Thoughts after the Camino

 

So, back home. Back to Beeston with its Beekeeper seat statue. Mass this morning with people I know; and unlike the slight chaos of the multi-background Masses along the way, everyone stands, sits and kneels at the same times. A quick shop for the stuff I need to tide me over to a proper shop during the week. Drinks with family rather than with Camino friends.

I said in my last post from Santiago that I was a little sad that it was coming to an end. But I don't think it is an end. I think I'll be walking the Camino again - probably a different route, but it's still the Camino.

(And if I do next time I'll take a Bluetooth keyboard. Phone ones really don't encourage longer text!)

On the Camino one finds togetherness. The life of the Albergue; living alongside, sometimes uncomfortably alongside, other people in their humanity. Walking with people - feeling together the fatigue and the blisters, and the lifted spirits and the joys. Talking to people, sometimes people you met minutes ago, about things you'd not usually discuss with long-term friends. The dawn each day. Eating with people. Drinking with people. And sometimes eating and drinking alone, with the dawn or the sunset, or just with the experience of the place and the time.

The simplicity in fact, of that Beekeeper statue.

I've found that our bodies can walk on automatically, and only complain when they have good reason. That our minds soar far above that physical action. That our spirits can revive through meeting others, and at times through being alone. That across cultures and languages, across continents, we are all like this; all truly children of the same God.

That tears come, often unexpectedly. That this is also automatic. That this is a physical reaction to grief which will not go away, but also sometimes a reaction to joy. That human life is not so simple that tears just mean sadness. That tears make it hard to type this paragraph as the keyboard dissolves in my sight.

That Louise will always be with me, and that that fact will mean both joy and grief. And that that reality is both good and human.

And what matters in the world? Whatever the politicians and the oligarchs do, it will always be the case that human beings can put one foot in front of the other, can talk and share as human beings, can love, can weep, can make connections across cultures and faiths, can make their own Way.

Perhaps we should require those who stand for high office to walk like this; to be judged by whether they enable or restrict exactly that. Whether they serve this normal humanity or degrade it. Whether they divide or unite; whether they serve their way or let us have our Way.

And that goes for not just our leaders but ourselves as well.

Yes, I think I'll be walking the Camino again; and in some way I'll keep walking it all the time.