[Camino Poem No. 30] The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver

This post is the 30th in a series of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 30th day), I walked 10km from Triacastela to Furela. 

I trudged the first two hours through light rain. Mid-morning, I passed a sign which read, 'art cafe, 10 mins off the trail'. I wanted to send a postcard to a friend, and thought that this might be a good place to buy one. But, in the mood I was in, 10 mins off the trail seemed too much effort.

Half a mile later, there was a a second sign to the same place. It added the promise of 'meditation and stillness'. I was on my way.

[Camino Poem No. 29] The Song of Hiawatha

This is the 29th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 29th day), I walked 18km from Linares to Triacastela. 

A sluggish start after the 14-hour adventure of the yester-day. Occasional gaps in heavy mist revealed vistas of the valleys below. The road offered steep ups and downs before yielding to a steady descent into Triacastela, where I finished.

At a mid-morning stop, the poem.

Maybe I should write the introduction to my thesis in the same style?

(and oh, to live with rhythm such as this!)

[Camino Poem No. 28] Psalm 103

This is the 28th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage trail in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 28th day), I walked 46km from Camponaraya to Linares. 

Today, I parted ways with my forty-eight-hour walking companion. I waved goodbye to her in Villafranca, at around midday. Ahead lay 25km of steady climbing, as the path wound its way up and through a mountain pass. I planned to do maybe half of it, but somehow just kept on.

At 5pm, I stopped to meditate in a church. When I returned to the path, it was deserted. I continued, alone. Alone with the mountains. Alone, with the setting sun. Behind me was all purple haze and distant peaks. Below, the darkening fields. It was The Interim Time. I rounded a bend, and fell to my knees at the sight of the sun, massive and orange, infinite in its passing.

[Camino Poem 27a] Bring Me Sunshine

This is an 'extra entry' within a series of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2016. It is about a poem that I wrote whilst in Camponaraya, on the 27th day of walking. 

A few times on the trip, my visit to a town had co-incided with the end-of-summer fiesta. Each time, I had taken a look, but inhibitions and over-walked legs asked me not to stay long (once I got a second-chance: the party was still going when I started my journey the next morning!). 

[Camino Poem No. 27] Psalm 139

This is the 27th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 27th) day, I walked 26km from El Acebo to Camponaraya. 

Frequently, I wonder why I do this. This, being pilgrimage, but also things like meditation and therapy. 'This' seeming to involve a lot of pain (think: the trauma and vomit in Rabanal). What I tell myself is, 'I am opening. Opening to feel what is there. Opening to life. And yes, some of that will be hard, very hard. But there is also the beauty - you get to open to that too.'

This day was testament to that promise. I was astonished by the joy of walking and talking with my new-found friend. Remember the dawn? The descent through the mountain shadows? How our words were so alive that we did not so much walk but glide?

[Camino Poem No. 26] The Lake Isle of Innisfree

This is the 26th of 42 posts about the poems that carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 26th) day, I walked 17km from Rabanal to El Acebo. 

I woke feeling raw and weak after the ordeal of the night before. Fearing I would not keep it down, I did not eat. What could I do but keep walking?

It so happened that today's path went up, and up. Up, in fact, to the highest point on the camino - the Cruz De Ferro. For years, pilgrims have been depositing stones there, as a way of representing the 'putting down' of some burden that they were carrying. There is a large wooden cross, now surrounded by a mound of stones so high you can climb it.

[Camino Poem No. 25] After great pain, a formal feeling comes

This is the 25th of 42 posts about the poems that carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2016. On this (the 25th) day, I walked 38km from Hospital del Orbigo to Rabanal. 

'Will! Do you have a poem for us today?'.

Calling out to me from a cafe on the way in to Astorga were Susanna and Clare, two women who I had met previously (and briefly) some two and a half weeks before. They remembered my poetry project!