Burgos to Hanantos

My boots are assigned to the abdomen of my pack. At least until my blood dries thoroughly into their fabric.

BTW: when boots “spoon”, they fit best and seem to prefer tongue to toe.

Needed a rest day. Mr. Park and Roy were taking a rest day in Burgos. Mary and Michael and Deborah were in Burgos. Later this day, Tim and Sharna would be in Burgos. I needed a rest day.

Woke with little pain. Decided on my brooks trail shoes. (Not friends with das boots, yet.) Packed because Albergue only allow one Pilgrim night.

Breakfast with friends. Felt okay. Deciding … rest is permitted. Pushing is to be avoided. Deciding … maybe a rest day stroll.

No goal, only potential. “Do I stay or do I go now?” If I stay, there may be … if I go, it could be double. Maybe I walk to museum, cathedral, shop. Maybe I walk with my Camino just a little. Who do I need to spend time with? (Never with a preposition end a sentence, said my eighth grade teacher.) I walk.

Mr. J.B. Park gives me what seems like a blessing. Mr. J. B. Park told me I would not have rain. The path forecasted rain. I thanked him – Buen Camino!

Walked onto the Meseta. All (most) guides call the Meseta desolate. Few pictures celebrate its beauty. There are no homes between villages.

The Meseta may be a gateway to heaven’s garden. The wind is amazing. After getting into the rhythm, and exploring inside during the way to Burgos, this is a harsh and healing place.

El ferviente y amoroso aliento del Espiritu.

The wind! The wind breathes! The wind of Espiritu breathes on this earth! Not gentle; loving and with power. Weeks ago, this wind would be painful. An obstacle. Today, the Espritu pummels and inspires. Heals, somehow. Fearful gusts.

I smile. Tears would be ripped away by Espiritu. No sympathy. Harsh healing power. I smile.

Landscape. Exposed farm land, growing in Espiritu. Windmills, humanity’s attempt to thrust technology into the path of Espiritu. Successfully defined by techno-economists. Walked through the bones (stones) of the earth here, stacked or piled in skeletal pattern. Exposed bone of earth alongside fertile fields.

Espiritu, heal bone, please! Espiritu does not deter. Birds sing louder, planted fields yield and nourish. Espiritu stings, but heals. Rock is clean and white, like bone. Soil supports the coming harvest. Breathe on the Way, on those who walk their path, Espiritu!

Rain clouds threaten all along.

I cannot stop smiling. The Meseta heals.

Arrived in a village, seeming surreal: a village made for Pilgrims. Can this place in a dell on the Meseta be more oasis than mirage? Checked into an Albergue; reserved the meal. As I finished cleaning up, rain poured. Looks cold, but Sten from Belgium says it was not too cold. Many were caught in the downpour. All arrived exhilarated. Did I miss something, with Mr. Park’s dear blessing?

Dinner with new Pilgrims. The Camino, like all human constructs, knows itself in odd ways. A woman at dinner speaks of the inspirational walk she had with another woman – and I know that person, who walked on ahead. Like I know what is behind me on the Camino. Another blessing.

I welcome my recollection of Richard Bach’s “Illusions” – which I hope my children read with wonder. “The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life.”