A Change of Latitude... A Change of Attitude?

A friend sent me an email not too long ago and this picture of Fanning Island came with it. This is not Camino related per se, but please indulge me an occasional digression. I had visited this island (actually more of an atoll) back in the mid 70's aboard Kialoa as we made our way back to the States from racing in Australia and New Zealand. This picture seems a perfect antidote to the gloom of a Pacific Northwest winter, which I am about to step out into for a 16 km walk (Camino related after all...well sort of). So close your eyes, let your minds wander to warmer climes, and see if you too can hear the surf breaking on the reef, and smell the tang of salt air. I have a feeling I will be revisiting this post from time to time in the months ahead. Enjoy, and don't forget the sunblock!

Suffering is Optional

Toenails courtesy of the Parador (not Camino standard)

Looking back at Robin's bout of tendinitis (ankle), which halted our Camino in Leon for a few days, I continue to be amazed at her approach to dealing with it. Prior to walking the Camino, in various conversations, Robin would say that pain might be there, but suffering is optional. I listened, but did not truly understand what she was telling me. How can one not "suffer" under the burden of pain? I just couldn't work that out. People who deal with chronic pain must live in a world defaulted to suffering (just my assumption). So, how does one counter that assumption if suffering is not acceptable? How does the physicality of pain coexist within a mind/body that has other plans? This is where Robin enters. She had all the physical symptoms of classic tendinitis (confirmed by an ER doctor in Leon). She was told to rest and not to walk for 5-7 days. She had her ankle taped up and we slogged and hobbled, through a downpour, back to the Parador (our albergue in Leon). We settled in with a bottle of wine, lost in our own thoughts, our moods as somber as the blanket of nimbus hanging low over Leon. As we gazed unfocused on the rain slanting across the garden below, we basically wondered if our Camino had just come to a screeching halt (at least that is what was going through my mind). Robin's mind was working differently (no surprise if you know her). While I was conjuring up schemes involving taxis, and buses to somehow get us to Santiago, Robin was girding herself with a quiet determination to carry on. We spent three nights in Leon. As our stay drew to its end Robin announced she would continue walking. I offered her all the assurances I could that we could break the journey, and come back again, but no, we were bound for Santiago, and would leave the following morning.

Daylight came, we shouldered our packs and walked out onto a Camino freshly scrubbed, glistening with sunlight, and brimming with promise. Robin had removed the tape from her ankle before we left, and walked without any visible limp. In two days time we walked, seemingly without incident, into Astorga. I was simply in awe of how Robin did not seem to be affected by her tendinitis. We walked at our normal pace, and she made no mention of the pain she surely must have been feeling. The next day, as we walked out of Astorga, I could see she was struggling a bit. We paused for her to take some Ibuprofen. After that she closed her eyes and just rolled her bad ankle around a bit as if trying to realign something. In a few brief moments she said she was ready to go on, and so we did eventually arriving in Foncebadon late that afternoon. That evening she shared with me that she had posed a question to herself, "What would happen if I just melted into the pain?" I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it became evident that Robin had decided that although she was experiencing pain, she was not going to allow that pain to become suffering. Without the limitations of a mindset geared to suffering she was free to reach an accommodation with her pain (Ibuprofen helped), and continue her Camino. The astonishing part is that she never mentioned it again. She walked with me stride for stride, not limping, not stopping early, not asking for any help at all. Of course I was asking her all the time if she wanted me to help, but no she was fine. This, it is important to note, was not her playing the martyr so I could continue my Camino. She honestly was fine, not pain free by any means, but fine. I still don't understand it, but that is what it was. We continued walking to Santiago without any problems and then, still feeling fine, continued further on to Finisterre and Muxia. Many weeks later, sharing a glass of wine at home, she confided to me that her bout with tendinitis had been a great learning experience for her, a much cherished Camino moment. She discovered (these are my words) some elemental connection between mind and body, a pathway mostly left obscured, had revealed itself to her, for whatever reason, just when she needed it most. I called it a Camino miracle (thank you Holy Spirit), but Robin just smiled.

The Month of Remembrance

It is in the Catholic tradition to view the month of November from the Feast of All Saints until the beginning of Advent as a month of remembrance for all the departed souls. I find this to be a particularly healing season as we reflect and offer our prayers for all those family members and friends who have left this world. As I was driving home last Sunday, across the Columbia River, I was flippng through the radio channels and I heard this song, The Last Port of Call. It just seemed to speak to this season and I guess to me. It is now particularly moving for me as I have learned just this week of the loss of a good friend and shipmate, from Tasmania, to cancer. So, for Nick...

...Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell;
When I embark:

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

From Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Crossing the Bar

Reflections

Daylight is struggling to shift the morning mists to a paler shade of grey. Portland to the south, shrouded in fog, is lost from view. The nearest trees are just vague dark smudges, hardly silhouettes. Robin, got a lead on me today as she rose early to prepare her music for an ordination mass this morning. I followed an hour later, gathering a bit of breakfast and some tea (Bamboo Mountain) along the way. As the trilling of scales upstairs signaled no conversation was forthcoming I reached out for the book nearest at hand. It was John Brierley's Camino Guide. A few days earler, Robin and I, had been caught in a Camino moment (again), and dug out John's book to clarify a name. It has since been close at hand (why bother to put it away). Some, as I have read, feel John's writing is a bit too reflective. They just want the practical bits. But, I thoroughly connect with him, and enjoy his inner musings. The Camino for Robin, and I, presented many of the same challenges that John relates in his guide. After all, don't we all share the same human weaknesses? It is clearly important to have a full understanding of the route, the equipment you will need, the terrain, and the weather, but it is also became clear as we walked along that there was an inner journey that emerged which we had not fully considered or prepared for. Of course, I don't know how one prepares for that sort of thing, but that companion journey turned out to be more compelling than the physical one. I guess I would just simply say to be aware for the blessing of silence and the freedom from distraction. What that enables on your Camino will be your personal discovery, and joy. For us, it was in those many quiet moments, as we made our way down the Camino in December and January, where our faith awakened, and a connection to the Camino was forged forever. Robin often refers to this experience as a love letter from God. She just might be on to something.

There is a longing in my heart

Robin and I saw the movie "The Way" yesterday and found ourselves dealing with a cascade of emotion as we were brought back to our time on the Camino. I particularly was drawn to a comment in the film that said no one walks the Camino by accident. I believe that is true. Yes, admittedly it is hard to understand just how all this would work when people walk the Camino for so many different reasons, but are those reasons really so different. Therein lies the mystery. Perhaps there is a connective thread of sorts that weaves its way through the many pilgrims and their personal journeys to and along the Camino. We have a Canadian friend, Daniel, who we met on the Camino, who would say that, regarding the Camino, we all start as walkers but finish as pilgrims. After his three Caminos I trust his wisdom on the subject. It is almost as though the prayers of all the saints and all the pilgrims past transform us as we make pilgrimage to Santiago. For people who have other views (or none) of religion or spirituality they try to resist this feeling because it is such an alien concept. But, with All Saints Day just around the corner I feel particularly connected to those who have proceeded us in this life especially those who, over the past thousand years, have made their way along the Camino. Whatever mindset you bring to the Camino the prayers of those many pilgrims past will be your constant companion and comforter even if you choose to believe that the many wonders of the Camino are just a bit of good luck.

The story continues

I have long been absent from this blog as business and other distractions have competed (and prevailed) for my time. I know it is not fair to anyone's readers to just depart from the story without explanation, but in the blog world this just seems to happen. I must admit it is a strange etiquette that we sadly get accustomed to. Perhaps it is because bloggers are at once both intimate with and yet distant from our readers that we grant ourselves permission to behave differently (perhaps even badly). My apologies.

To the story...much has happened since my last post. Robin and I, looking at our finances and making an accounting of what we might do in the time we are gifted with, have decided to opt for retirement. This seemed like a straight forward decision, but as the months have passed my mind has been flooded with the consideration of the consequences (both intended and unintended) of walking away from a career. This I have found is a separation process that simply requires working through. It is not as though I am bailing out early. I will be 65 in November and that just seemed like enough time devoted to the comings and goings of life at the office. So now what? In the short term it is completing the separation process, getting our finances settled down, and simply enjoy walking in the autumnal glory of the Pacific Northwest. It is interesting to note that since returning from the Camino last February Robin and I have hardly missed a day walking. We seem to do at least five miles a day (after work) and the ten miles on a Saturday and Sunday as events allow. It is just what we now do. I also cannot deny the impacts that future Caminos have on our walking schedule. Let's just say we are trying to stay "Camino ready."

The Arles route still has its strong calling. We had hoped to be able to start this coming winter but a March pilgrimage to the Holy Land has intervened and it now looks as though the earliest we could start will be October 2012. That would give us the time to continue on to Santiago and Finisterre and perhaps on to Muxia again before returning home for Christmas. Another option, offered by a friend, is to walk Cadiz, Seville, Santiago, Ferrol. We will get our plans in order this winter as we settle into retirement and just see how things work out. One way or another we will be back on the Camino just as soon we can. In the meantime we will fully enjoy each day that comes our way.

A few weeks back Robin and I climbed a local mountain, Larch Mountain, with our Camino packs (17 and 20 pounds respectively). It was great to feel the weight of our packs and to enjoy the challenge of crossing the Pyrenees in Portland once again. Left at 8:45 and found ourselves in the base lodge bar at 4:45 after 14 miles (roundtrip) and 8000 feet of elevation change (4000 up and 4000 back). A cold beer never tasted so good. Knees hurt like hell for two days, but loved every minute of it.

Ultreia!

Columbia River from the summit

The Arles Route

Click to enlarge

I am starting to research this route to identify what times of the year when risk outweighs reward. Robin and I would love to do it in the fall or early winter. We were very lucky with our Camino Frances this past winter as the weather was unusually clement. I suspect that bit of luck has now run its course and we therefore must expect, and plan for, a mountain winter with lots of snow and cold temps. The question is always how much snow and just how cold? One thing that I am realizing is that weather in these mountain ranges is absolutely unpredictable. We just want to be as sure as possible that the weather extremes at the time of year we travel will be survivable. No fools us. We are attracted to the road less traveled and I notice that this route seems to fit that bill. This can also be a point of concern as one might ask the question why that is the case. I need to better understand that. This route ends at Puente la Reina, but we would hope to continue on to Santiago and Finisterre as well. We shall see. We are in the early stages of our planning, but already I sense a growing restlessness to be back on the Camino. So for now I am enjoying the pre-camino planning, dreaming, and preparing that I find so compelling and encouraging. It is this interim of anticipation that gives us time to gather our strength, relish our dreams, and smile at the challenges. We shall see what reality comes later. But for now, we are beckoned, and at the end of each day, a prayer is offered that soon we will feel the good earth of the camino under our hiking boots once again.