Walking through the Milky Way
The sound of gravel on the uneven, raw ground sends steady vibrations throughout by body. With every step I take on the well-trodden path, the repetitive drum like marching emerging from underneath my feet and the feet of my companions ease me into a state of trance. I have entered a place where the physical pains shooting up my sore, swollen limbs are numbed. Time becomes distorted, and the past, present, and future intertwine delicately like jasmine leaves throughout the dialogues of those I encounter and my own personal introspection.
Here we were, people of all ages, nationalities, religions, socio-economic backgrounds, yet we shared the common thread of insanity. For some reason or another we decided to leave our lives to walk without any tangible reward; to abandon our friends and family, our work and homes to follow a yellow arrow for hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers, only to find refuge in monasteries and hostels at night, with the bed bug myth constantly looming in our thoughts as we fell fast asleep. We traveled on the road to Santiago, a sacred pilgrimage thousands of years old, from France into Spain leading to the mortal remains of the apostle Saint James. For a certain period of time we took on the identity of pilgrim, our symbol the scallop shell, our path the same as the stars that sprinkled across the Milky Way.
My life in particular was founded on my eclectic upbringing between the United States and Italy. I lived comfortably, my parents always encouraging, never forceful, friends interesting, yet always cut from the same cloth. A violent thirst ensued, a thirst for experience, a hunger to step away from living vicariously through my studies and the stories of others, and to do something of real substance, to really participate in, how a pilgrim described, “the university of life.”
The long trek slowly reveals to us a place forgotten by most in the face of modernity. The primitive energy that infiltrates the air and enters the bush scratches its way into the very depths of one’s flesh and bone. We find ourselves in a space that shatters all barriers; we reach the forefront of our own physical and psychological limits. Discomfort and vulnerability are mirrored by strength and knowledge, the former we desert, the latter we follow to our final destination in Santiago di Campostella- the star field.
Traveling through the bare mountain tops of the Pyrenees, fertile fields of Ponferrada, and dark forests of El Cebrero projections are cast on the foot paths, a cinema plays for us of the unique, ever-changing stories of pilgrims. Pure, honest words are exchanged, coming together to form an endless, rich ocean of experience that act as guide and compass throughout the Camino.
I discover a new realignment of how I once defined abstract emotions. Exposing my own trials and tribulations in life, whilst listening attentively to others stories of suffering, revealed to me how pain is pain, regardless of context- a universal feeling incapable of being ranked. Through the bravery of sharing both struggles and successes with complete “strangers,” I witnessed compassion come to life, a flower blooming exotically in full force. An understanding of how joy and happiness are independent of material, the core of them coming from within, yet capable of being awoken by those whom surround us. We spoke without filter, we spoke from our hearts, soul to soul.
I find that an exceptional collage, encompassed by splinters of the other’s lives, has become integrated within my own story. Tristan the philosophic pianist and aspiring opera singer; Mathilda the intelligent, young woman on the brink of beginning a new chapter of her life coincidentally at McGill university; Juliette, the adventurous mother and veterinarian with her youthful soul; Koen, the bearded flemmish man who spoke of weakness with strength, of politics with optimism; Julio, the professor of Physics, Astronomy, expert heart breaker and wine taster; Olliana, the Basque teacher marked by her confident stride; Michael, a vibrant soul following his heart, intuition, spirit, and unquestionable taste in fashion; Dorothy; Crystal; Alexander ; Hannah; Corinne; and countless others who became my continuously morphing family during those difficult days and relaxing nights.
I vow to honor their stories and use them as strength and vitality as I create my own mark in this world. The energy I felt on the Camino is something I now emulate in everyday life, the honesty of self, and also desire to connect with others in a real way. For isn’t life a pilgrimage? A pilgrimage constituted by knowledge gained by others, which allows us to come closer in discovering ourselves, hence reaching our own Meccas?
It seems my thirst for experience and new knowledge has seized to die down, but rather grown in intensity. And so I attempt to remedy my malady for living adventurously once again. I bring this experience with me with every step I take, every corner I turn, from cobble stone streets into concrete jungles.
