This morning, I travelled the 40km from Estella to Viana by taxi.
The driver’s name was Jesus Martinez.
His middle name was Angel. I took it as a sign.
What would have taken me a day and a half to walk, only took 36 minutes on the freeway.
It broke my heart a little when I saw the line of pilgrims on the Way as I whizzed past in a car.
Me, not well enough to walk. Them, bent over under the weight of their packs, some limping, others hobbling along.
(By now we are all hobbling, in some way or another)
Later, when I saw them walking up the hill into Viana I felt for them, but I also was so happy I wasn’t them.
Just for today, anyway.
It’s like that line from that poem:
“…you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.”
This whole thing – being so sick – lead me to reflect on kindness, specifically kindness to myself, and how I don’t really know it at all.
I am not kind to myself as part of my natural state. I only employ kindness when it can be justified or has been sanctioned, and even then I often use it on a transactional level – as if it was currency – or sometimes just a utility, or a tool.
Maybe in the year ahead I can learn to be kind to myself, and my body, for kindness’ sake.
Maybe then I can learn about kindness to others.
I had a birthday snooze in the afternoon, and spent the rest of my day watching children play on the steps of the church while the sun set over La Rioja.
I attended Pilgrim’s mass in the evening, and as I felt the priest’s hand on my head during the Pilgrim’s Blessing, I knew tonight’s ‘Buen Camino, Peregrina’ will be one I’ll remember for a very long time to come.
Daily Braveries 