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.

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