Misterious

Day 13: Portomarin to Palas del Rei – 24 km, 8.5 to 9 hours As I made my way through the misty morning, humidity was literally hanging in the air. I’m pretty sure steam was rising off my shirt as I heated up from the climb out of the town. Surrounded by the mist, I half expected (or hoped) a secret location to appear like in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon. As magical as it was to walk through the enchanted forest, even as the veil lifted the mystery of what was to unfold during the day’s Camino remained. Yesterday, the walk to Portofino was filled with deep heart openings. And angels dressed as trees, animals and people appeared to share with pilgrims the abundance of their harvest. Today’s journey revealed my stories, relationship and connections with ancestors. All four of my grandparents walked with me in turn. I came across a memorial on the outskirts of Mamed Belad and my grandparents came to mind. I said a prayer for them and laid a stone on the altar. I felt hurried as a group of people approached, causing me to choose to leave before I had honoured them in a way I felt appropriate. I got to thinking about my relationship with my maternal and paternal grandparents all of whom have passed. I began to cry because I didn’t get close to and barely spoke with my maternal grandparents due to a language barrier…and yet there wasn’t one. There was however, a wound… When I was four years old my parents sent me to a French school where I was ostracized for not being able to speak French. I came home from school crying the first week and when mom asked why, I told her that I was not allowed to go to the bathroom because I could not ask in French. This upset my mom greatly and after apparently giving them an earful, I switched schools. I carried that shame, that scar for years and although I was in French immersion throughout junior high and high school, I never spoke French at home or when amongst my mom’s family who are Franco-Ontarien. I moved to the West coast in 1991 and never had the need to speak French. In 2004, while travelling in Mexico, I met a man from a small town in France and we began to date. I went to visit him in France and his family only spoke French, so I had to speak French. Given my experience as a child, and the fact that I had spoken French for many years, it took a lot of courage to do so. At one point his dad made fun of me, my accent and mistakes I was making. I was triggered. The old would poked open. As a reaction I sarcastically suggested we speak in English… There was a moment of tension, and then laughter and then no more making fun of me or my accent. From that day forward I decided to speak French or any language without ego…without fear or care about making mistakes and just doing it for it allows me to communicate with people wherever I go and expands possibility of connection. I had a deep cry when I realized how that childhood experience prevented me from being closer to my maternal grandparents. I looked down at the path and before me was a heart drawn into the sand. A gift. I stopped and in the middle of the heart I wrote Leo and Yvette, the names of my maternal grandparents, and carried on with deeper connection and a lighter heart. A stone called out to me and I picked it up and held it in my hand, holding a conversation with my paternal grandmother, Bubby. I told her that I wished we’d had more time together. That I wished that I had gotten to know her more. And I thanked her for her stylish ways and for her part in sparking my interest in fashion. There is more to speak to about Bubby but I’m going to walk with her a bit more to see what she has to say to me. With a clear heart and mind I walked along the crunch crunch of a path composed of crushed acorns which had fallen from the tree, inspired to draw a heart ❤ for Joël. He was also with me. At one point I picked up a fan-shaped pine tree branch and immediately my paternal grandfather came to mind. I had a strong connection with Poppa. He was an adventurer. An innovator. And he rode a motorcycle and had tattoos. I spoke to Poppa for some time as he accompanied me up a long hill. I cried, wishing he had been able to take us (his five grand daughters) to Disneyland and to stay alive to see us all married – if he had been able to keep that promise he would still be alive lol! He had promised this when he was in the hospital. I knew he wished it too, but he died in that hospital. And when he did I woke up in the middle of the night just before we got the call to inform us of his passing. I think this was a point in my life where my heart seized closed. I hurt so deeply. I had loved him fully and openly and looked up to him and he loved me back unconditionally and he was gone. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized that I could still love him, that it was safe to open my heart to others even though he had left his physical body. At the top of the hill I turned around and took in the expansive view, overlooking and taking in where I had come from on this journey. I came across a huge quartz stone in the shape of a heart and brushed the pine needles across it. I walked a few steps and saw a large quartz stone at the very top of the hill. The perfect place for a memorial I thought. I caressed the soft pine needles with the prickly tips and lay the branch down on the stone, thanking Poppa for his love and for passing on his sense of adventure and wishing him to enjoy the view. I miss my grandparents and often wonder about the knowledge, stories and wisdom they would have passed on should they have lived longer. With gratitude for all they shared and inspire in me, I realize that they remain me with me in spirit, and continue to teach me when I walk heart and mind open. After a long hot day of walking I arrived in Palas del Rei where Adrienne and I checked into a pensione and shared a lovely meal to celebrate our Camino walk together. She departs today and I walk on my own, into the mystery, along with my grandparents, my parents, my husband, my friends and family and all the other pilgrims on the Camino. My heart is full yet light, and I am content. Om, Me