Silence.  Times when the heart listens.

Before Daybreak.

In 2010, a Jacobean Year, I happened to finish my Camino on October 12th, the Feast of the Virgin of the Pilar.  The Pilar is a pillar, a roman pillar on which the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to James the Apostle on his way to Santiago.  About wo millennia on from this legendary apparition, Gallicians in their thousands were descending on Santiago at the same times as myself.  My own pilgrimage coincided with a mass exodus from Vigo which filled all the available accommodation, and heavy rain storms which put me off sleeping outdoors.  The worst night of all was in Caldas del Reis where we all “slept” shoulder to shoulder on the floor with constant chattering all night, pleas for silence and shooshing every few minutes,  tobacco smoke emerging from the loos and a few lucky ones managing to snore.

Ancient Cruceiro, before dawn. Silence.

I packed up and left about 4 am, stepping over bodies to find the exit and inhale deeply the smoke-free air of the night.  With a shudder of relief and a little apprehension I set off trying to make out the yellow arrows.  The camino entered into a forest and the little light there had been from the stars and a bit of moonlight was extinguished completely.  I used my walking pole to tell me where the side of the path was and moved each foot carefully feeling for solid ground.  The rain had left little streams running across the path which, from time to time soaked my sandals.  Whenever I stopped there was silence.  All my senses were alert and my body tense.  Then I relaxed, breathed in slowly and fully. Elation, a great elation, a lightness and a peace took over.  I wondered  how I could have lived so long without venturing alone in the dark into a forest.  Now I was present to myself and in the silence I could feel my blood pumping in my ears.

Another cruceiro, early morning, Camino Portuguese.

There is a prayer of Theresa of Calcutta which  Pilar and I say each morning and on this early morning in the dark of the forest, alone, I broke the silence by saying it out loud, quietly,

“Today, let Peace reign over us.  Let me trust in God,  Let me trust that here, where I am, is exactly where I am meant to be…………”

Arriving in Santiago at dawn.

Silence in the afternoon.

The Ruta de La Lana joins the Camino Francés in Burgos.  I enjoyed meeting up with other pilgrims and becoming part of the Camino community, after a month walking on my own.  I missed, though, the solitude, so I found that I could have both if I continued walking in the afternoon.  In May of this year (2013), the Camino Francés was busy so nearly all the pilgrims stopped around lunchtime since the albergues filled up quickly.  The Camino fell silent.

Afternoon on the Canal de Castilla

Solitude and silence can be torture if imposed.  When it is a choice it is a wardrobe, a home, a castle, a warm sleeping bag, a comfort which makes all comforts redundant.  In God’s presence, even when he feels absent, we have our home.  The Camino, even the busy Camino Francés, offers moments of silence.  The pilgrim has chosen to leave the noises of everyday life behind.  The simple business of walking 100, 200, 800 kms distances us from these noises.  If we can take that little bit of extra space, in a meadow, up a tree, in a church, or on a secluded stone in a copse, God speaks to us in silence.  The Camino Forums are witnesses to many stories of life-changing moments on the Camino.

These afternoons on the Camino Francés were the easiest walking I had this year.  The emptiness meant that the Camino had quite a different feel to it compared with the mornings.  The few pilgrims I met passed me by quickly, slowing down for a greeting, but moving on to their night’s destination.  Often they were people who had little time off work and wanted to walk a good distance each day.  Otherwise the way was deserted.

Another snail.

When the weather permitted I would lie down for a siesta on the side of the Camino watching the camino and seeing how close the birds would come.  I’d watch the wind in the grass and the reeds, the constantly re-forming cauliflower clouds and I would close my eyes, resting, doing nothing.  It is wonderful to do nothing.  If God has given me one great grace, this is it: to know that He wants me to do nothing, a lot.  He has, I believe, given everyone this grace but, like silence, this gift often lies in a drawer unopened.

The silence of the night.

Dusk and dawn are noisy times.  It is when many animals seek their food.  When I am sleeping out they root around, coming very close if I have left any food unwrapped.  In Spain, it is usually wild boar and deer;  in England it was foxes, deer and badgers.  Then in the middle of the night silence falls.  When walking during the day I am aware of the silence, but walking itself is noisy with the crushing of my sandals on the earth and the rustling of clothes.  At night I can be motionless, there is no traffic, there are no airplanes or flies.

One of my few night-time photos, England, near Macclesfield. I walked late into the night and triggered an arrhythmia.

I sleep well in the open air so I usually only snatch a moment of silence and a deep contented awe at my smallness under the heavens.  There is a point, about 4 or 5 am when the temperature drops suddenly and I wake up.  I know the animals will soon be nosing around so I snuggle up in a bundle in my sleeping bag smelling the grass as it gathers its dew.  The day is beginning and I reach in my memory for Mother Theresa’s prayer,

“Today, let Peace reign over us.  

Let me trust in God,  Let me trust that here, where I am, is exactly where I am meant to be.

Let me not forget the infinite number of possibilities which are born of Faith.

Let me use the gifts I have been given and share the love which has been given to me.

I am happy to know that I am a child of God,

and to let His presence fill me to the marrow of my bones and free my soul to sing, to dance, to rejoice and to love.”