Castro to Laredo

It helps to be curious when you walk a Camino. You won’t be much of a pilgrim if you aren’t open to trying new modes of transportation (your feet), new foods (that’s not what we call a tortilla back home), new languages and phrases, and even unfathomable bathroom and sleeping arrangements.

If you are stuck in your ways, have life figured out, and believe that the Camino should cater to your needs, then you aren’t much of a pilgrim; you are actually just a tourist, and you will have a miserable time getting to Santiago.

I’ve been impressed by a couple of people who, though being atheists, plopped themselves down on this sacred path in Spain because they were curious to see what it could bring to their lives.

One is an author, Shoshana Kerewsky, who wrote a biography of her breast cancer journey and her pilgrimage to Santiago, titled, “Cancer, Kintsugi, Camino: A Memoir.” I underlined the passage where she accepted the gift of a small metal cross from another pilgrim and carried it on the rest of her journey, despite being culturally Jewish, philosophically a Buddhist, and religiously an atheist. In her words, “I want to be flexible, I want not to cling to automatic behaviors rooted in beliefs I do not hold.”

I like that she was open, that she embraced the religious and cultural history of the Camino. When I met her at an American Pilgrims of the Camino Gathering in Lake Tahoe, I told her that while reading her story, I realized she had been more open to embracing spirituality than I had on my first Camino because she was open. Even though I was the one with a Christian background, I found myself with biases against Catholicism that left me cold instead of curious. I told her I planned to warm up on my future pilgrimages, and I have.

The second is Leonard Vance, who wrote the book, “An Atheist on Pilgrimage.” I found this paragraph of his so fascinating: “At the top of a rise, a clearing opens up within the forest, and a stone cross stands at its center, alight in the late morning sun. I stand and wonder. No one else is nearby, and I walk up to the cross and press my ear against the stone. I don’t know what I think is going to happen, but the coldness of the stone on my cheek is my first sensation, and a shock, although once I get used to it, a pleasant one. The deep silence I can hear within the stone is disappointing, if exactly to be expected, but I linger for a moment anyway. Very slowly, I start to hear sounds, muted echoes from those who have passed here across the centuries, a quiet cacophony of voices and footsteps rising up through the stone, each with its own burdens, pains, and yearnings. Someone seeing me like this might question my mental soundness, as I do in this moment, but I find it fascinating that my brain can conjure such things. It’s an unexplored dimension of innate spirituality elbowing around underneath my chosen scientific philosophy, and it intrigues me.”

I remembered this story when Bonnie and I walked through a town in the Basque Country that had a series of stone crosses. I decided to do what Leonard did, not because I expected anything, but because I wanted to honor what he might call exploration (and I might refer to as faith).

I put my head against the stone, and moments later, I was startled when I heard an audible voice clearly speaking two words, “Battery High.”

Leaning up against the stone, I had somehow turned on my sports headphones that I had placed in the pocket on my left shoulder strap.

Bonnie and I had a good laugh.

And that is where I find myself today at the end of another long and beautiful walk: Battery high, charged with curiosity as opposed to being drained by judgments.

Ultreia et Suseia!Lue lisää