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The pilgrimage routes to
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When we started, we did not know - exactly - why we were doing it We had lives which were - more or less - satisfactory We had friends known much of our lives We had children - changed from chrysalis to butterflies We had things: things like machines things like music things like pictures things like shelves full of books things like money and pensions and security We did not have one thing - and maybe that was why we started When we started, we put one foot in front of the other We still did not know - precisely - why we were doing it The miles passed - many of them pleasantly Our feet blistered and were slow to heal Our ankles turned on loose stones The rain beat its way through our clothes The cold chilled the marrow of our bones Some nights, refuge was hard to find Some days, miles of hot dust had no fountains When the first few of many long days had passed We found - without words - that we no longer walked together That together we spoke in our own tongues - and often of things we had left behind where we began That together we shut out new experience with the wall of our togetherness That alone we spoke in other tongues and of our common experience That alone we were open - open with interest and curiosity. Often we met - with gladness - at the end of the day To know our paths went on together was enough When we got to the cathedral we sat down We saw - through the eyes of those long before us The blinding faith, the crucial thirst for salvation The tower slowly closing off the sky And we counted our blessings - several hundred of them Starting with the kindness of ordinary people on the way And with the warmth of other travellers on the road Travellers not at all like us - not in age, not in origin, not in interests But warm across all these distancings And ending with the friendship and love We had left behind where we began. When we got to the sea at the end of the world We sat down on the beach at sunset We knew why we had done it To know our lives less important than just one grain of sand To know that we did not need the things we had left behind us To know the we would nevertheless return to them To know that we needed to be where we belonged To know that kindness and friendship and love is all one needs To know that we did not - after all - have to make this long journey to find this out To know that - for us - it certainly helped written near Sanguesa, Navarra, September 2003 |