“Oh Sonia, if anyone should walk the Camino it’s you,” she gushed.
“Really?” I answered, intrigued. “You think so?”
“Absolutely,” she reassured me, without going into why she thought that.
“I’ll look into it,” I responded. But then after the class began, I didn’t think about it again. At least not for a while.
About six months later, I was teaching a workshop in Australia and another student came up to me and asked if she could show me some photos she took while walking the Camino.
“I don’t know why,” she said, “but I feel that I must show you these.”
While the photos themselves weren’t terribly remarkable, seeing them nevertheless had a strange impact on me. As she gave them to me, one at a time, I had the strangest feeling I had been there before. In fact, it was such a strong feeling of déjà vu that I had a difficult time concentrating on my class for the first few minutes.
I meant to talk to the woman more about the Camino after class, but as soon as it ended, she disappeared. That night I had intended to look up information on the Camino on the Internet, but as is so often the case after teaching a class, once I had dinner, I went to my room and immediately fell asleep.
I thought more about the Camino on the flight home the next day. Still feeling the impact of those photos, I decided that it was something I would put on my bucket list to do someday.
When I got home, I looked into it a little more, but still not too seriously. I was so busy with other things that it kept getting pushed to the back of my mind.
That’s why I was taken by surprise when I woke up and received this intuitive directive. I literally said out loud, as if to my Higher Self, or my spirit guides, or the Universe at large, or whatever spiritual influence was sending me this message, “Okay. I hear you. I’ll go.”
Only I didn’t know what I was agreeing to.
So I got online and started to learn what I could about the Camino.
The Camino was one of the three major pilgrimages in the Catholic religion. There was the pilgrimage to Rome, the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and the Camino to Santiago, Spain, where it is believed that the bones of James the Apostle are buried.
In the Middle Ages, this path, also known as the Way of St. James, or simply The Way, was traveled by over a million Catholic “peregrines,” or pilgrims, who walked it as a plenary indulgence to be forgiven their sins and made new in the eyes of the Lord. Or at least the Church. Due to this it had also become known as The Way of Forgiveness, which is clearly the way I was seeking.
As I read about the Camino, chills ran through my entire body. I knew in some deep part of my being that I had already walked this path once before. The sensations were vague, but unwavering. I simply knew it was true but could not access more than this overwhelming feeling.
Legend has it that the apostles, after the death of Christ, were sent off all over the known world—India, Egypt, Africa, Armenia, Persia—to spread the word of Christ. Catholic documents say James the Apostle was sent to Spain to convert the nonbelievers. He wasn’t that successful, however. He only managed to convert seven people in twelve years.
In A.D. 42 he returned to Jerusalem, where his luck changed and he began to convert people by the scores, including a known sorcerer named Hermogenes. This impressed the crowds and drew all the more converts to him but angered a Judaic monarch, Herod Agrippa, who had St. James arrested and executed, then had his body thrown over the city walls where wild animals could devour it.
But his loyal followers recovered his body and sent it back to Spain in a rudderless stone boat, where it eventually landed on the Galician coast in northwestern Spain, surrounded by scallop shells.
All seven of his original converts received his body and took it inland for a proper burial. That was the last anyone heard of St. James for another 800 years.
Then one day, a hermit named Pelayo, who led a quiet, isolated life, was awakened out of his daily routine when he noticed a brilliant star overhead.
He then heard celestial music, which caused him to rush to the local bishop and report what had occurred. He was followed back to where he’d had his vision by a group of local peasants who, armed with picks and shovels, discovered a tomb deep inside a dark cave near the site. In the tomb lay a body and a letter that said, “Here lies James, son of Zebedee and Salome, brother of St. John, beheaded in Jerusalem. He came by sea, born of the disciples.” This location where the tomb was discovered became known as the Santiago de Compostela (St. James Field of the Star). A church was soon constructed on this site.
Spanish bishops and kings were very excited, even ecstatic, over this discovery, and began encouraging pilgrims to walk to Santiago. Soon they came by the millions from all over Europe.
The Catholic Church, a vast power at the time, sent a group of highly religious and fearless Crusaders, known as the Knights Templar (or Knights of the Temple), to protect the pilgrims from thieves as they made their way to the shrine.
Their service as protectors of pilgrims expanded across Europe, from Jerusalem to Spain and Portugal. In support of the protection of pilgrims, the Knights Templar created what was to become the first banking system, allowing pilgrims to deposit their money with them in one city and collect it in another, so they could travel without worry, no longer making the pilgrims easy prey for robbers while on the road.
Because of their impeccable credit and upright means of protecting money, the Knights Templar became both extremely wealthy and powerful, often rivaling the power of kings.
They built several cathedrals and castles, which served both as monasteries and military posts, their powers increasing with time as the reigning popes exempted them from taxation and other oppressive jurisdictions enforced upon ordinary citizens.
Their rise in power eventually led to jealousy and accusations of being lovers of power and money by their enemies, in part due to their increasingly secret requirements for those who sought to join their ranks, coupled with their financial sovereignty.
As they became more powerful, they began to ask knights applying to join their ranks to take secret tests to establish their sincerity. These ceremonies and tests were never publically revealed, which ultimately led the Templars’ downfall. Because of their secrecy, the Knights Templar came under extreme suspicion and were subjected by their enemies to the most outrageous accusations, from heresy to idol worship to sodomy and more, some of which the accused confessed to after being arrested and made to endure horrific forms of torture.
On October 13, 1307, Philip the Fair, king of France, a manipulative man who was greatly indebted to the Knights Templar and both unable and unwilling to pay back what he owed, put out secret orders to round up all the Knights Templar across Europe and try them for crimes against both God and the Church in order to take away their power, thus leading to the infamy of the date, Friday the 13th.
Due to extreme torture used against the wrongly accused Knights, many of them made false confessions, including the grand master of the Knights himself, a man named Saladin. Some of these innocent men were sentenced and burned at the stake in Paris; others were killed elsewhere. Those in Spain and Portugal escaped this fate and were not accused of any wrongdoing, although all were eventually retired.
As I read this, my feelings of déjà vu intensified. I had had, ever since childhood, recurring dreams of being part of some sort of secret Catholic society, rife with extreme rituals, and devoted to the protection of people. The more I read about the Knights Templar who protected the ancient pilgrims, the more I was overwhelmed with a sense of knowing and, surprisingly, grief and sorrow.
I had written about these dreams in my first book, The Psychic Pathway, 13 years earlier and had spoken about them on many occasions to both my family and my students. I had spontaneously mentioned, almost without thinking, many times that I had once upon a time been a Knight Templar myself, and felt an intensely strong connection to Crusaders and the medieval Catholic C
hurch.
Funny how those dreams had faded in the past few years, having been such a big part of my life since I was a child. And yet, as I was researching the Camino, I felt the same eerie, ominous feelings I had in all those dreams.
I had long been considered and called a warrior, and had even been laughingly referred to as Joan of Arc by some of my closer friends for my fearless ability to confront and fight whatever I considered to be an affront to my spirit or the spirit of someone I loved. And yet, it was that very same warrior self that I longed to leave behind.
I was done protecting and defending the inner world—the world of spirit, intuition, and authentic personal power—and standing up to those who denigrated my work, and my world. I was also tired of fighting for the underdog and the oppressed at my own expense, and carrying those who I feared could not carry themselves. I was especially done fighting the “enemy” in my husband, or anyone else for that matter.
All of this flashed across my mind as I discovered more and more about the history of the Camino. I knew in my heart that perhaps this was one of the greatest reasons why I had to make this pilgrimage: to bring closure to an ancient story and identity that I no longer resonated with. Inside my being was a dark, heavy, patriarchal energy suffocating my inner feminine.
The self I yearned to be and express no longer resonated with the warrior essence. While I loved my strength, my fire, and my courage, I was war weary and needed to lay down my defenses and open my heart to a different kind of strength.
That is why I had to walk the Camino. I knew it in my heart.
5
Making the Decision
Once I made up my mind to listen to my inner guidance and go on this pilgrimage, I had to massively rearrange my life. It was no small assignment, as I would have to take at least a month and a half off of work and be out of communication with my world for that entire time. That was a long time to disappear, especially in the face of a divorce and massive professional responsibilities and commitments.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But obstacles had never stopped me from pursuing anything else in my life. In fact, it almost seemed a prerequisite for me that things be difficult if I were to undertake them. The challenge was what made life interesting.
First I told my daughters. To my surprise, they were all for it and fully supported my plan.
“Go for it, Mom,” said my oldest daughter, Sonia. “You’ve been saying you needed a change for some time. This is obviously a great way to begin making changes in your life.”
A born empath, Sonia had suffered along with me for the past several years, which only made me feel all the more guilty and depressed.
My other daughter, Sabrina, was my optimistic cheerleader. “You can do this, Mom. I know it’s important, so if that is what your Higher Self told you to do, you have to trust your spirit and go for it.”
Relieved that they understood and supported my intention without question, I now had to tell Ryan, who managed all my business affairs and to whom I would be leaving a mountain of responsibility and work while I was gone. I wasn’t sure what he would think.
I called him a few days later to tell him I was going to walk the Camino.
“What’s a Camino?” he asked, almost laughing when I told him that I needed to take more than a month off. I wasn’t surprised by his reaction. He knew me well and had seen me do other crazy and unexpected things before, but never of this magnitude.
“It’s an over 800-kilometer spiritual pilgrimage starting in France at the foot of the Pyrenees, and ending in Santiago, Spain,” I answered.
“You mean the Pyrenees Mountains?” he asked, not sure he had heard me correctly.
“Yes, the mountains.”
“How are you going to do that, Sonia? You just had knee surgery a few months ago!”
He was right. I did have knee surgery, and I was not yet fully recovered.
“I don’t know, Ryan. But I am being guided to do it, so I have to.”
“Are you sure you are being guided correctly?” he asked. “I’m not aware that you are much of a hiker.”
“I know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” I answered, laughing myself. “I’m not a hiker at all. But I guess I’ll become one.”
“How long does a Camino take? You have so many speaking commitments coming up this year. I’m not sure you have the time.”
“I don’t know. I’ve read it can take anywhere from a little over a month to two months, depending on how fast you walk,” I replied, now laughing even harder. “If I have to, I’ll run.”
“Across Spain? You are ridiculous.” I could picture him shaking his head on the other end of the phone.
“I know. It does sound ridiculous. But, seriously, Ryan. I have to go. I don’t know exactly why, but I trust my vibes.”
“Well, that I know. Okay. Let’s see what you have ahead for the year.”
We discussed my teaching schedule and discovered a window of exactly 38 days in May and June when I would be free to do the walk. Then I would have to show up in Vienna to teach a workshop.
“Put it on my calendar, Ryan,” I said to him.
“Okay,” he replied. “I’ve inked it in: WALKING ACROSS SPAIN.”
Hanging up the phone, I could feel my heart was pounding with excitement. I couldn’t believe I had just allowed myself to commit to this. I was going for it, and now there was nothing in my way.
6
Getting Ready
It was only two weeks before I was to leave, and I hadn’t prepared at all for the long trip ahead. What was I thinking? This was just like me. It wasn’t that I was intentionally procrastinating. It’s just that I rarely plan or prepare in advance. I prefer to act on impulse and intuition and leave the thinking and preparing part to sort itself out along they way. That always drove Patrick crazy. Rather than plan ahead, I just dive in and go for things in life, trusting all will work out in the end. And for the most part, aside from some occasional extreme stress, it has, at least for me. That made Patrick nervous because he didn’t blindly trust the Universe like I did. If anything, he was just the opposite, always preparing for the worst-case scenario, which annoyed me to no end.
Except this time, as I found my way to the REI store, with my “things to buy for the Camino” list in hand, I felt slightly annoyed at myself for having waited so long to get ready. Walking more than 500 miles across a country required a little more than good luck. I needed good boots, and it would have been better if I had broken them in first. Oh well. There was no time to do that now.
I was nevertheless optimistic. I knew I would make it because I intended to, but the effort might have been more comfortable had I picked up some boots earlier.
In fact, I thought, all I really wanted, more than anything else at this point in my life, was to be comfortable and comforted. “Funny way to seek comfort, Sonia,” I said aloud to myself. “Choosing to do one of the hardest things you can possibly think of. That’s smart of you.”
I laughed out loud. It was so like me to take on difficult things without thinking. I wondered now if maybe that wasn’t necessarily the best way to go through life after all.
“Too late now,” I said to myself out loud. “You are committed up to your earlobes on this Camino and leaving in two weeks. So I guess you’ll soon find out.”
My first stop at the store was the shoe department to buy hiking boots. It seemed like an easy enough task until I actually started trying them on. The salesman, a short, red-faced, rotund, and earnest man, was a pro boot fitter, and was not about to simply let me pick a pair that looked good and go merrily on my way. Once he heard what I was doing, he became very serious and said that it was absolutely essential to my success that I get the right boot for the trek ahead, and that I needed to take my time finding it.
“I’ve helped several people get ready for the Camino,” he said, making conversation as he set five or six pairs of boots in front of me to try on. “The last guy I helped was a priest from a parish in
Evanston. He was going to walk the Camino to raise money for kids in his parish who needed school supplies and lunches.”
I was embarrassed when I heard this. How noble that he had a cause that was so much bigger than personal reasons. Suddenly, walking to heal my unhappy heart seemed silly and self-centered.
“Why are you going?” the boot fitter casually asked as he unlaced the first boot and opened it up for me to try on.
I hesitated. I didn’t really know what to say. To share that it was to recover from the end of my marriage and heal my wounded heart seemed way too personal and somewhat selfish compared to saving poor children from going hungry.
I paused. “I don’t know,” I answered, not quite truthfully. “I’m unhappy and I want to walk my way out of feeling this way, I guess. I know there’s a happier, more authentic, grounded me that I want to connect with, a me that has nothing to do with anyone else.”
“I think that’s why most people go on long hikes. It’s a good idea.”
I slipped the boot on. It felt fine. “These are good,” I said. “I’ll take them.”
“Hold on a minute,” he answered, laughing at me. “Not so fast. We have to make sure they fit and will be comfortable for the long trek ahead. You haven’t even stood up in them yet.”
Feeling out of my element, I suddenly felt the urge to simply pick a pair and move on. This was the way I generally made decisions. I was quick. Impatient. Especially when someone was focused on taking care of me. I felt uncomfortable taking the time to make sure what I needed was adequately addressed. I actually worried that I was using up too much of the boot fitter’s time and this wasn’t fair to other buyers.
While I knew this was crazy thinking, it was apparent that all the buried feelings that I had tried to override with my spiritual education and training were no longer willing to be ignored. They came flying back into my face with a vengeance and made me sweat. It took everything in me not to chastise myself for having these feelings show up.
Walking Home: A Pilgrimage from Humbled to Healed Page 3