On the Camino - day 8

Muxia

Santiago to Finnestere and Muxia (by bus!)

Sitting on the boulders of Muxia, watching the rhythm of the endless sea, breaking its pulse on the shoreline and scattering itself over the rocky border then retreating for more. The clouds slowly drew back to reveal the robin egg blue sky. What a perfect way to meet the end of the path before turning toward home.

I sat alone at the top of the hill with a 360 degree view from the ocean to seaside town. Suddenly a lone traveler appeared over the hill. “Another attraction?” he asked. “Tomorrow I’ll be heading home after 17 days. People will want to know ‘how was your trip…in two words?’ But what words are there?” There are no words to fill the space of an experience, a knowing, a letting go only to find more. I asked, “Are you traveling alone?” “No,” as he looked around. “I left solo but I’ve not been alone. I‘ve walked with many.” He proceeded to share the deep grief he walked with and released to the sea and then asked “why am I sharing this with a perfect stranger?” Because it is safe – I have no judgment nor will I reveal you to anyone. I hugged him with a blessing and we went our ways.

Heading home

I’ve walked solo but never alone

Strangers and friends have been before, behind, beside, keeping pace and losing stride.

How was your trip they’ll ask at home.

What two words would I share?

An experience does not fit into letters confined by the alphabet.

Maybe that is why my heart leapt at the edge of the sea – it holds experience
in breadth and depth, ever rolling, ever moving -
intense, calm, splashing its blessings as it meets its limits
then returning for more
holding back nothing, vulnerable in is fullness
both known and mystery.

I left an offering at the water’s edge.

I carry not a burden, yet of its breadth and depth
I carry on with sacred, holy, gratitude.