And her feet are SO glad she did.
Yesterday, for much of the day as I walked, I was aware of being immersed in the stream of people who have walked this path over the years. I could see the flow of pilgrims on their chosen routes, like water droplets gathering from tributaries. I saw clearly the moment where all come together - some leaping for joy, others just slipping in quietly, without notice - for a brief moment to form a pool of energy. One drop then leaves, and another arrives - the pool does not empty. But it does change all (yes, I think, all, not just some) who enter its waters.
Then, for a short while, I was accompanied by the pioneers back in the US, headed across the vast midsection of the country, hoping their lives would be better for having taken a huge chance on the unknown. I’ve long known the wagon trains made it ten miles on a good day. Now I understand why this is so.
Then, as I walked, I felt the echoes of the many I’ve read about from history who were forced to take long walks, many to their deaths. The Bataan Death March, the Trail of Tears, the Nazi death marches. I saw the soldiers fall. I saw mothers desperately clutching their frightened children. I saw, within the horror, people still doing what they could to help their fellow travelers along the road. I was afraid with them and for them. And I asked them what they wanted of me. They said they wanted me to honor their lives by remembering they lived and loved and ought not to have died as they did.
And so I walked along that part of my path with tears falling freely to the trail beneath my feet, remembering these, who I never knew.
Finally, I walked with the refugees and immigrants of today’s world. Knowing they are not welcome where they are going, if they know where they are going, but unable to live any more in the lands of their roots. I felt their hope and their desperation. My heart ached and cried with them, and rejoiced with those who managed to find a new place to land. I also asked these what they wanted of me, but if I received an answer, it was lost as I neared the final steps of the pilgrimage.
It’s no wonder I found my arrival at the city’s limits so disconcerting. One moment I was in a place not quite of this world, and the next I was walking over a bridge looking down at eight lanes of traffic.
Yes, I do believe I needed today to reground my spirit.
Tonight, the trail ahead once again seems daunting. I understand why most people don’t attempt this part of the journey. Even to have come this far, for me, is the hardest physical challenge I’ve ever tackled. And I want to do more? Yes, for some crazy reason I don’t pretend to understand, I do. At least my digestive system seems to have settled down for now, so I won’t have to contend with those issues as I walk.
Tomorrow’s walk is the longest I’ll tackle on this segment of my journey - 21k.
One step at a time.
Photos: the cathedral at dawn, from the window of my room; a statue at the cathedral - I feel the same way; the park where I sat to rest and read for a couple of hours this afternoon
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