I got up at the crack of dawn, in order to leave before I saw the Greek again. On a soul level, I felt our Camino appointment was complete. There was no point in having to go through a long good-bye all the way to Burgos. Besides, I wanted to be alone and with my spirit and thoughts as I walked.
Before I left, I put Cheater in the lobby and marked the hostel in Burgos so we would meet up later with no problem. I nodded to the waiter/receptionist that my bag was here, and he nodded back, as if to say, “Got it.” Then I grabbed a coffee and toast, but I ate fast because I was afraid if I stayed too long, my plan of escape would be foiled.
I asked the waiter for a pilgrim’s stamp for my passport and with indifference he nodded to the left, where there was a stamp and ink pad sitting on the counter. I expected him to come over and do it as the others before him had done; but soon enough I realized that I would be the one to place the stamp in my book if I wanted one. I felt a little disappointed by the lack of ceremony over my hard-earned walk, but then again, my Camino matters only to me, so it was fitting that I put the stamp in the passport.
Right before I was to leave, I asked if the driver from yesterday was around to take me back to the original path as he had promised. The waiter said, “No, not working today.” That meant either I had to walk the extra five kilometers back on foot or follow the national highway just out in front of the hotel all the way to Burgos. I decided to follow the highway since I had 22 kilometers to go, and today I was really physically tired. Exhausted, in fact. I didn’t think I could manage an extra five kilometers.
Holy Mother God,
Help me remember that everything that happens on the Camino happens for a reason, and then help me to discover that reason.
Thank you, and amen.
The moment I stepped outside, I was slapped in the face with freezing-cold rain, and a lot of it. It seemed to be following me across Spain. I pulled the hood of my rain poncho tightly around my face and set off, this time without my poles. It is funny how attached to things we become. Walking in the windy rain without poles was torture. I could barely move. Maybe it was the fact that I had walked over 150 miles in the past two weeks and was fatigued. Maybe it was the cold rain. Maybe it was that the poles really did help push me along, and without them walking was a lot more difficult. In any case, I felt as though I were trudging through cement, and I could barely move ahead.
Holy Mother God,
I need your help. Walking seems so difficult today, and I’m afraid I’ll end up stuck on this highway, out of gas and stranded. Give me the energy I need to keep going. Thank you.
I prayed as I walked, fearing I would never, ever make it to Burgos, and then what? It wasn’t as if I could call a taxi, and there were no buses or other means to get there. After I prayed, I had the idea to listen to my iPod, and let the music help push me along, something I had not yet done on the Camino. It was the perfect idea. The minute the music started flowing through me, my mind quieted and my spirit came alive. I walked to the rhythm of disco, rock and roll, Indian chants, ballads, and Bible belting blues. I soared through the rain, singing along with the music as though on a magic carpet ride.
This worked until my iPod ran out of juice, and once again I was left in the silence of myself, with another 12 kilometers to go. I ate my second PowerBar of the day and looked around. Since I was on the highway, there were no rest stops in which to find respite from the cold, driving rain. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I wonder how I can make this easier? I thought.
Then I began to think of all the things that dragged me down and sent my spirit running. Surprisingly what surfaced were things that had happened all the way back in my childhood and teenage years, long ago forgotten and dismissed.
Maybe it was because of the sexual abuse the Greek described suffering as a child, but I suddenly remembered several extremely traumatizing assaults I had experienced when I was a teenager, none of which I ever told anyone about because I, too, was ashamed to share them. Crazier yet, I even felt guilty over what had happened, as though it were my fault.
The worst was when I was around 16. I was called to do an intuitive reading for a man at his house in the mountains, about an hour from my home in Denver. (Yes, I can see in retrospect that this was an extremely dumb thing to accept, but then again, I was a dumb teenager.) He said someone I had previously worked with referred me to him, so I trusted that it would be okay if I went. It never occurred to me not to.
When I arrived he was a little drunk. That scared me, but I tried to pretend I didn’t notice as I began the reading. Suddenly he said he preferred that I do the reading for him while naked, and pulled a gun out from under his jacket and put it against my forehead and ordered me to undress. I freaked out and pushed him back as far as I could. Then I turned to the right and ran for the door, going 100 miles an hour. Only the door was not on the right. It was on the left, so instead I ran straight into the wall at full speed, shattering my eyeglasses and leaving me dazed. Still, I managed to fumble toward the door and got out before he could stop me. Panicked, I made it back to my car and drove all the way home on the dark mountain roads, barely able see a thing without my glasses. I am sure the only reason I made it in one piece was because my angels drove the car home.
I didn’t tell my parents because I was scared I would get in trouble for putting myself in that situation. I blamed myself for what had just happened and felt very guilty and ashamed about it. I didn’t realize at the time just how much it traumatized me. I only came to realize it much later, as I had recurring dreams where I was back at his house, replaying the same scenario all over again, ending up in the same panic before waking up.
Eventually I just pushed the entire thing to the furthest recesses of my mind and forgot about it. Until today, that is. As I walked, it was as if I were right back at the scene of the crime. Only this time I got really angry over what happened. I started telling the guy off, as if I were talking directly to him.
“How dare you?”
“Who the hell were you to threaten a young girl like that?”
“A coward and a jerk, that’s who.”
“What a sick person you were!”
I screamed at him until I was hoarse, for the first time in my life giving voice to the part of me that went through this experience.
I was now grateful that I was alone on the highway with no one else around so I could yell as freely as I wanted. I wouldn’t have had the same freedom on the trail, as there were other pilgrims sharing the path. How perfect was that?
As I yelled, the rain seemed to wash away the pain and terror connected to that event that had been lodged inside of me for all these years. I was being washed clean.
The more I expressed my anger, the more I began to feel exactly as if I were that 16-year-old girl once again. I felt my optimism, my enthusiasm, and my trusting spirit in full force. I felt my humor and joy and my intensely good intentions and desire to serve, and was amazed that those aspects of me had not been lost in spite of this experience. I had managed to keep these qualities alive in me even in the face of this threat to my life. I didn’t shut down or become cynical. I hadn’t internalized the belief that life was unsafe. I loved the strong and resilient spirit that I was then and still am.
It felt so good to let the part of me that had been so frightened so long ago have a voice and roar.
I appreciated the genius of the Camino. Yesterday I helped the Greek. Today, because of his story, it helped me. Before I knew it, I had walked another seven kilometers, my anger now quiet, replaced by a calm energy deep in my bones. I had unearthed and then let go of the self-indictments of shame and guilt I had buried inside of me over that episode.
I let go of blaming myself for someone else’s behavior.
I let go of feeling as though I asked for the assault and therefore had it coming.
I let go of feeling I had to hide and pretend it didn’t happen.
I let go of the need to beat myself up about it.
The combination of walking and letting my anger fly into the wind and rain freed me of this ancient experience. And with that, suddenly and surprisingly I was able to forgive the man who caused me this pain. What a troubled soul he must have been to go to that extreme in his own life. How sad and shameful for him.
I was left with only neutrality and compassion for him and deep self-love and appreciation for the vulnerable and naïve young girl in me. I could also see how that experience had set up a pattern of subsequent traumas and threats, all following the same basic story. And as soon as I recognized it, like a house of cards, all of the other similar old traumas came tumbling down as well.
For the first time in my life I was genuinely over them. That was true forgiveness, and it felt exhilarating.
I breathed in deeply as I found myself approaching the edges of Burgos. The rain had stopped as I ambled through a long stretch of industrial buildings on the outskirts of the city and ultimately found my way to the heart of town, and the towering cathedral standing right there in the center.
Before looking for my hostel, I walked into the cathedral to light a candle of gratitude for the healing I had experienced on my walk today. A dark place in my soul had just been returned to the light and I was feeling so much more peaceful for it. I was amazed by how the Camino was working its magic on me. I could never have planned this, or even known it was something I needed to heal.
The cathedral was an astounding masterpiece of Gothic architecture. It had an incredible vaulted ceiling and stained-glass dome, which were breathtaking. I was awestruck by their perfect proportions and grandeur, especially given they were created so long ago, sometime between the 12th century and 15th century when the cathedral was built.
I wandered some more and found a statue of Madonna and child, which touched my heart. Unlike much of the Gothic era, this statue evoked a warm, loving feeling and comforted me to look at it. There I sat and prayed for a very long time. Then I lit candles for my daughters and family, and one for the Greek. He helped me so much—more than I could have ever realized last night.
After touring the church, I left to find my hostel. I was relieved to discover it was only five minutes away. Cheater was there to greet me along with an elegant male receptionist who checked me in. Again finding a simple but adequate accommodation, with a single bed, thin pillow, and slightly larger bathroom, the heat not yet turned on for the day, I left my bags and set off to find better than a “pilgrim’s” lunch, and then buy new poles. I succeeded in accomplishing both in a little more than an hour, which delighted me to no end. I then returned to the hostel. I was spent and needed to read, relax, and rest, which I did.