Hornillos del Camino to Castrojeriz
After I had my “exorcist” moment of cursing like a mad person when I walked into Hornillos, l began slowly lightening up and letting go of some of the dark feelings that had had a hold on me for such a long time.
It started to rain hard as we ambled into the center of this tiny village and searched for our respective places to stay. Camino Patrick soon learned from other pilgrims that the only pilgrims’ albergue in town was full and that the next one was at least ten kilometers away. At the same time, I found out that my hostel was not located in this town at all, and that I had to walk another five kilometers in the opposite direction to get there. Either that or I could wait and get picked up in an hour, said the Spanish pilgrim who called the hostel for me on his cell phone after I had walked from one end of town to the other three times and still hadn’t found it.
Since Camino Patrick’s chest cold and cough were worse than ever, we inquired if there were another room at the hostel where I was staying so he could stop and rest, but were told, “Sorry, but no.” So, before he wasted too much time and fell behind the other pilgrims in racing to the next pilgrims’ albergue, he decided to keep going. Sad to separate since we had just reconnected, we wished each other a “Buen Camino” with the hope we would meet up again along the way.
Since I had an hour to kill, I entered the local (and only) café and decided to order lunch. The place was jam-packed with pilgrims, so I had to wait a little while before a table opened up. Once it did, I immediately jumped on it, as I was cold, wet, and starving. Mine was a table for four, and since I had three extra seats, I motioned to three other pilgrims who were also waiting for a table to share mine, which they gladly did.
After we ordered our meal of pork, potatoes, and salad (the only dishes they served), we started talking to one another. All three spoke very little English. Two were Austrian and one was German. They had met on the Camino several days earlier and were now traveling together. The three of them then fell into an animated conversation in German, leaving me out, but I didn’t mind, as I was too tired to make small talk in any language. I just wanted to eat and go to my hostel and take a nap.
Before I had a chance to finish even half of my meal, eat my dessert, or drink my full bottle of red wine (yes, there was always plenty of wine), my ride showed up to take me to the hostel. I turned to the guys and asked if they wanted to finish what I had left over, and before I even stood up, the wine was pouring and my food was on their plates.
When I got into the car, I asked my driver if Cheater had shown up at the hostel.
“Sí. Is there. No problem,” she assured me, smiling.
I then asked her if she would bring me back to the Camino tomorrow morning.
“Of course,” she answered. “What time you like?”
Hmmm. I had to think about it. “Is eight okay?”
“Is perfect,” she said, smiling. This time I trusted I would get the promised ride back to the Camino, so I relaxed.
“Thank you. By the way, what time is dinner?”
“When you want,” she answered, in an easygoing manner.
“How about 6:30?”
“Okay. No problem,” she said, eager to please.
I was happy it would be early. I didn’t think I would last much past that.
“Can I wash my laundry?” I asked.
“Sí. I will wash it for you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I argued. “I can do it myself.”
“No, you are peregrina. I wash for you,” she insisted.
I was happy for the help. Once again, the dirt and mud and sweat from the road had settled into my clothes, and they really needed to visit a washing machine. Bathtubs and sinks just weren’t doing the job, and I was embarrassed by how badly I stank.
My driver told me that the hostel was new, and that she and her daughter lived there and ran it. She treated me as if I were a guest in her home and I was grateful for her kindness. It felt good to be so warmly welcomed.
After a sound night’s sleep, I woke up the next morning to a hazy day, but there was no rain in sight. The caretaker had breakfast ready: three hard-boiled eggs, fresh orange juice, and toast. She then asked to stamp my passport. As I took my last sip of café con leche, she motioned to the door and told me that Cheater was already sitting in the backseat of her car and she would drive it to the next hostel. That, too, was a relief. Some days I worried that he would get lost because other pilgrims had told me their transported bags were lost for almost two days. I hopped in her old dusty car and settled in. Fifteen minutes later I was back on the Camino, Gumby riding up front with me.
As I took my first steps, the sun was starting to come out, but there was a stiff, freezing-cold wind blowing directly into my face. It got stronger as the day unfolded, and soon I was barreling into such strong headwinds I felt as though I would be blown away.
This was a first. I had been met with snow, rain, freezing cold, and now an arctic gale. Lucky me.
“Okay, Camino,” I said, shaking my head, “bring it on.”
It was time to pray.
Holy Mother-Father God,
Help me face this cold wind with strength and keep me moving forward. I am open to all the gifts the Camino brings to me today.
With gratitude,
Amen.
While I knew I had no choice but to put one foot in front of the other and just keep following the yellow arrows and blue Camino shells on the path, it was not easy. The wind was so intense I had to fight it each step of the way. It did, however, silence my thoughts, and I welcomed that. It felt good to focus only on the moment and be free of all thinking. I felt weightless and peaceful when I fell into those spells while walking.
Eventually, though, my mind became accustomed to the wind, so my thoughts drifted back to the circumstances of my life, and suddenly I was overcome with deep sadness. Up until now I was too angry to feel my sadness, or even allow it. Today it took me by storm. My defenses were dropping away, and my vulnerability was coming through. I also felt ashamed for feeling vulnerable, because I was taught by my father that being weak was not acceptable. Still, I couldn’t stop. I started to cry.
As I did, I realized how defended my anger had kept me and how it actually blocked my deeper feelings of sadness and grief. I always considered Patrick to be the defended one. Now I realized I was just as defended as he was. I had wanted him to drop his defenses while I kept my own in place. That’s unfair—like asking a knight to shed his armor while his opponent keeps his on.
I was afraid of Patrick’s moods and how they controlled things. I was so sensitive that I absorbed his feelings like a sponge, and that brought me down and left me feeling as though I would suffocate. In response, I tried to fend them off so I wouldn’t have to experience that energy. My efforts to please him were self-serving. I wanted him to feel better so I could feel better. It didn’t work. And that left me feeling frustrated and angry. That is why I traveled so often. I never admitted it to him, but I did feel better when I was away.
The longer I trudged into the cold winds, the more confused I became. I felt a complete sense of failure. I have always carried high ideals throughout my life. I was in love with developing people’s inner gifts, and had devoted my life to bringing their potentials to fruition. Seeing clients’ lives transformed for the better was the joy of my existence. In my personal relationship, however, these very same high ideals created unrealistic expectations that left me feeling disappointed and rejected.
My mind drifted back to my recurring dream: the rituals, the heaviness, and now the despair and grieving feelings related to the Knights Templar. Could the demise of my very existence in this other life have occurred because, then too, I adhered to high ideals that were not shared by those I loved or served? As I walked, reflecting on how I had just ended so many relationships all at once, it felt as though I had re-created this entire story all over again.
I had to clear and release this energy. I had to let go of everything with love and forgiveness and compassion in order to be truly free. I had to stop believing that my noble ideals were the “right” way to live and allow everyone their own best way. That is exactly what “Buen Camino” means: Have a “good way,” each one finding what that means for them.
I had to let go of the rigid standards I had not only set for myself but expected others to uphold, as well. Not consciously, of course. I had thought I was being loving and giving, when in fact I was imposing my version of noble living onto others. It was too much maybe—for them and for me. It was time to let these high ideals and dreams die. I needed to find a more compassionate, more allowing, gentler, and more accepting way.
Maybe I was tuning in to my soul history, maybe I was making it all up. It didn’t matter. The message was still the same. Let the past go. Ease up. Relax. Allow. Forgive. Move on.
My mind traveled back to the natural surroundings. The path was captivating today, with bright green fields as far as I could see in every direction. I saw signs that said that before the Camino, this was an ancient and well-traveled Roman road. I wondered just how many people had walked it before me. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?
I could feel the energy of pure love coming from nature as I walked. I did not feel as if I were observing nature from the outside, as I so often had. I felt, instead, as though I were a part of the beautiful energy surrounding me. I was nature, too. With the next breath, everything came alive. The few trees were alive and watching me. The tall green grasses were alive and watching me. The birds flying overhead were watching me. I wondered, did they enjoy me as much as I enjoyed them?
The sun cast long shadows across the path, and for some reason when I saw this I suddenly felt my entire ancestral lineage on both sides of my family walking with me. I also felt the spirits of endless streams of ancient pilgrims walking alongside me. I could almost hear their footsteps and sense their breathing. I had entered some sort of alternate state where I was no longer bound by present time and space, even though I was still aware of it. I wasn’t looking down on myself from above, but it also didn’t feel as if I were in my “Sonia” body. Then, as if waking from a dream, I was back in the third dimension, back in the moment, back to me.
The Mesata was definitely having an effect on me. A previously darkened space within me was now filling up with light. It was remarkable to feel the ancient pain shaking loose and then falling away. I was almost afraid to notice or acknowledge what was happening, for fear it might stop. I was starting to feel the first rays of compassion for myself.
I recognized how all that striving served the development of my soul; it also caused me to disparage my natural human vulnerability. Keeping up my rigidly high expectations had worn me down.
I also knew in my heart that the reason why Patrick and I came together in this life was to find unconditional love and compassion, for ourselves and for one another. There was no alternative for either of us, and no escape. This joint destiny was the only real thing between us that mattered. Only I hadn’t found it yet.
Eventually I entered the tiny village of Castrojeriz, realizing that the wind had all but disappeared.