This is the 24th of 42 posts about the poems which carried me along the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route in Aug-Sep 2017. On this (the 24th) day, I walked 36km from Leon to Hospital del Orbigo.
At about 3pm, I sat down in an endless maize field, resigned. It was a grim day, blustery, grey and chilly. 'Why am I here?', I heard myself ask, and it was not just about the camino.
Over dinner I finally ventured into conversation, and was rewarded with the company of an Italian pilgrim in his 20s. We talked about philosophy, and the power of questions - the beauty of opening to unknowns. For example: it being ok to 'not know' why you are getting up every day and walking West.
That evening, the hostel offered a space for reflection. Five of us came. The host - a wizened man with a warm and penetrating gaze - asked us why we walked. As people shared, he would nod, and say, bene, bene (another Italian?). He said many, many people walked because they had lost someone and needed a path through the grief.
When it came to my turn to answer, I took a long pause. Perhaps that - the opening, vibrant silence - was enough. But eventually, I mentioned my father, and added: 'to welcome home the lost parts of myself'. As we left, the host embraced us all, his face overflowing with hope and encouragement.
Earlier, a pilgrim from New Zealand selected the daily poem. It was given to me by the chaplain in my college. To me, it says: Take rest, take heart, the journey home is a long one.
At about 3pm, I sat down in an endless maize field, resigned. It was a grim day, blustery, grey and chilly. 'Why am I here?', I heard myself ask, and it was not just about the camino.
Over dinner I finally ventured into conversation, and was rewarded with the company of an Italian pilgrim in his 20s. We talked about philosophy, and the power of questions - the beauty of opening to unknowns. For example: it being ok to 'not know' why you are getting up every day and walking West.
That evening, the hostel offered a space for reflection. Five of us came. The host - a wizened man with a warm and penetrating gaze - asked us why we walked. As people shared, he would nod, and say, bene, bene (another Italian?). He said many, many people walked because they had lost someone and needed a path through the grief.
When it came to my turn to answer, I took a long pause. Perhaps that - the opening, vibrant silence - was enough. But eventually, I mentioned my father, and added: 'to welcome home the lost parts of myself'. As we left, the host embraced us all, his face overflowing with hope and encouragement.
Earlier, a pilgrim from New Zealand selected the daily poem. It was given to me by the chaplain in my college. To me, it says: Take rest, take heart, the journey home is a long one.
Day 24 – When You Are Old – William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and
full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take
down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of
the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of
their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of
glad grace,
And loved your beauty with
love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim
soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your
changing face;
And bending down beside the
glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love
fled
And paced upon the mountains
overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd
of stars.
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