A Time of Transition and Reflection

I walked into Santiago on Saturday. I spent Sunday walking around and lunching with friends. And today I am leaving, catching a train to Madrid and a tomorrow a plane home. It's like Sunday was the turning point, the transition. Come. Stop. Go. 

While in Santiago I had a room of my own and, except for Sunday lunch, spent my time alone. Which is perfect. It was a pause. It was a quiet time, with some reflection, but mostly just coming to a standstill. 

I always find myself sad leaving Spain, wondering if I'll ever see it again. I'm always confused at the end of a Camino. I always wonder if there was a lesson. There always has been. And I always discover what it is, or they are after I am home for a time. I've learned to be ok with that. 

I've actually learned to appreciate letting it all be suspended like tea flakes on water, drifting downward slowly until they hit bottom and the color of the water changes. Then I can see, I can read the tea leaves. 

I was sick for ten of the twelve weeks I was in Spain. The only time I was well was the first two weeks I spent volunteering in the Pilgrim's Office in Santiago. I got sick the second day I was walking the Portuguese. Since the sickness involved my digestive system the amount of nutrition I received was greatly reduced. I've lost a lot of weight and my energy levels slowly lowered.  I don't yet know how or why this happened, and I don't know whether it is part of the lesson or whether I've learned something from it. I've been to Spain for for months at a time, probably ten times and have never suffered any sickness. 

I also developed foot pain. I don't know if it was fallen arches or plantar fasciitis. Every morning and evening I did stretches and applied Voltarén. If I could get my hands on an ice pack or bag of frozen peas, I used that in the evening. And it never got really painful. 

From the beginning of this trip I never intended to walk into Santiago from Sarría, and yet I did. I was never certain I was even going to Santiago. There were several times when I considered going to Madrid from where I was, Ponferrado for one, and taking an early flight home. And yet I kept walking toward Santiago. It wasn't with a sense of determination, which is so like me. It was with the sense of, if I feel like walking in the morning, I will. And each morning, I felt like walking. For those who know me well, you know that not having a plan, not being determined, not forging onward, is way out of character. 

This whole trip was as if Amazing Grace (God) was leading me by the nose and saying, "Let go." Or as my friends like to say, "Let go and let God."