Who?

You choose your jobs to provide you with a steady income, and leisure to render the Goddess, whom you adore, valuable part time service. ‘Who am I,’ will you ask, ‘to warn you that she demands either whole time service, or none at all?

- Robert Graves

the Blue Place

out on the southern point, i found the Blue Place.

an hour on foot, the end of the world.

steep cliffs plunge to the Ocean far below.

tourists stand at the bottom of stairs,

spanish gypsys steals offerings from makeshift alters.

i sit perched on a rock, floating between the Sky and the Sea.

Blue above, Blue below, merged one

blinding light, white clouds, fog swirl around me.  heaven.

The Ocean calls, Come Here.

i say  -  yes, later, elsewhere.  

No, Here.  i begin my descent of lands end.

on the way down these steep rocks, i found, alone:

two goats; a fisherman; and a thick vein of quartz.

the meaning of which, to each their own.

finally at the bottom, truly the edge.

rocks plunge under breakers and foam, blue.

an obstacle only the dead can pass.

i prepare an offering of all, my last,

and wait for the time to step in

here at the edge of the Blue Place.

face to Face, waiting for each other

i lay my offerings down and Her Hand rises up, up, over my feet, pulling me.

i know then, living is Their will.

Anarchy for the USA!!

no politicians and no government!

FSU!

Cold and cloudy, contemplation

Again, this morning was spent with a sense of sadness.  The last of my friends left several days ago.  Giving offerings yesterday resulted in a strong sense of closure to the spiritual aspect of my journey.  And on top of that, the rain has slowed the flow of pilgrims to a trickle.  The season of pilgrimage is coming to a close, and I find myself alone in a small town with the rain, a few fishermen, and the elderly.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been finding myself thinking more and more about my return home.  Among other things, dreading the inevitable search and return to work.  I struggle a lot with this part of my life.  And, not surprisingly, I've been receiving a number of harassing emails from my former employer.  Ick.  Classic bad relationship.

I have a week till I go home, and nothing to do.  I was feeling a bit lost, a not unfamiliar place.

But about mid day, doing yoga, it came to me that this was the perfect time to focus on my work, career, and related relationships, to regain inspiration.  I am actually very excited.  Among other things, I began reading "Sacred Economics", an excellent book on money and the economy.  I've decided to get coaching.  This feels like an excellent time to change these relationships.

So sweet.

On death

This is the end of my trip - an appropriate time to reflect on death.

Probably the most difficult thing I saw on my trip was a cat, close to death.  I was walking down an old cobblestone road, in what could have been anywhere.  I spotted a cat on a wall, and approached her to say hello.  I noticed she looked strange.  As I got close to her I realized she was missing an ear.  And then that she was in fact missing most of the top of her head - it was an open, gaping wound, bitten off.  Her skull was showing for about half the top of her head, the blood dried and hard around the edges.  I was close enought to her to see maggots falling off the side of her head.  About to vomit and cry, I had to leave.  The cat just sat there, staring at me, as if nothing were going on.  Within a few days, she would either recover or be dead.

Seeing her made my blisters seem like a very small thing.  I can't imaging any human approaching death with that kind of courage and acceptance.

But death has been present all along the Camino.  Two German pilgrims a day in front of us were struck by a car, in the middle of the day.  Deforestation of hillsides has been a common sight - completely torn down, trees felled, land ruined.  And in sharp contrast to the pilgrims health, our way has primarily taken us through very rural areas, inhabited by almost exclusively the elderly.  We have been surrounded by the old and infirm.

But death isn't a bad thing.  Difficult, yes, but also, at times, very appropriate.

Yesterday, I was very sad about the end of my trip.  These three months have been a pardise, of sorts. But for a couple of weeks now, this phrase has been running through my head:  "Paradise is not for the living".  

I think what it means is this:  I've been living in a charmed world, that of sacred pilgrimage.  Close to a font of divine knowledge; living in a particularly beautiful world.  But I can't stay there.  I was given life to do something, to figure something out.  I have to go back to the mundane to enact, embody what the divine has given and shown me.  To express it.  Perhaps to grow it.

After my sadness had passed, I was left with a deep sense of appreciation for my journey.  I had received so much, and enjoyed it immensely.  I was so satisfied.  So what could I do at this point?  My thoughts turned to giving rather than receiving.

continued...

On giving; and a recipe

I had been thinking about all that I've received on this trip when it struck me that I hadn't thought much about what I had given.

The first layer is simple, mundane.  Three months of my time; a lot of physical, mental and emotional effort;  the comfort of home;  about $9000 when all is said and done; letting go of a job I liked.

Those things don't seem very significant to me.  I'm not sure, but perhaps the most significant thing I have given has been my participation.  Life is a story woven from little things given to others.  From sharing.

I've done what I can to share with an open heart, as open as I can manage.  I still have more to learn.  I hope I have been a boon to the people who's lives have intersected with mine.

Somewhere towards the middle of the Camino, I had a strange dream, about a slave woman.  She wanted to show me where she lived.  I may have been her master.  She was a classic slave woman, big, black, middle aged.  She may have been too poor for clothes.

She took me into the place she lived, a barn.  Many other slaves lived here, with nothing.  At some point, I grabbed her breast.  It came off in my hand.  The woman didn't object, but instead gave it freely, and with good will, even though I had taken it from her.  

She continued to show me around the barn.  She took me into the upper levels.  There an old man was sleeping on the floor, and had nothing besides a blanket.  He offered me a blanket, out of generosity.  

The building began to shake - it was so poorly made and taken care of that the addition of my weight  made it about to collapse.  At some point, I gave the woman her breast back.

The dream was about how I relate to life.  I take without regard for others.  We humans take without regard.  And somehow, life keeps on giving.  Being generous.  But the world around us grows frail, poor, about to collapse.  Unless I learn to ask, to receive, and to be grateful, the world will collapse.  

Our culture treats virtually everything like a slave.  We've told ourselves nothing else has a soul or feelings, and can thus be treated like an inanimate resource to be used, exploited.  We don't realize the peril and poverty we've created.  Willful blindness, the pain is too great. 

----------

I began this trip asking to learn how to love life.  The other day, a recipe came to me:

1)  Put in everything you have.

2)  Loose it.  (It helps to have someone hold you here)

3)  Recover and realize you somehow have more than you started with.

4)  Repeat.

Somehow, live and love work like that.  Mysteriously.

Finisterre and the end of the world

Yesterday afternoon, I escaped the oven that is Santiago, and finally arrived in Finisterre, the end of the world.  A place where, at sunset, the spirits of the deceased leave this world for the other side.  Where pilgrims burn their old shoes and clothes.  The final destination of my three month journey.  I am here to rest and recuperate after walking across Spain, 860 kilometers - nearly one million footsteps.  And to reflect on what I have experienced, learned, and been given over this journey.  What have I given?  To see if I find perspective.

Finisterre is a small and not particularly impressive town.  Most of the buildings are new and fairly standard fare.  The land is surprisingly sparse and dry, the coast jagged.  But the land here is strong, as is the ocean.  That is an understatement.  I feel like I could step into the sky, take a few steps, and be on the other side.

Behind town is the beach that faces west, into the sunset:

There is a long and quiet beach here, where some of the more adventurous pilgrims have set up a make shift camp:

I sat here for a while last night, meditating on my trip, waiting for the sunset.  Here are some of the things I've gleaned so far.

When I started this trip, my request was to learn how to live well and love being alive.  I think the single strongest and clearest lesson has been about not planning things.  Not to try to control things so that they look how i think they should.  Not to force my expectations on things, but instead to watch how things work out on their own.  Perfectly.  To have the sense and perception to move with things - to walk with mystery, and step into the unknown.  To trust.  As some put it, to dance.

The Camino itself is a very special practice.  I have been outside, all day, every day, for a month.  Moving slowly, at the speed of my feet, and with the elements - sun, rain, trees, flowers, wind, fog, roads and dirt paths.  Sharing time and space with everything, especially people.  I developed a deep sense of peace as a foot powered nomad, and thus a clearer vision into my own illnesses.

I have also been given another special gift.  On the first day of the Camino, I met someone who I became particularly close with:

I think we held hands almost the whole way.  

Having someone to share this time with has been an important lesson.  In the past, I've done a lot of traveling alone.  Maybe it's obvious to some, but for me, the enjoyment and ease that comes with another person has been a revelation.  Stepping into the life's unknown and experiencing its beauty is so different when you're with someone.  It has been a clear illustration of the importance of relationship.

That's all for now.  Maybe more later.  It's lunch time, and there is an amazing Italian restaurant waiting for us to sit down in it. :)

Sunset, Cape Finisterre, September 23, 2013, the last day of my Camino.

Santiago, where the sidewalk ends

Sunday September 22, around 1 pm, I arrived in Santiago.  Im still not sure what I felt on arrival, beyond hot and tired.  As much a sense of accomplishment as of relief.  Just like the beginning of the trip, I was entering new territory: I was no longer a nomad.

Here is the main cathedral square, with pilgrims arriving every minute:

The Cathedral:

I've been thinking a bit about this moment, the end of the trip - where would I go from here.  What would come next.  What had I learned?  I won't be able to answer those questions immediately.

Instead, I found a nice place to stay, took care of some errands, and then had a very enormous and delicious dinner.  And, as it were, a friend and I decided to travel in to Finisterre, the end of the world.  This would be my place for reflection.

Camino Day 29

Today is day twenty nine! I will arrive in Santiago in two days.

Today was relatively easy but slow, as yesterday was the longest day of the trip - 40 kilometers.  Twelve hours on the road.  We stayed in a huge old monastery last night.  I wish I could write more, but it's just about bed time.  I'll be traveling on to Finisterre after Santiago, so I'll have more time for reflection then.

Things have been great.

Last nights bed:

Camino Day 19

It rained for two days, and we still covered about 18 miles a day.  After a while, you are just completely wet through, and as soon as you stop moving, you start getting cold.  Really cold.  So it makes for an intense day.  Lots of people got injuries from the additional exertion.  But when the sun finally came out, it was so amazing.  And we had good excuses to just hang out on the beach.  We've definitely been taking it a bit easier since the rain.

In good news for me, my foot has pretty much completely healed, which is really nice.

I got adopted by a cat.  She was so freaking cute.  She climbed up on my shoulder, and would have stayed there if I let her.  We named her Peace Lavender because she was so friendly and she lived in a big purple house.

Also, I found my dream house.  Well, actually, I've found a bunch of dream houses, but this one was especially awesome.  Literally on a cliff right above the ocean.  You're all invited.

firsts, il monstro

This trip has had a lot of firsts: first time in Spain, first long distance trip, first time using a bidet.  In fact, this is the same bided Martin Sheen used while filming 'the Way'.  I have such beautiful memories of Spain...

In a similar vein, I no longer have feet, I have hooves.  One of my hooves has been impregnated by an alien.  Or perhaps 'a tumor the size of a grape' is a more delicious metaphor.  Anyway, I named it 'il monstro'.  

Il monstro recently met a timely and painless death.

Camino Day Twelve

The Camino has taken a toll.  I'm currently sitting outside a train station, with a few other casualties.  We are waiting for one of our fellow peregrinos who is at the doctor, and then we will gladly be taking a  train to our next destination.   I have a blister on the ball of my foot I've walked on for 60+ miles, and at this point, my foot is practically sprained.  Luckily not painful, but also not functional.

I have very little access to the Internet, especially because we usually arrive at out destination late and quite tired, and then self-maintenance comes first.  We are usually sleeping in churches or schools, and they always turn the lights out at 10PM.  They come back on promptly at 7. 

All this being said, the trip has been incredible.  It has actually been really nice not to have much access to anything other than the Camino.  I am very much "in the zone".  I usually pack a little food for the day, and then just take off.  There are a handful of us that travel as a loose group, from all over.  Lots of different languages to listen to.  Curiously, I've only met one American so far, and no one from the UK.

I really get to space out.  The route is fairly easy to follow.  We take breaks whenever, but I wouldn't mind going slower.  Right now, we are walking about 18 miles a day, which definitely gets long.  But mentally, I'm just drifting through northern Spain.  It is really beautiful.  Similar to the California coastline, but more expansive, rugged, and empty.  Lots of old stone farm houses and beautiful old abandoned buildings.  Way greener and way cleaner.  And the ocean is so clear and clean.  I think this part of Spain may be the most beautiful place I know of.  I've really been enjoying spacing out, just floating through the country side.  I hope to return sometime.

Hopefully I'll be able to remember enough to tell some stories, but we'll see!

Camino Day Three

Internet access is fairly intermittent, so I won't be able to post regularly.  I've just finished day three of the Camino.  It has been a very beautiful experience.  The days can start before sunrise, but typically we reach out destination by two in the afternoon.  The country side is amazingly beautiful, and the people are very warm.  Spanish people are very social.

The hiking has been easier than expected.  I'm a bit sore, with a few little blisters, but each day gets easier.  We typically walk about 15 miles a day, and the terrain is up and down, along the coast.  I really get to space out a lot, as there isn't really anything I have to pay attention to or remember.  It's been really sweet.

Irun

Well, I've made it to Irun, Spain.  It is so different here.  Warmer, more humid, people look and sound very different.  It is strange to hear so many different languages, and not be speaking English much anymore.

This is the beginning of the Camino.  I've checked into my room, and  am getting a little food before bed.  My day starts early, and I'm supposed to hike 17 miles to San Sebastián tomorrow.  We'll see if I make it...

Gay Parie

I got to see Paris today, which was cool.  Big, dirty city; pretty girls.  Two hours was enough for me.

Wierdness

You know how, when you eat something really gross, you try to get your friends to eat it too?  Don't read on if you get sick easily.

Up till Strasbourg, I haven't seen any homeless or mentally ill people, but Strasbourg seems to be more of a regular city.  The town square definitely had its drunks.  It actually seemed kind of awesome, just being permanently drunk in some beautiful place.  Why not?

On my second day there, I though I saw the grosses thing of the trip: a big, gross man, mocking his big, gross wife, in French.  So gross.  But I was wrong about it being the grossest.

Today, I had about an hour to kill before my train left for Irun, so I sat in the park in front of the station.  There was a man there who I had been seeing over the last few days - totally gone, probably schizophrenic.  He was way dirty, had a bunch of really intense tattoos, and was wearing a woman's tube top, with military pants torn into a dress of sorts.  He was looking pretty rough, and seemed even more intense.

This particular morning he spent about forty five minutes standing in the middle of the park, doing an excellent imitation of one of Hitlers speeches.  Literally, it was like he was possessed by the same devil.  I, and many others, found this mildly entertaining.  Until, that was, he took off all his clothes, and began washing himself with what looked like a bottle full of vomit.  Literally, pouring it on his head, and then rubbing it all over his body.  At that point, dear reader, I had had enough.  Into the train station with me.

Although I did find it as funny as it was revolting, I felt really bad for him.  He was once someone's son, someone's brother, and maybe someone's husband.  Pretty gnarly.

PS - This seems to be a day of weirdness.  On the train, seated next to me, I've been listening to a nine year old boy tell his mother how strong his sperm are.  And his mother approving.  Obviously, they've had this conversation before.  Seriously, what the fuck?

And on...

continued from Wingen...

And so I found myself back in Wissembourg, without a clue what to do.  It was two in the afternoon, and my train back to Strasbourg left at five thirty.  There were no later trains.  There was a bicycle shop down the road, but at this point, it was too late to bike, as it would probably have taken me more than three hours round trip.  The tourist office was closed, and there really wasn't any one around to talk to.  I had already inquired with the bus driver about other busses, and that didn't seem to be an option either.  

At this point, I realized my only likely option was a taxi.  Luckily, there was a hotel across the street.  I went over, and in my very broken German, asked for a taxi to Wintzenbach.  Although it is about fifteen miles away, this didn't seem like a strange request, and they called a taxi with no problem.  It would pick me up in twenty minutes.

The only thing about a taxi was that I still wouldn't be making it back to Wissembourg.  It was expensive already, and that was for one way.  I wasn't going to pay to have the guy wait around for me, while I wandered aimlessly.  Earlier in the day, I had noticed there was a train line that ran about three miles east from Wintzenbach, directly to Strassbourg.  The only thing was I had no idea when it ran, if at all.  My taxi came, and once again, I stepped into the darkness.

I think I slept for the whole taxi ride, caught in a spell-like stupor.

This part of the world was much flatter, and mostly fields, with much less forest.  Not quite as beautiful, and as we arrived, I still felt pangs of sadness for leaving Wingen.  The taxi driver dropped me off "wherever", and I began wandering into Wintzenbach.

My state rapidly changed.  This was the town where my dad's mother's family came from, and for a long time, I've felt I was very much made from that line.  I dream of my grandmother often, and have had multiple dreams of her ancestors.  I felt very connected to this part of my family, even if I hardly knew them.

I hadn't walked very far before I started to feel like I was tripping.  Everything became very vivid.  I felt like the sky was bending down towards me, and I up towards it.  The wispy cloud overhead seemed to be talking to me.  Time stopped existing, and everything was very calm.  The only person I crossed paths with was a man my age in a wheelchair.

The village is small, and I walked into the middle of it, and again found the Catholic church.  It was dated 1722, meaning my family had probably helped build it.  I walked around it, to the grave yard. 

 Again, no family names, but everything was fairly new.  I sat down to take my ancestor's council.  We had food and drink together.  I then lay down and napped for a bit, letting the spirits talk to me through my dreams.  I awoke a little while later.  The only way I can describe the experience was that I was in a very in-between place, but also very comfortable.  I couldn't have been more comfortable.

Strangely, a military convoy pulled up thirty feet from me, in front of the house next the graveyard.  They went inside, and I half expected to hear gunshots and screaming, but they seemed to be just visiting.  I don't know what this was about.

At this point, the spell was broken, and it was time to leave.  I packed up, and began walking east.  The town was beautiful, as was the countryside.  

I was walking towards the train, but also towards the river Rhine.  As I got closer, I really began to feel the presence of the ocean, somehow coming from the river.  I decided to keep going past the train, and visit the river.  It was really nice to cool off my feet there, as at this point, I've been walking in the sun for hours.  The river is definitely in charge around here.

After a bit of well appreciated rest, it headed back to the train stop, so small it was overgrown with weeds.  Thirty minutes later, the last train of the day took me back to Strasbourg.  

Everything had worked out perfectly.

Here are a few more photos from Wintzenbach: