Friends, strangers, my mother-in-law have asked: "So...why this Camino thing, exactly?"
Even Ron, my Worried But Supportive Husband, pointed out: "A hundred and eight miles -- hell, you and Caity could just walk to Santa Barbara. And go shopping."
True. Except...we hate shopping. We're good for, like, an hour and a half, then we both get splitting headaches and we're done. Time for lunch. Or at least caffeine and cookies.
"What about hiking the John Muir Trail?" someone asked. "It's amazing -- and you wouldn't be out the airfare."
True. Except....just as the Muir Trail isn't any old walk in the woods, neither is the Camino just a stroll in Spain.
"Ohhh...so, you're Catholic!"
Nope. Although I do love all the candles and incense and mystic choreography of that beautiful, ritual-laden tradition. And I'm frankly fascinated by glittering reliquaries and their gruesome contents (a freeze-dried Pope...the Holy Prepuce...the age-blackened Skull of Mary Magdalene) -- such gorgeous theatre!
But, when pinned, I identify as a Cranky Protestant. I favor clean walls, lean words, minimal clutter so as not to cloud the truth. At least I did, back when I absolutely knew The Truth. Back when scripture read like Directions, and not ageless, deeply-layered poetry that confounds as often as it consoles. Back when sitting through a sermon didn't seem like more of an ordeal than walking 108 miles...
"...okay....so....why...??"
The "Inferno" begins: "Midway this way of life we're bound upon, I woke to find myself in a dark wood, where the right road was wholly lost and gone..." When I read that back in college, I didn't get it -- I wasn't supposed to. Dante wasn't writing for 19-year-olds.
I get it now.
That's why, for me, the Camino -- an ancient path rooted in a tradition that is not mine, and a faith I'm not certain I still hold. I don't expect absolution, epiphany...mostly, I expect blisters. But slamming into anxious, messy Mid-Life has made me confront the burden of accumulated guilt, grief, fear and regret I lug around daily. So, with my daughter, and despite my doubt-riddled Cranky Protestantism, I'm embracing the Metaphor: I want to take a long walk on a right road, and lay that burden on some altar in Santiago...or heave it into the ocean at Finisterre... or drop it gradually, in shards and splinters, all along the Camino.
Or, maybe, just learn how to carry it better...with more wisdom, grace, and compassion.
3 comments:
Cindy and Caity - you are wonderful writers. I'm already enjoying your journey and you haven't even left yet! By the looks of things, actually doing the walking is going to be the easy part... Hil
Yes! Let's hear it for a long walk on a good road! That should soften the soul of even the crankiest Protestant. In fact, dare I say that going on a pilgrimage doesn't seem quite Protestant to me in the first place. I wonder sometimes if you aren't really a spy with a heart the shape of a sigh? In any case, here's to soft souls and worry lulls...and sturdy soles. Chris
I wish I could more more cleaver than to say that I enjoy reading all your writings. It seems a little like Christmas...savoring all the preparations leading to the big event, make it that much better.
Love you guys, Chris R.
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