I arrived in Murias de Rechivaldo, hot and tired from the day’s long walk. I’m not sure why I didn’t stay in Astorga, a must on every pilgrim’s itinerary, four kilometers back. My feet seemed to have a life of their own, carrying me forward as my mind obsessed over words I had overheard only days earlier:
This Camino to Santiago de Compostela is called the Way of the Sword. It’s where you fight your demons and find your strength. The path to Rome is called the Way of the Heart, the way of Divine love. And, finally, there is a path that leads to Jerusalem and it is called the Way of the Soul.
The words seemed an omen, a message from the heavens that bypassed my mind and lodged themselves in my heart. Steps that were now leading me to Santiago seemed to hint at steps long forgotten that led to more ancient lands. I struggled to give meaning to the unexpected feelings of longing that seemed to emerge from depths unknown, and to quiet a heart that now beat with a knowing that transcended all reason. More than Rome or Santiago, it was the mention of Jerusalem − Yeru Shalom, the City of Peace − that stirred my imagination. Perhaps it was my Lebanese roots, or the peace that my own heart was seeking at that time, but Jerusalem conjured a powerful elixir that magnetically drew me to her.
The statues of two eagles – my totem – greeted my arrival at the municipal albergue, and heightened my anticipation. The place was modest, and offered the magnificent gift of a single bed, not a bunk bed, upon which I triumphantly placed my sleeping bag. By evening, every space was taken.
I settled into my bed, and began my daily ritual of writing in my diary, trying once again to bring order to the latest round of impetuous stirrings that the word Jerusalem had wrought. As I looked up, I noticed a man standing in the doorway of the albergue, casually glancing about. He appeared to be in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and beard. He wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses and sported white pants with a matching waist-length tunic. An air of the eccentric hovered about him.
I smiled at the array of characters that made up the pilgrims I was meeting on this Camino, and continued writing. When I chanced to again look up, this man was standing by my bedside. He smiled at me with affection, all the while speaking in a rapid-fire Spanish I could not understand. I returned his smile and nodded, not so much at the words spoken, but at the feeling of care and encouragement he transmitted. I felt at ease.
In the setting sun, a ray of light momentarily flashed off a large medallion that hung around his neck. In that flicker, I saw emblazoned one word: Jerusalem. Every hair on my body stood on end, but before I could react or find a way to communicate with him, my mystery man moved on to other people in the albergue and left soon after.
To be continued . . .
Pilgrim Mony Dojeiji
Canada
walkingforpeace.com
Completed first Camino in 2001 Mony Dojeiji is a pilgrim who walked the Camino Francés in 2001 and later that year embarked on a 5000-kilometer, 13-country, 13-month walk for peace with fellow Spanish pilgrim Alberto Agraso. Details of their journey can be found on their website http://walkingforpeace.com.