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Camino de Santiago No. 12: An Act of Faith at Alto de Los Mostelares

Sunday, June 1st, 2008

I arrived at the convent as soon as it opened, ate a few pastry, and waited to see what would be asked of me, I wondered. Would I have to scrub pots and pans? Perhaps more dishes loomed in my future…

I soon found out something different was in store for me, something..unexpected.

I was told to go to the nearby mountaintop(hilltop?) on the Camino route to the next village, and build a gaint cross. Also, I was supposed to clean up the place-trash and so on, and clear all the rocks away from the area of the site where the cross was supposed to be.

¨What will I build it out of ?¨, I asked.

¨Rocks-small tiny stones and boulders¨, was the reply.

¨How long will it take to build it ?¨, I asked.

¨You will know when you are finished¨, was the reply.

¨Where will I sleep? What if it rains? What if its too late to get a bed in a refuge? ¨, I asked.

¨Worry for nothing. For this act of faith, you will be provided for. A bed will be provided for you¨, was the reply.

The sweet faced nun gave me a box of cookies. ¨For the person who helps you tonight.¨, she said.

Feeling somewhat nervous, and not being especially experienced in cross building or boulder moving, I started out.

The area she had pointed to in the distance seemed far off. It turned out not to be all that far, except that it was agony on my ankle, and it was slow going. I finally got to the top and looked around.

Alto de Los Mostelares is a beautiful lookout point, and looks out on the most beautiful picture postcard like valley you could imagine. It´s a landscape of green grasses and it´s in every shade of green you can think of.

Someone had, at some point, made a garden on this spot, and it had become quite overgrown. Here and there, barely dististinguishable beneath tall blooming purple thistles, were benches and picnic tables. There was a long stone wall running along the edge of the garden, and several pilgrims sat there eating lunch.

I sat on a bench, and wondered where to start.

First, where was I supposed to build the cross? Was I supposed to build it in front of everyone?

This was something I hadn´t considered…I hadn´t considered there would be other pilgrims there. In a world where faith is ¨private¨and everyone ¨does their own thing¨, I wasn´t expecting to have to display faith so..publicly.

This sounds odd, coming from a believer, but, hey, you try building a giant cross for a day on a hill while 400 or so people look at you and then tell me how you feel when you started the task…

I found a good spot to build it-sort of facing the Camino actually, right by where pilgrims were walking by all day long.

And..walk by they did, all day long. I working at about 10 am, just cleaning up all the trash, which took almost and hour.( In fact, many of the pilgrims that stopped by there on there way left tins and trash behind them. This was in spite of having three trashcans right on the site. Another example of how we could all make the world slightly better  along the Camino, if we only picked up our trash.!)

After picking up trash, I had to move all of the rocks. This required braun I did not know I even had. It took about 2 hours to collect all the rocks and boulders. As I worked, many pilgrims eyed me curiously-and I think, somewhat nervously, as I was accumulating an enormous pile of small boulders and rocks. Maybe they thought I was on steriods or something…

The building of the cross itself took over 5 hours.The design I decided on was the traditional cross, but with a circle in the middle of the cross, divided into four parts. Each part had a different color of small stones, which I had to collect from the Camino itself and then sort out individually. This part was extremely time consuming, and I got quite tired scooping up the stones in the road and the sorting them out, bit by bit.

People could now see that a cross was forming. More and more people were walking by, often stopping and watching me work. I had  a sudden, tremendous breakthrough in myself by such a public act of faith. My spirit soared and I suddenly wasn´t tired anymore, just completely intent on the task at hand and making as beautiful as I could.

As the cross took shape, many people stopped and made comments. Evryone seemed to see something of themselves, of their experience, in the cross.

One woman came up and said, ¨It´s very Buddhist.¨

Another woman came up to the center and said, ¨It´s a mandala.¨

One couple came up and prayed over it.

No matter what anyone said or did, I said nothing, just smiled and nodded, and kept on working.

Finally, it got so late no one was walking by anymore. It was just me, on the hill, with this cross, an amazing act of faith for me. A statement of love and goodness and everything light in the world, coming to this spot.

I finally finished when it was almost dark. It began to rain. I started to have a few moments of worry-and then banished them from my mind. I had come this far, I needed to believe all would be well.

I started walking.

And walking.

And walking.

It got quite dark. I became very cold, it was wet and gloomy and raining, and there was not a shelter in sight. After walking slowly, gingerly, along for several hours, I began to consider looking for a cow shed and spending the night with some cows or sheep.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I saw a refuge. At least, I thought it was a refuge. I walked up to the door of what seemed to be an enormous old church.

A man came to the door. ¨Come in, come in¨, he said.

¨Do you have a bed? ¨, I asked, half expecting him to say no.

¨Yes, you can have my bed¨, siad a man, a pilgrim, seated at a long table. ¨Thankyou for giving me the chance to give me your bed. You are the woman who was building the cross on the hill?¨, he asked.

Apparently, of the eight pilgrims staying there that night, almost all of them had seen me building  a cross on the hill on their way to this very refuge. They were, in fact, waiting for me, as this was the next closest place.

I gave the man, the pilgrim who gave up his bed, the box of cookies from the nun.

¨Why? ¨, he asked.

I told him how the nun had given me instructions that morning, to build the cross of the hill, and that for this act of faith I was not to worry about getting a bed for the night. I was told to give the cookies to whomever helped me that very night-and it was him.

The refuge was wonderful-they only had candlelight, and they had a long table, which they had me sit down at. They prepared a beautiful, simple supper of tomatoes in olive oil, bread, cheese, and wine. Someone massaged my shoulders; someone else cleaned my boots. I just sat there, contemplating the nun´s words, and realizing that she was right-I could not have been better rewarded.

It was discovered I had a fever-no doubt from walking in rain and cold and wet-and the woman in the bunk gave me some medicine and a cool towel for my forehead. Thruout the night, another woman (who was she?) kept rinsing the towel in cool water, and replacing it.

I was so completely moved, utterly moved by the whole experience that I have no more words for it. I think the entire day, the entire night, are probably the most spiritually amazing testaments to belief that I have ever experienced.

gigi

Camino de Santiago No. 11: Caseljeriz, Part Two: I Get Into The Village Groove

Sunday, June 1st, 2008

To pick up where I left off two entries ago…

I spent the next morning delivering beer and Coca Cola in a delivery truck.

How this happened is somewhat difficult to explain exactly; Or, rather, what I mean to say is such interesting things as this happen to me often in my travels. I often find myself having totally different adventures than everyone else-perhaps because I am open to whatever the day brings.

What happened is this: I awoke in the morning, completely exhausted. The snorers had outdone themselves the night before and sleep came and went. When I got up in the morning, I decided to go find a cup of coffee.

I went into a coffeeshop, and a local man who turned out to be a carpenter struck up a conversation with me. I explained I had to hang around his village for a few days, due to ankle problems..and said I wished I could see some of the nearby villages. He offered up his cousin, who apparently was delivering beer and sodas to Caseljeriz and all of the surrounding villages. A call was made, and before I knew it, I was in the front seat of the cab, between two very nice and extremely conversational Spanish men(one of whom was his cousin).

Due to the fact walking was difficult, I didn´t actually get to unload any beer from the truck. My job was instead, to smile alot and hand the owners of the bars and or tiny shops a clipboard to sign that the delivery was made. Then, we all drank coffee. By the end of the morning, I was so highly caffienated I had to switch to orange juice.

By about 1 oclock, I had seen what there was to see-churches(old, falling down); houses(old, falling down); alot of sheep; alot of sheepherders; alot of trucks of sheep manure; and, huge packs of sheepherding dogs.

I told them that I wanted to go to Mass in Caseljeriz, so they stopped a woman riding by on her bicycle and asked her if there was going to be a Mass. It turned out that there was none. There was going to be a Rosary, though, and did I want to go to that?

The Rosary was going to be at the same church that currently held a big exhibit of Mary art. It turned out the woman on the bicycle worked there. In fact, she was the only person in town who had the key to the church, other than the priest. Great. So, I got dropped off at the church, she opened the door and let me in.

There was a charge to see the artwork, but she didn´t charge me. She said that this was because I was coming to the Rosary. Apparently, they never have pilgrims at the Rosary. This is too bad-they are really missing out, as I would come to find out.

Anyway, I walked around the museum-which was interesting, sort of an erratic collection of Mary things-from paintings to sculpture to odds and ends. The place was freezing cold, and I was sort of jogging in place to keep warm. That´s when I began to notice the beautiful poems, all with a Mary theme, on the walls.

Here´s one(it´s in Spanish of course. English won´t do the poem justice, I am sorry):

Mesaje de Dios te traigo

El te saluda, Maria,

Pues Dios se prendo de ti,

y Dios es Dios de alegria.

LLena de gracia te llamo

Porque la gracia te llena;

Si mas te pudiera dar,

Mucha mas gracia te diera.

El Senor esta contigo,

Aun mas que tu estas con Dios;

Tu carne ya es tu carne,

Tu sangre es para dos.

Y bendita vas a ser

Entre todas las mujeres,

Pues, si eres madre de todos

Quien podria no quererte?

-Frederico Garcia Lorca

The whole place was full of poetry. I spent the entire rest of the day there, writing it all down, and talking with the caretaker about the place. While we were talking, many pilgrims came in. Some took the time to look around, while others just asked for the stamp and left. One woman pilgrim spent almost one hour looking at one statue and praying. One man came in and left awhile later, wiping tears from his eyes. One couple came in and talked so loud you´d have thought they were in a stadium. One man came in and walked into the museum without paying(it was one euro)..He told the caretaker that he,¨would look around first and see if it was worth it¨!

The Rosary was awesome. The whole place filled up with tiny village women, all dressed dark sweaters of navy or grey with heavy coats. All the women had the same haircut (short and practical) and the same length skirts( just past the knee). One sprightly woman wore a daringly red scarf. I felt quite wild in my orange tshirt.

The Rosary was literally the fastest Rosary I´ve ever heard-it literally lasted all of 15 or 20 minutes. I have never heard anyone speak Spanish so quickly-there were two women in particular who everyone seemed striving to keep up with. I gasped at their seemingly nonstop manner of prayer-the moment the priest paused, they were already at it. I gave up saying anything and instead looked at the artwork.

After they said the Rosary, they did something spectacular-something I have never seen. All of the village women stood up and began to sing Ave Maria. Thankfully, this was not done at a high speed, but at a slow, measured pace which I could keep up with. Then as they sang, they formed a procession-with me in it-and we all proceeded to walk around the chapel three times, singing Ave Maria. God, was it beautiful. (Although I´m sure it looked interesting to anyone watching-me, 20 or so tiny round village women!Oh, and the priest-let´s not forget him-he was there, too!).

After the Rosary,  a few of the women came up to me and introduced themselves. I got invited for coffee to one woman´s house, which turned into dinner, which turned into dessert….and what a dessert it was…

It was some sort of creamy, insanely delicious pastry, the color of clouds, with this creamy filling that tasted of vanilla and almonds. When I took one bite I thought I had died and gone to heaven. It was that good. It did not even seem like it could be food.

It turned out that the pastry was made by the local convent of St. Clare nuns-and that they actually sold the pastry every morning. My new friends told me to go the following morning, and sample to my heart´s content.

I looked at my watch..it was late! I had to get back to the refuge, or I would be late for my dishwashing duties. I said goodbye, promised to visit the convent the very next day, and went back to the refuge.

The next morning, I went to the convent as soon as it opened.

One walks thru the town to get to it, and then once there, one walks thru these beautiful doors into a sweet courtyard, where there is an old well(used by pilgrims in the past) and benches and so on. There is a little door to go thru to buy the pastry, and there is a case showing all of the different kinds, all featured on little plates, with little carefully lettered signs telling there names. It turns out the pastry I had had the night before was ¨St. Francis of the Assisi¨ pastry.

I found a buzzer, and pushed it. I waited…. seemingly, nothing happened. I sort of heard a mumble, but I could not discern from where. I hesitated, and then pushed it again. Again, the same mumble, but no sign of life.

Then a woman´s voice said, ¨Open the door.¨

Which door? There were two. There was a sort of little cupboard door, and then a big door. I was stuck between trying to decide which door to open, when the large door opened, and the sweetest, most beautiful nun came out, beaming at me.

She was probably about 70 years old, but she was ageless. She had a beautiful face, very rosy mouth, and was wearing a just past the knee habit of blueish grey, with an white apron over it. (Just looking at her, in fact, made me want to be a nun-at least temporarily.)

I was thinking, ¨Uh oh. Now I am in trouble. Now I´ve done it. I´ve seen one of them. Now what to do? What do I say?¨ (The Order of St. Clare nuns is a cloistered order-which means they don´t go out into the world-nor are they allowed to be seen by people in the world.)

The nun, still looking at me with a very kindly expression, said, ¨Are you Gigi?¨

And I,  astonished, thinking I was having one of those God-moments when angels sing at any moment and trumpets are heard and so on, whispered, ¨Yes.¨

And then she smiled even wider, and said, ¨Good. I´ve been expecting you.¨

And I thought to myself, at any moment trumpets will sound, angels will appear…

And she said, ¨They told me you would come today. The women in the village.¨

And I, smiling like an idiot, said (quite weakly, as up to this point I was thinking she might levitate or something, and was somewhat confused), ¨Ah..yes.¨

And then she said, ¨Well. Come in, come in!¨

And in I went. ( It turns out the Order of St. Clares-at least some of them-can be seen by women. Yet again, another opportunity happens traveling  for me because I am a woman that would never happen for a man. Interesting.)

I spent most of the afternoon there. What transpired while I was there was of the most private, spiritual nature, so I won´t share it here. But I will say that I tried alot of pastry-alot. And I will be making those heavenly pastry of St. Francis when I return to the States, because they are something that everyone I know should try at least once.

As evening approached, I told her I had to go. My dishwashing duties were about to begin.(Note to self: Do not volunteer for dishwashing duty three nights in a row in the future.)

She told me to come back tomarrow, on my way out of town. There was something she wanted me to do, she said.

¨Ok, I´ll come back in the morning¨, I said, and happy, full of pastry, cookies, and cakes, I walked down the road back to the refuge, thinking what a perfect day. I had really gotten into the village groove.

It´s days like this that make me see my injury as a blessing-I mean, who would have thought? So yet another lesson from the Camino: It´s not what happens to me that is all that important, it´s my attitude about it. And..my attitude is one of optimism, absolutely shining optimism. I think it may be because of this attitude that such wonderful experiences are coming my way, everyday.

¨Coming Up Next: ¨An Act Of Faith at Alto de Mostelares¨

gigi