Miracles. Two Days on the Camino Francés (2) Flying to O Cebreiro.
When your heart is in silence and sinks into God it sings.
Leaving Pereje.
This is a story which is short and simple but gives a flavour of the sort of strange experiences which people have on the Camino. I have difficulty putting it into the category of “miracle” unlike the miracles of the day before which involved love and care and generosity. This seems more like magic since I felt I was flying. I can assure you that I was not on funny mushrooms.
Having gone to bed the night before feeling full of ‘flu I was surprised to find I could move my limbs in the morning. I left Pereje full of apprehension about the climb ahead. Although the ascent to O Cebreiro is not very steep, it is a long haul rising about 800 metres from the bottom of the Valley to the top of the pass into Galicia.. The weather was not good so I had decided to go by road rather than follow the path up the waterlogged valley. Also I fully intended to book in for a session of physiotherapy in the tiny village of Ruitelan even if it meant halting my journey for the day. To my dismay there was a sign of the physiotherapist’s door saying he had gone to A Coruña. I considered staying in the albergue and catching him the next morning. However my aches were not so bad and I decided I would continue, reminding myself, “Just go on in trust.”
Enter by the backside.
I walked on in silent prayer, now unconcerned about the climb ahead or whether I arrived at a hostel with a bed or not. Acts of Faith are very liberating. Also the beauty of this quiet valley with its purple heather and gorse which shone as an adequate replacement for the lack of sunshine lent itself to that form of silent, wordless contemplation where my heart just rests in God. As I began the climb I felt a sudden urge to sing. On the Camino there are times when I like to pray out loud, especially a Gloria at the top of mountains. I don’t like to wire myself up for music but I have put a few of my favourite hymns on my little voice recorder: like Llama de Amor Viva by John of the Cross sung by Amancio Prada.
What came into my head was the hymn they sing in the procession at Lourdes – the old one which repeats “Ave, Ave, Ave Maria”. I don’t remember many of the words but this refrain took hold of me and with a quick look around to ensure no other pilgrims were around I began singing it. My heart through silence became a song. It seemed to me to be a reminder of how easy it is for me to want to take everything into my control and how easily I forget the real joy of letting go completely and simply trusting in God. The Lourdes hymn welled up in me as if to say, “Don’t you remember the signs you have had?”
The ascent to O Cebreiro by road
As if lifted by angels.
My singing faded when I heard voices behind. It was the noisy Italians from my night in Ponferrada, I thought. It turned out to be a noisy French group, too small in number to be Italian. The Spanish say to me that the French think the Camino is theirs. I struggle against stereotyping, of course, and only use it in emergencies. I notice though that most foreigners do it a lot but I only ever hear good things about the Scots so I am rarely offended. The French were coming up to overtake me with a cyclist not far behind clearly intent on taking one of our beds for the night.
About to be overtaken.
The tune of the hymn lightened my spirits. The road did not seem too steep and I wondered what had happened to all my pains of the previous day. When the French caught up with me we exchanged a brief “Bonjour” and they pushed on quickly saying it was about to snow. I expected more rain but not snow. Then a modern shepherd appeared in his 4×4 waving a stick at his sheep out of the window.
The good shepherd in his 4×4.
The rain became persistent and heavy. I looked back down the valley at the mist below and marvelled at how straightforward this climb had been. Just ahead was the little aldea of Laguna with a bar. I looked forward to a coffee to celebrate conquering this mountain. Then the snow began to fall.
Wet snow and wind at 1000m.
The path of the Camino reaches the road I had been walking on at Laguna. By the time I arrived at the bar I was frozen and covered in snow. Inside it was packed but the atmosphere was warm in every sense. Many decided to stop in the village for the night and, indeed, all the beds were taken. I would have stayed otherwise since the prospect of another two kilometres of climb, in the snow, wasn’t at all tempting. There was little to be done but put on all my gear and move on. I opened the door into a rush of cold air and set off.
As I walked I felt as if someone were lifting my rucksack behind me, taking most of its weight. It wasn’t just that it seemed lighter: it was a different sensation exactly as if someone had put a hand underneath it to support it. Then I noticed my legs take on a rhythm which was smooth, flowing and speedy. This was not how I walk, but here I was purring along in the snow and the wind with an ease which felt almost as if my body had found a perfect harmony, balance and sureness of movement. This continued until I reached O Cebreiro where I stopped in the little church. I recall sitting there on a bench wondering just what had happened to me. In the silence my heart rested in God, still singing. I have difficulties believing in angels and the one I had met in France was at least a messenger. People tell me I was helped up by angels. In the little church in O Cebreiro I did feel I had been helped, physically, in an extraordinary manner.
Leaving the church in O Cebreiro.
Having given thanks for the help with this climb my whole body felt alive with wonder and I felt excited as if I had just received some fantastic news. I could make no sense of it. Why should I suddenly have experienced this “help”? What had happened that I was walking so smoothly, so quickly, moving in a way I have not ever known? There seemed to be no spiritual “reason” for this. However, I know that God does not seem to have much human logic and also that it had happened in a context of prayer and trust. Also, beforehand I’d been helped up the longest part of the climb with the “Ave, Ave..” ringing in my heart. It seemed to be a part of one continuous prayer.
The night of snow.
I continued on for 5 km after O Cebreiro to Hospital, arriving near dark with the snow still falling. I hadn’t fancied staying in the albergue in O Cebreiro which is new and well equipped but the single dormitory is huge and would certainly be full on this cold, snowy evening. The albergue in Hospital was also full. I was the last to arrive and took the last bed. My walking rhythm had returned to my own faltering and hobbling gait but these kilometres went by in a sort of dream of wonder at what had happened.
I remember lying on the top bunk listening to other pilgrims discussing how awful a day it had been to walk, how difficult the climb had been and how exhausted they were. I wondered what had happened to all my fatigue and pains of the previous night. I was tired but no more sore than usual. All I could feel as I lay, glowing, on the bed was, “I’ve been in heaven today.”
The next morning in Hospital de la Condesa.
The next day was another story with my body recovered and much better than it had been in Pereje. My spirits were still fairly high and quite different from how they had been when I had left Ponferrada doubting my ability to continue. The Camino was covered in thick snow so I put plastic bags over my sandals and set off. Everything was back to normal including my arthritic parts and, still amazed at what had happened, I took out my voice recorder lest I forget: