And now... The end is near... And so I face... The final curtain...
Perhaps it should indeed be Mr. Sinatra´s particularly fitting lyrics that I´m singing, but I don´t want to jinx anything just yet or tempt fate, so I shan´t. This type of superstitious mentality is very unlike me; what can I say, maybe the pilgrimage is finally bringing out the inner religioso within me in the nick of time. Or maybe I´d rather carry on singing early Beatles tunes and a cheesy 80s mental back catalogue second to none... Note to self: don´t use the pretence of discovering God as an opportunity to hum along to ´Karma Chameleon´; if there is a God after all, he/she/it might not like such blasphemy (unless they enjoy Culture Club of course, which I haven´t factored into my considerations).
Whilst on the subject of fate, on the eve of completing the pilgrimage to Santiago, I wonder whether I was always destined to finish ´The Way´ without ever experiencing any heightened sense of spirituality. So many walkers, cyclists and donkey riders (yes, there are a few), speak glowingly of how they´ve felt a growing sensation of peace within themselves; of an inner contentedness brought about by the methodical nature of progressing through the pilgrimage. One, even, of how his soul felt cleansed. And he meant it quite literally. Without getting into the contentious area of whether or not the human soul actually exists, I find myself irrepairably separated from these people on occasion; fortunately, for brief moments at most. It´s as though an invisible line, of faith, has been crossed; is there any going back from this? Can such vastly different people with opposing views and experiences share a common ground on a mutual experience, irrespective of which direction they´re looking at it from? If the Camino has taught me anything at all, then the answer is yes; although if I´m truthful, it´s only reinforced this notion rather than actually instigated it. I´ll share a bottle of red and a loaf of bread whilst talking about blisters and hiking boots with anyone, regardless of whether they believe in Jesus Christ, Allah, hocus pocus, green martians or the cult of Charles Manson. Willingly, I´ll even discuss the topic of religion and occasionally pretend I´m a devout mormon. Perhaps that means I don´t possess a soul? Or perhaps I just have a mischievous sense of humour?
I wasn´t always destined to complete this journey without invoking a ´hidden spirituality´, though it was quite likely from the start. However, I´m all the better for it in my opinion and, quite frankly, I went into this somewhat obliviously yet with an open mind at least. Anyway, why does one necessarily have to learn or discover anything fundamental on this sort of venture? Surely, it´s equally if not more important merely to enjoy yourself along the path. Nevertheless, what I do depart from Spain with, asides from an exhausted waddle, back pain and a lack of plasters, is a hatful of unique memories. People, places, situations. Ranging from the large to the small; gigantic cities to the obscurest pattern on a snail shell; the wise words of an aged German lawyer on travelling the length and breadth of India, to the daft and alarming starjumps routine illustrated by a group of French cyclists. I´ve been involved first hand at some stages, talking, doing and generally trying to ingratiate myself towards situations one would usually avoid. Immediately, I can remember knocking back and forth ideas on literature and my favourite modern authors with the most intense American guy I´ve ever met... Brian could have beaten a blind person in a staring contest, that´s how passionately he would keep eye contact with you. Within moments, I´d been disarmed and struck dumb as he began to regale tales of serving in Vietnam during the 1970s. I´ve been shocked, exhausted, then enlivened, before being consequently exhausted again, not to mention a million and one other emotions experienced at one time or another.
So, as I prepare to face the final curtain, I glance back fondly into the past three weeks over my rucksacked shoulder to discover myself smiling. Pleased with my progress, grateful for the journey, and forever amused at just how weirdly some people walk.
Pot. Kettle. Black.
Adios España. Hello to the temporary and fleeting comfort of normality.
No comments:
Post a Comment