Old, Delicious Burdens

Arrived last night into the final Spanish "province" of the Camino: wind-swept Galicia, and the height of ancient O´Cebreiro at km 151. A veritable white squall for the last while after a delightful Inka trail-like climb, no visibility and soaked clear through from the rain. The Auberge (at the ridiculously low price of 3 Euro) proved a welcome respite, as always, and it was with some amazement that I awoke this morning to clear skies and beautiful vistas of the valleys below. Decided to take it slow and easy down the mountainside in response, after walking the stone streets of the town, in order to relax in Triacastela, do laundry and the like. Tomorrow, well rested, I will compensate.

The end of this long walk, this pilgrimage, draws nigh. I will remember days like today fondly, once again drawing envy from a random pilgrim (this time a Glaswegian woman now living in Colorado) with stories about the 6-month sojourn and how I came to be able to devote the (proper) time for the camino. In how, on entering the town, I managed to engage in some broken Spanish dialogue with an old man, who then convinced me to buy a slick walking stick for 1 Euro, and then laugh moments later with a Spanish pilgrim who also started from St. Jean and has walked 600+ km without one, but also was sold on the stick. (I have since seen the guy twirling the stick before other pilgrims in the street pronouncing himself Gandalf the Grey, to much laughter. I look forward to using mine the rest of the way.)

Also great today was the desperate need to do laundry, and so it was passed off to the woman running the auberge for 5 Euro - I admit to wondering where it was for awhile, but there it appeared after supper, folded and all. Best was her attempt to explain to me (again in a disjointed Spanish conversation) how she even knitted up a hole in one of my key socks. Honestly, how brilliant.

Yes, the journey down Europe´s old highway has been a good one, and I find myself in an eerily satisfied state. How good for the Soul it is indeed, as Whitman wrote in "Laws for Creation", to walk free and own no superior. And for so many days, truly. Mine was never meant as a pilgrimage for any particular reason, to fashion out any particular decision, or to use the solitude for distinct purpose. The customary burdens shall remain, upon and after arrival in a few days. But happily (of course) these are not overbearing, thoughts of uncertainty and mystery, uneasiness and wonder at what the future may yet bring.

I do like to think (and do so believe, at this point) that these past weeks have made it all the easier to adopt Whitman´s approach to such burdens, as espoused in my favorite of poems, "Song of the Open Road":

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

Just so. Hasta Santiago, then. And more final reflections from that sacred city, before the next phase of these days through London to Greece.