The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy

The Camino and Me Counselling and Psychotherapy
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    • Cork – St Jean Pied de Port
      • Day 1; St Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles
      • Day 2; Roncesvalles – Zubiri
      • Day 3; Zubiri – Pamplona
      • Day 4; Pamplona to Obanos
      • Day 5; Obanos – Estella
      • Day 6; Estella – Los Arcos
      • Day 7; Los Arcos – Logroño
      • Day 8; Logroño – Ventosa
      • Day 9; Ventosa – Cirueña
      • Day 10; Cirueña – Santo Domingo de la Calzada
      • Day 11; Santo Domingo – Belorado
      • Day 12; Belorado – San Juan de Ortega
      • Day 13; San Juan de Ortega – Burgos
      • Day 14; Burgos – Hontanas
      • Day 15; Hontanas – Castrojeriz
      • Day 16; Castrojeriz – Frómista
      • Day 17; Frómista – Carrión de los Condes
      • Day 18; Carrión de los Condes – Ledigos
      • Day 19; Ledigos – Calzadilla de los Hermanillos
      • Day 20; Calzadilla de los Hermanillos – Mansilla de las Mulas
      • Day 21; Mansilla de las Mulas – León
      • Day 22; Leon – Hospital de Órbigo
      • Day 23; Hospital de Órbigo – Astorga – 15 km
      • Day 24; Astorga – Foncebadón – 27.2 km
      • Day 25; Foncebadón- Ponferrada – 25 km
      • Day 26; Ponferrada – Villafranca del Bierzo – 23.5 km
      • Day 27; Villafranca del Bierzo – La Faba – 25 km
      • Day 28; La Faba – Triacastela – 26 km
      • Day 29; Triacastella – Sarria – 25 km
      • Day 30; Sarria – Portomarín – 22.4 km
      • Day 31; Portomarín – Palas de Rei – 24.8 km
      • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km
      • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km
      • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye
      • The Camino and Me
  • Themes
    • Stepping into the Ring
    • Enjoying the mystery
    • Fear and Courage
    • Risk and Vulnerability
    • Meeting and Letting go
    • Giving In
  • Tag: Pamplona

    • Day 4; Pamplona to Obanos

      Posted at 6:37 pm by Mary Murphy, on December 1, 2019

      On the outskirts of Pamplona I met Manoel and Sue again and we walked while we exchanged stories about how we had spent the previous night. However, the conversation didn’t last long as quite soon I began to slip behind with fatigue. When slowing down didn’t provide enough relief I decided it was time to take a break. ‘I’m going to have to give in,’ I shouted to let them know I was stopping.

      I felt I really had to stop, even though the environment around me wasn’t conducive to resting. The dry, cracked earth was home only to some spiky-looking plants. With little comfort to choose from, I considered an upright, concrete Camino bollard as a seating possibility. Once I was sure there wasn’t a softer option, I sat on it, and although it was a seat of sorts, it was not a comfortable one.

      As I contemplated my situation, I couldn’t believe that four days into the Camino I was already exhausted; it was so much harder than I had expected. Apart from the physical weight on my back, I was also carrying some very heavy emotions, and they were often more difficult to carry than the rucksack. Once again, I returned to thoughts about the kind of Camino I had imagined I would experience and this was nothing like it! In my imagination, the Camino was a healing escape, one that I was meant to fall in love with, and I had naively hoped I’d bypass the difficult stuff. I had underestimated completely how the conditions of the Camino would work to strip away my defences, layer by layer. This was going to be a struggle for which I was ill prepared.

      A couple of hours passed before I stopped again at a pilgrim monument on the top of Alto de Perdón where the seating options were marginally improved. The monument, a line of life-size pilgrim figures cut from iron, conveyed to me a sense of what it took to be a pilgrim in earlier times. Then, pilgrims had journeyed with minimal comfort in order to complete their Camino, and it seemed to me they must have walked with great commitment and sincere hearts. It was humbling to be reminded of what others were willing to endure on their pilgrim quest. While I rested there, I thought about what I needed to help me manage the challenges the Camino was presenting me with. I had already noticed that where I stayed and how supportive it felt was important to me, so I reflected on my options. The next official stop was Puente de la Reina, a big town, and at the start of the day it was where I assumed I would stay. Now I thought that is perhaps not what is best for me. Instead of falling in with what most pilgrims were planning I decided that I would stop in the small village of Obanos, a few kilometres before Puente de la Reina. Satisfied with my decision, I communicated my plan to Sue and Manoel before I took off again.

      After lunch the afternoon stretch was very dry and hot, hot, hot. The intense heat felt torturous and fatigue took me over completely. Manoel and Sue had fallen behind and I was walking alone, which is how I wanted to keep it. I am not enjoying this Camino one bit! By then, I was in such a resentful state that I didn’t want to speak to anyone. However, I sensed a presence close behind me and when I turned around I discovered my stalker was a beautiful black Labrador and hugs and kisses were exchanged. A dog was no threat! Within moments, the dog’s master, a man in his forties, appeared beside me and began speaking to me in Spanish. Although I tried to respond, I also wished he would just walk on and leave me alone. Then he demonstrated himself collapsing under a great weight and I realised the meaning of his words. ‘Yes, heavy and tired,’ I said. On cue, he lifted and held my rucksack up off my back and as I adjusted the straps, I felt the weight shift from my shoulders to my hips. In response, I almost cried with relief while I clasped his arm to communicate my thanks, repeating my words over and over. Soon afterwards he handed me his walking stick, insisting that I walk with it to ease the pressure. He still talked away in Spanish, none of which I understood, until I heard him say fiesta and I wondered if he was inviting me to a dance! Then as some others came into earshot behind, my companion fell back to talk to them and I took my chance to pull away.

      Prior to arriving in Obanos, I was reunited with Manoel and Sue and we headed straight for the albergue. However, we were in for some deflating news: it was closed due to a local fiesta. The Spanish man had not been inviting me to a dance after all! In disbelief, I gazed through the window, in the vain hope of seeing some life inside, but it really was closed. Moreover, it was the only albergue in the village. Sue and Manoel would have walked on, but I was absolutely determined not to go another step and I declared I was going to stay in a hotel. I had seen a sign on the way into town and I wanted to retrace my steps to find it.

      The sign I had seen was in fact a Casa Rural, a private house with accommodation on a room-only basis. Then while we stood outside the house, the man with the black Labrador reappeared and caught my arm by way of saying goodbye. He seemed to acknowledge that something special had passed between us; I felt it too. Before we parted, I offered to return his walking stick, but he refused to take it; it was mine to keep.

      Inside the house, I felt my spirits lift after the adventures of the day. We were shown to a lovely room which was like a treasure trove with pieces of antique furniture throughout and a little outdoor balcony where we could hang our clothes to dry. There were two soft single beds in place along with fluffy towels and an en-suite shower. An additional camp bed was provided for the third person; Manoel insisted that was him. I felt truly blessed by the kindness of my fellow pilgrims. It was their willingness to support me that meant I had both companionship and comfort.

      Emilio’s wife, Sue, Manoel, Me, Emilio – Obanos

      On our way back to the Casa Rural after dinner, we saw the hospitalero with his wife sitting outside the house enjoying the evening sun and we stopped to greet them. Within seconds he pulled at my arm to place me beside him, and although we had no common language, I felt we could communicate. Emilio, a man in his sixties, enjoyed comparing the colour of his skin with mine; it seemed to amuse him to touch my pale, white, cold arm with his sun-drenched, dark, warm skin. While we talked, he shared with us his store of fresh walnuts, breaking the shells against the wall with the palm of his hand. I felt relaxed and connected as I enjoyed Emilio’s hospitality and the companionship of my new friends.

      Back in our room, Manoel took out a Brazilian postcard that he had carried with him from home, perhaps for just such an occasion, and we all wrote our gratitude to the hospitaleros for their generosity. That day I felt touched by the generous interventions of strangers, and as a result, more connected to myself and those around me. At the time I wasn’t particularly open to receiving kindness. Yet those restorative experiences were exactly what I needed.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged Alto de Perdon, blessings, Camino Frances, generosity, gratitude, hospitaleros, kindness, Obanos, Pamplona, Puente de la Reina, support, Zubiri
    • Day 3; Zubiri – Pamplona

      Posted at 6:13 pm by Mary Murphy, on November 24, 2019

      I was awake at about 6 a.m., and while it was still dark I crossed the yard to the dining room, where breakfast for me consisted of a humble banana and coffee. Deborah, (Walking for love of God) was up early too and already tucking into a big bowl of fresh fruit, while a man I didn’t know kept a watchful eye on a small stove as he heated milk for his cereal. Observing the importance they had given their breakfast, I wished I too had planned ahead for the nourishment my journey required. Not just in terms of something more substantial to eat, though that was part of it, it was more about the sacredness of their morning ritual. It symbolised to me, patience, self care and apparent ease with themselves. In contrast, I couldn’t wait to be off.

      Packed and ready to go, I waited impatiently outside for daylight to appear so I could be reunited with the yellow arrows that would lead me out of town – and to greater ease, I hoped. However, I soon realised that I could not get away from what I was feeling inside and I knew it was going to be a repeat of the day before. The Camino I was experiencing was not the one I had imagined. I had misjudged it completely. Before leaving home, I thought I would love walking in expectation that I would get lost in the peace and beauty of it all. How wrong I was!

      During the morning I crossed paths with Sue and Manoel for the first time, while they had met a couple of days earlier in St Jean. Sue, a South African in her early fifties, had begun the Camino with her father, but they had separated soon afterwards to walk at a pace that suited them individually. Manoel, a sixty-something Brazilian, fell into step behind, while Sue and I talked, Sue every so often relaying to him the substance of our conversation and throwing in the few words of Portuguese he had been teaching her.

      After a while I walked on ahead of them as I found it challenging to be around people for any real length of time. The pain I was carrying inside felt like a dead weight and made it difficult for me to speak and connect with others. It was as though we were orbiting different planets and what I really wanted was to scream and lash out at the world I felt locked within, but instead of screaming I remained silent.

      My utter disbelief at how awful my experience felt didn’t get any easier to accept as the hours rolled by. In fact, it was further compounded by the struggle between my need for rest and my desire to run for the hills as I faced the challenge presented by the first opportunity to stop for coffee. Facing people I knew was difficult. I couldn’t say how I was feeling, so I knew I would have to pretend I was fine and I found that incredibly hard.

      At a busy outdoor tavern an array of brightly coloured rucksacks stood lined up against the wall while their owners sat at the many outdoor tables, chatting and having fun. I noticed the chatty young South African woman with her Dutch companion from the previous day, and while I stood at the bar waiting for my coffee, I scanned the environment for other seating possibilities. Seeing no alternative, I steeled myself to go and join the faces I recognised and although I tried to participate in conversation it was a huge effort for me. Then as soon as I finished my coffee, I fled. I had to get away to recommence my walk; I had to be alone. When I was with others, it amplified the painful depth of my disconnection from the world, and although I felt compelled to be alone, I also felt the pain and isolation of aloneness. I felt as though I was a small island adrift from the mainland, without the means to return home but I also know that even if I had been sent a life raft, I would not have taken it.

      Another, less crowded, opportunity to stop presented itself about an hour from Pamplona. There I was joined by Christian, a young German man I had met at the outdoor tavern earlier. As we talked he became the first person to ask why I was doing the Camino. On hearing his question, initially I felt stumped. While it sounds like a small, simple question, it’s actually quite big and I didn’t know whether I wanted to answer it sincerely or say something general that would deflect him. I was aware that a sincere response would feel exposing for me but I decided to take the risk. In hindsight I see that answering sincerely was more for my benefit than for his. As I began to find the words, tears came. ‘I’ve come to meet, and be alone with, myself,’ I said. In response, Christian wondered if that was not something I could do at home and I said ‘not in the way I want to experience it’. Actually I had come in the hope of experiencing a deep encounter with my soul. I wanted to be close to God, although I didn’t say so. I noticed my reluctance to name God and soul. Even on the Camino, where I might have assumed pilgrims were accepting and open about their spirituality, I felt vulnerable and reluctant to reveal mine.

      When I arrived in Pamplona in the blazing heat of the early afternoon, I found myself standing outside a homely and inviting two-storey stone house that advertised itself as an albergue and I decided to check it out. Inside it looked and felt just like a family home, and once the preliminaries were completed, I was shown to my bunk in one of the upstairs rooms. It was a complete contrast to the night before – more like staying in a bed and breakfast, where breakfast was offered for an extra €2.50. I found a little more of myself there, as the hospitaleros, two German men in their fifties, offered a more caring experience, in contrast with the no care experience of the previous night.

      In the evening, I was partly filling time and partly hoping to have a spiritual encounter that would connect me with God and myself so I joined a small local community for rosary in the Cathedral. Just when I though the rosary had reached an uneventful conclusion, I noticed the congregation joining the priest to walk in procession around the large, almost empty, church, while they were accompanied by what sounded like a choir of angels. Immediately, I felt moved to join them but I hesitated, telling myself I didn’t know where they were going! However, I felt drawn as if by magnet to the procession, and I put aside any reticence I felt about my spirit being so visible. While I walked slowly around the church, something within me melted as I sank deeper into connection. Then when I came into line with the choir I stopped to digest the experience fully, taking in the ordinariness of the group of men in front of me. As they sang, they channelled pure love and I felt transported to another world. The one I had inhabited earlier in the day had dissolved into a puddle.

      To witness the coming together of the local community to honour their connection with God, with themselves and each other touched me deeply. It was the apparent ease with which they took their place in honour of their God that affected me most, and I realised my struggle lay in the tension between my longing to satisfy the needs of my soul and my resistance to its fulfilment.

      Despite the uplifting experience in the Cathedral, once I returned to the albergue, I noticed myself withdraw. I didn’t have it in me to go and join the group in the garden for a drink, even though I had regained more of myself that day. As I lay down on my bunk I could hear laughter downstairs, and I wished I had a buddy to make my experience easier. I seemed to need someone to open the door for me, so most of the time I felt as if I was on the outside looking in, wanting what others had while I stayed in the shadows.

      Posted in Day by Day | 0 Comments | Tagged aloneness, beauty, Camino, Connection, disconnection, ease, emotional pain, God, Home, hospitaleros, isolation, longing, morning ritual, Pamplona, patience, peace, resistance, sacredness, self care, separation, Soul, spirituality, Zubiri
    • Mary Margaret Murphy

    • Recent Posts

      • Taking the plunge! 30/01/2021
      • Guided by Intention 30/01/2021
      • Day 34: Lavacolla – Santiago and Goodbye 13/04/2020
      • Day 33; Ribadiso – Lavacolla – 32 km 12/04/2020
      • Day 32; Palas de Rei – Ribadiso – 25.8 km 11/04/2020
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