Living Body, Mind & Spirit

The rhythm of the Camino is a rhythm of simplicity.  Wake, walk, eat, shower, laundry, eat, sleep.  At the end of the day, we found a place of rest and whatever shower that space provided - sometimes a bathroom shared with 40, sometimes with four.  We felt refreshed for just a bit.  We admired, appreciated and cared for our feet in a way we had never done before. 

Laundry took place in sacred space and time - the smell of clean clothes, the sounds of street noise, and the hum of washers and tossing dryers.  On the Camino, this is another space where we feel our common humanity.  Whether handwashing and hanging on a line or sharing time in a laundromat with fellow pilgrims, it was a space of honoring the holy in all that is and caring for that which cares or us; for watching the gentle breeze blow and the local cats nap as we slowed down just a little. There was a sanctity in this afternoon slow-down that called us to sitting in the sun. Holy rest.

In the evening, we broke bread and shared wine - fruit of the vine and work of human hands - with pilgrims from all over the world.  All of us limping just a little – physically, mentally, spiritually. With guards down, we shared ourselves in story, living in some vague awareness of ourselves as the living, breathing Body of Christ and all the joy and sorrow it embodies. 

I climbed into my bunk each night with body, mind and spirit craving sleep. Some nights snoring, coughing, and footsteps filled the room, making sleep frustratingly elusive. But more often, the rhythm of the day, the bodily exhaustion, the wine, and the warm feeling of the evening’s table conversation brought needed rest swiftly, my sleeping bag feeling like a soft, airy swaddle. And in the morning, we began again. Always we begin again.

Body, Mind, Spirit

The first third of the Camino was a time of reckoning with the body. This stretch provided mountainous uphill climbs and rocky, steep downhills. Some days my body reeled from the sixteen miles we had walked and I observed as my mood quickly followed.  There was surrender in this first couple of weeks.  My body was fully living the sights, sounds, smells and tastes. But surrendering to this embodied living meant that I would also feel a little pain every day.  Maybe a hip today, a knee or blister tomorrow.  Joy and suffering living fully in my body. 

A few rolling hills followed by vast, flat plains with views that seemed to go on forever accompanied us midway through the Camino. Vinyards and olive groves gave way to fields of wheat, sunflower and corn.  There was a kind of sweet comfort in the predictableness of this terrain.  At the same time, it left the mind with a lot of time for thinking and praying. 

For me, this was a place of deep and sometimes painful self-reflection.  I observed and walked with my fears, biases, and assumptions at a level I sometimes didn’t want to see or feel.  I watched myself become tied up in knots over a text from a daughter, the resurfacing of a buried memory, the dread of yet another bunk bed.  I questioned life choices and worried about where I’m heading.  With time and more miles, I turned back to the present moment and my need for forgiveness of self and others. 

Psalm 94:19 became: “When anxiety overtakes me and my worries are many, your grace lightens my soul.” I cannot do this life on my own, as much as my logical, problem-solving mind wants to convince me otherwise.  I found this “wrestling with self and God” moved me beyond the mind and a little closer to my Divine center. This is gift.

The last third of the Camino brought us through more mountains, strong wind and rain, darker mornings, worn-out shoes, and crowded paths as routes converged and new pilgrims joined.  While these conditions again brought challenges, I was able to meet them in a way that better integrated and honored body, mind and spirit. 

Some mornings I cried as we started walking in the dark and rain, and I found compassion for these honest, uncomfortable feelings.  My body hurt, and I was grateful for it. More mountains were ahead, but I was able to approach them with experience and surrender, knowing there was bread, conversation and rest on the other side.  Fears and anxieties that arose were viewed a bit more like the weather that comes and goes.  There was both a feeling of wholeness that shined upon me, and a bit of melancholy, knowing that this part of the journey would soon come to a close.