their time contemplating deep loss. I have met several folks who have lost brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers.  So one might imagine my shame and silliness at feeling so sad about losing my shoe.

Yes. It was just a shoe. How important is a shoe? You see them dangling from telephone wires and strewn on the side of the road. I have a closet full of them.

But a shoe to a Peregrino has a bit more significance. Losing one means that I have to stop the journey until I find it or get a new pair. And a new pair entails breaking in a new pair, buying a new pair, trusting a new pair.

My first world problems of not having a shoe seemed trivial and my angst about it seemed unnecessary. I was so self conscious about this, I even thought about avoiding talking about it thinking that it was whiny and negative.

But when I did talk about it, I was met with such sincere compassion. Etienne, the bicyclist from Brittania, even offered to remount his bike and go out looking for it. The woman from Germany had a great list of suggestions including one-day shipping from Amazon and taking a taxi to all the albergues nearby to ask if it had turned up.

Then there was the interesting conversations about what would you do if you were on the Camino and found a shoe. Would you bring it to the next village on the off chance that the other foot would have landed in THAT particular Albergue? Or would you leave it on the road in a prominent place, just in case the other foot came looking for it?

It all started with nobility!

When I decided to wear my sandals for a few laps (just to air out my feet), John gallantly offered to carry my shoes to lighten my load. I gratefully tied each shoe carefully onto his backpack and made a promise to myself to keep an eye on them as we walked.

Well...the heat was intense and the cool distractions like a shady underpass with a breeze and a cold running river must have distracted me too much, because we arrived at Lorca with only one shoe.

The reality was hard to accept, so I walked back for a couple miles to look for it. Walking BACK on the Camino, after a long hard day of walking is a big deal. I usually arrive at our destination totally wiped out. Spent. Hot and tired. So to turn around and have to go back on that dusty, hot road again...That's why I promised myself that I would treat myself to,an Uber if I found my shoe.

No Uber treat occurred.

The next stage was the letting go. I spent about 45 mins looking for shoe stores nearby and debating with myself how I would try to,get new shoes since the next day was Sunday and the next village had a population of 2000. All the while I was grieving the loss of that one shoe that had traveled so far and worked so hard to get here. I imagined it out there all alone. Empty.

I had also lost some faith in the Camino. We had noticed that people would suddenly show up just in the nick of time to stop us from taking a wrong turn or a watermelon stand would appear suddenly when we were parched and tired. All this talk of miracles didn't seem to apply to sore, tired feet though. I went to sleep without hope or faith.

As we were leaving for the next village, where I had found a few shoe stores, John and I debated whether to stop for coffee. We randomly chose a spot near our albergue.

Upon entering we saw Raoul and Guadalupe from Mexico that we had met the first night of our journey. After a cheerful reunion, Guadalupe asked how our trip had been so far. At first I hesitated to mention my missing shoe for fear of dampening the joy. But I chose to say something.

She lit up and said, “There is a shoe here.”

I had little hope of it being mine. After all, what are the chances that someone would find it and bring it to the same cafe that we randomly chose for breakfast.

Well it was my shoe. I swooned and sobbed when I recognized it. The French man that had found it was actually sitting at a table in the cafe. I hugged him! He seemed delighted and a bit overwhelmed by my enthusiasm.

John and I have conversed again and again about the perfect timing and circumstances that have led my shoes back to each other and others along the way have all taken a keen interest in the journey of my own Keene hiking shoes.

Just this afternoon Etienne rode by on his bike and saw that my shoes were back on my feet again.

“Ah. You found your shoes, yes?”

Yes!

Blackberries

When my sister died several years ago, I  recognized a relationship that I had with blackberries.  I discovered my appreciation for them in a new way.

Anyway, you can read about that here if you like. goo.gl/nxACVf

I wonder if perfect things happen when you're suffering because you're suffering or it's because you're suffering you see the perfection of things or if it's all just strange coincidences or weird poetry.

I do know that my relationship with blackberries has come up again while walking the Camino. I noticed that I see blackberries constantly along the way. John stops to,pick them...I stop to eat them (usually the ones he picks). But I notice that others...like everybody...except a couple Japanese guys...don't seem interested at all in the delicious blackberry.

I enjoy the blackberry tremendously. But it can only be truly enjoyed when you're parched, a bit exhausted and a little bored. Its only then that you can truly contemplate the subtle and complex flavor and texture of the blackberry.

If you read my other piece about Joanne, you would know that I equated the blackberry with hope and moving beyond suffering. I realized that I could always count on blackberries “on the other side”. It has seemed that enduring the heat and long walk have made the blackberries particularly auspicious on this trip.

It may just be me making them mean more than they do, but I'm really enjoying the blackberries on the Camino and they are certainly making these steps a little easier.

Ouch

Ouch! Every muscle of my body aches. My feet, my legs, my shoulders...all ache! In massage school I learned that we build muscle through tiny micro-tears in our muscles when we use them. So I'm envisioning my muscles with those tears just aching.

I'm not into pain..I don't like pushing my body too hard. In a previous post, I mentioned warning John that I'm not doing the Camino because I want to suffer.

So, it begs the question, why. Why am I doing this HUGE walk. I thought I might enjoy the scenery, which I truly have. I liked the idea of not making a lot of decisions every day, which I have not. I thought I might get some spiritual enlightenment, which I just might have.

So a few years ago, I got hugged by Amma, and I think I had a moment when I realized that spiritual enlightenment isn't about suffering (which I pretty much grew up trained to believe by the Greek Orthodox church). It’s actually about bliss. So there I had it. I had the secret to enlightenment! I just had to pursue bliss!

A great guru once said, “It takes great effort to stay afloat on the sea of bliss.” So I figured that meant more meditation (which can feel like a kind of suffering).

But I think the suffering I've been experiencing has contributed to some bliss. After yesterday, I was so physically miserable, I started to question, AGAIN, what I'm doing here.

But today was such an amazing day. I was dancing the Camino. I felt so elated. Singing, laughing, SKINNY DIPPING. And it had a lot to do with the contrast with the intense discomfort of endlessly walking. Relentlessly experiencing physical pain. The sky was bluer. The leaves were greener. I felt a closer connection to John...to others. I don't know if this is the answer or do I presume to present it as anything more than a wonder. In fact...there's a part of me that doesn't really care to figure it out too much.

But I think I might like to swim in the sea of bliss again.

Optimism Rules

So after my last insecure whine I learned some lessons about having faith in the universe?...myself?...the camino?  Well, okay, not myself...quite yet.

We arrived a day early in St. Jean Pied de Port (Camino base camp). We couldn't get a place in Bayonne and decided that we would just continue on to St. Jean for an extra day. After our first day, we decided that we would just “stroll” up to Orisson where we had a “coveted” reservation in two days. We thought “it’s only about five miles. We can just walk up and walk back down for practice.”

Well...five miles UPHILL is not quite the same as five miles through Portland streets.

As I struggled with each step, I imagined myself pleading with the host at Orisson to change our reservation. I imagined her carefully repeating the RULES to me. I imagined my shame in not following them. But I also entertained the REALITY that I probably would need to return to St. Jean and walk the difficult first leg of the Camino AGAIN.

Maybe it was the endorphins, but I found myself laughing at my own foolish hubris in thinking the walk up to Orisson was just a “stroll”.

Anyway...we arrived and our fantastic host easily and gracefully found us a space to lay our weary bodies. I was so shocked. A reservation at Orisson usually needs to be made months in advance. Then, when John asked for a bottom bunk, she found us a double bed instead!

Of course, I felt terrible about cancelling our reservations in St. Jean. Again, these are coveted things for pilgrims. I rehearsed my confession to her and even planned to offer to pay anyway. I imagined her scolding me and reminding me that other pilgrims need that space. But, our phone call was very pleasant and she completely understood.

All of my fears were completely unwarranted. Every fear I wasted on that rigorous stroll up the hill may as well have been spent swimming even deeper into the amazing landscape all around me. Why did I assume the worst? Why didn't I just imagine the best? So often, everything works out for the best! How much of my life force is wasted readying myself for stuff that never happens?

I did manage to capture a few perfect images of my walk though.

Unexpected Baggage

I packed for this trip very carefully. Only three pair of underwear. Special clothes with wicking fabric. Sleep sack, $50 poncho! Scallop shell.

The advice is to only carry one tenth of your body weight, which for me, before the French fries, is about 14.5 lbs. So when my bag was 15 lbs. I felt okay, successful, perhaps a wee bit too heavy?

What I hadn't accounted for was the 50 tons of emotional baggage. So the past few days of me doubting myself, feeling inadequate, not Parisienne or Camino or Peregrino, I knew I had more baggage problems than I had accounted for.

Sitting on the final train to St. Jean, looking at all the other Peregrinos boarding, I started to have a sinking fear. A trapped feeling. Social awkwardness and insecurity hopped on my back along with my special underwear that dry-really-fast-and-i-haven't-even-used-yet- cause-they-seem-so-important. That feeling of what if they decide that I'm not worthy? Or I get judged for being an American (which god knows I must deserve cause Donald Trump is President) Or what am I doing here anyway? When folks ask,why am I walking the Camino, am I going to feel as full of shit as I'm afraid I sound?

Then of course there was the part of me saying, ‘Jesus Marcia, you're 56 years old, when are you going to stop thinking like a fourteen year old’.

Yes. Lots of extra baggage for this trip.

Paris Concerns

Everyone in Paris looks like they're in a movie to me. The tour guide on the Seine, the waitress in the hotel, the guy on the side of the Seine practicing boxing, the couple flirting with each other in the cafe. They all look like actors.

I'm sure it has everything to do with the fact that all of my impressions of Paris come from movies. From the Davinci Code to Casablanca, I just have memories of movies. Drinking Perrier with John in a French cafe makes me think I’M in a movie!

But...the REALITY of Paris has everything to do with FOOD. Every time we eat I wonder if I'm having a TRUE Paris food experience. I want to experience steak frites, the truffle, beef bourginon, French cheese in all its smelly glory. I have had 6 macaroons and they were truly glorious...so light and crisp! I think I should try caviar and champagne. ESCARGOT. What if I don't experience escargot?

And...of course, there are all of the things I don't even know I should experience. What if I don't try the most important food of Paris?

Perhaps not?

For weeks I've been referring to this trip as a long walk. John consistently gives me a look that warns that I might be minimizing the experience. But it is a walk! I don't really like to hike. I never go into the white mountains or even Morse mountain. But at the airport, people see our back packs and ask where we are “hiking”.

While camping at Hermit Island, I read a book about the Camino, “Walk in a Relaxed Manner”. In a couple chapters, she writes about the hardships she and her partner endured...like cold, hunger, pain! The next morning I said to John, “You know, I'm not doing this because I want to suffer!”

It occurred to me that this might be more than just a long walk.

Two nights before we were to leave for the Camino, I woke up at 3 am and lay in bed wondering, ‘what the fuck am I doing”. When people ask me why I'm doing it, I usually come up with some reasonable response, but in the wee hours of the morning, those reasonable thoughts don't really hold up.

Am I seeking spiritual enlightenment? Sure. I'm always doing that...sorta...although, I don't think Rachel Maddow or Game of Thrones supports that goal very much.

But I think of spiritual enlightenment as about achieving BLISS. That's the imagery that comes to mind when I think about the Camino. Walking...strolling through the Spanish countryside, meeting new people, eating great food. But I think I might have also signed on for blisters, aching muscles, scrappy sleeping conditions and apparently...French fries (a popular item on the Pilgrim menu)

Well, life IS full of surprises. I'll remain cautiously optimistic..and there's always Paris.

A long walk

So we have decided to take a long walk...approximately 500 miles. 

A few years ago we watched "The Way", a film directed by Emilio Estevez about a father's journey on the Camino de Santiago, which is an ancient pilgrimage path through the Spanish countryside. This path has been walked for over a thousand years by pilgrims going to Santiago where the body of Saint James the apostle is buried. 

I am intrigued by this spiritual journey. I'm attracted to the idea of mindful walking. The idea of waking up in a new place and knowing that all I need to do that day is walk feels somehow satisfying. I've grown tired to being funneled into tourist centers and having to make a multitude of decisions about what to see and what to miss. I like the idea of walking and meeting new people. I like how I have different conversations when I'm walking. I like how I see more nature when I'm walking.

John has been wanting to walk the Camino for a couple years and I got on board about a year ago. I just kept meeting people who had walked it and raved about how much they enjoyed it. We went on a few organized Camino walks around Portland and the friendship was contagious, along with the rich conversation.

So in mid-August we begin our journey. We will return in October, renewed with new experience and maybe some enlightenment. But definitely with sore feet and lots of new energy. Good thing we are both massage therapists!