T -3 Days. Spirituality

The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious - the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. Albert Einstein

Encounters of the spiritual arrive with little warning on the trail across Spain. I likened them to a soft tap on the shoulder when attention wandered, as it did most hours of most days. Walking created the meditative state, opened my heart, and slowed me sufficiently to appreciate things I might otherwise miss. These are things that appear unimportant at first glance, but a moment later can reach inside and move profoundly. The often quiet time on the road unearthed my inner voice, pointed the way to many of these experiences. In a busy world I rarely hear the voice, heed it even less. Trekking the Camino, this inner persona was permited to take the lead. I describe the sensation as awakening a new sense of trust within.

Some encounters are very human. On one occasion, I shared a glass of wine with a trekker who walked in 2003 because his doctor said he might not live to see 2004. My heart stopped when his words landed on our tiny table, realizing how casually I accept the blessing of good health. Then there was Trevor, a 60ish British man I found staggering drunkenly through a dusty village in the middle of the country. It had taken him 5 days to cover the same distance I walked in 5 hours. Trevor’s awkward movements resulted not from alcohol, but from advance Parkinson’s. Walking alone and without complaint he planned to cover 300 kilometers at a 1/hour pace. I never had the ability to ask why. Discovering what he was about, I was overcome with emotion; all I could do was pray for him and vow not to utter another word about discomfort.

Though human in nature, these encounters touched deeper than mere words convey.

Other encounters occur with a more mystical flare. I remember a simple church which stood solo in the middle of a field. 800 year-old St. Mary of Eunates was apparently employed for the burial of pilgrims from the Middle Ages, when severe illness and banditry were often fatal risks to pilgrim travel. St. Mary’s is known to trekkers, but it’s off the path, requiring an hours’ detour. Walking such a side trip is not done lightly with sore feet or tired legs. Yet with no understanding of why, I knew I should make the turn to go.

The music of Zamphir is barely audible within, the near-silence immediately powerful. It felt beyond peaceful; moving towards a sense of the sacred. I found a dozen other pilgrims settled in various pews when I arrived. Rain had literally thudded down that day, the sounds of a Spanish monsoon through the open door somehow harmonic accompaniment for the flute. For all its volume, rain seemed integral to the consuming ambiance. A blissful, inner peace permeated the ancient structure, and touched my heart without anything more obvious than its simple presence.

Perhaps it was the spirit of pilgrims past, perhaps it was the sacred. I came to understand a different sense of pilgrimage during my short stay. Eunates reminds of the history when people risked their lives for such experience; it underscored faith in the sacred, made me think of mine. Whether it was this I felt, or the caress of a centuries old building, soft beautiful music, or perhaps a combination of all, every person within the church was moved by moments spent at St. Mary’s. The collection of international travelers, me included, each displayed tears on their faces, emotionally struck by something in the church. I wondered how many thought they were being touched by God? I wondered if I was.

The experience felt as I might imagine the touch of God; gentle and loving and warming beyond description. I spoke to no one for a long while after I walked away. I wanted to hold the moment for as long as possible.

My hope of the coming month, is for a re-acquaintance with such encounters.