pilgrimb, your post has had me thinking and remembering here. I was actually 'inspired' to walk the Camino when I was staying in the youth hostel in Cahors back in 2006, as a 'tourist' exploring bits and pieces of France. In the dorm room I was in, there was a lovely Frenchwoman who had started her pilgrimage in Le Puy who had been walking alone for three weeks. She radiated a deep, simple sense of joy, and when she spoke of walking the Camino this joy just shone out of her. There was an Englishwoman in the same room, and she was commenting to me afterwards that all that sounded far too dangerous for a woman alone- but somewhere inside me, a little bit of inspiration had taken hold, and I was already thinking.... hmmmmm, I might like to do that. The feeling became even stronger the next day when I accidentally stumbled upon the Chemin out of Cahors, climbing a cliff above the river where the view was superb, and wandering along beside fields filled with red poppies amongst all the other lush green growth. I knew real joy on that little walk, and my inkling to walk grew deeper...
I would have to say though that when I started walking the Chemin from Le Puy just under two years later, there was some joy and silence, but there was also a lot of very noisy talking to God on my part. I had many many things to say to God, about being orphaned, and how hard that was, and how did he expect me to believe when he didn't exactly help me then... Plus I found I was thinking back over my life, and remembered people I had neglected or had issues with. The first part of my walk from Le Puy was actually quite 'solitary' in many ways as well. (I spoke some French, but it was quite rusty, and I spent a lot of time 'alone'.) I had plenty of time 'alone' as I walked to yell at God, and remember some not so positive things about my relationships. And to be honest, I actually feel a bit sorry for those people who walk the CF always in a crowd, who never have that 'alone' time to think and yell at God!
But after about ten days, things changed. I had done all the yelling and thinking I needed to do- and as my feet walked, I knew a new silence within as I walked. There was no longer any need for words. I walked, and knew that 'thankfulness' was key- that my feel might hurt, but I could forget about that, and notice all the good things around me.
And now, having rambled on for too long, I would have to say I agree with Rebekah, though I hadn't really realised it before. I had a sense, particularly strong in certain places, that I was walking where thousands had trodden before. Those little medieval bridges that you walk over somewhere after Cirauqui are to my mind some of the most sacred places on the Camino. Walking over them I was aware of the stream of pilgrims, hundreds of years long, that had walked there before me, all heading for Santiago. And on the top of O'Cebreiro the holiness and the weight of past pilgrims was almost palpable. I have read something recently about 'thin places' where 'the distance between heaven and earth collapses and we're able to catch glimpses of the divine.' For me, O'Cebreiro was a 'thin place'.
Margaret
