Yellow butterflies and the key to the castillo

I am writing tonight from my bottom bunk at the albergue as thunder and lightning from a sudden storm sweeps over the one-time Kingdom of Navarra, what I never knew this region of Spain was called until I walked the camino. At dinner tonight a Basque man named David told me “Laura” means flower in the Basque language. Tonight a man plays classical Spanish guitar, people talk and laugh in the plaza. Last night as I wrote in my journal a crowd gathered outside in the courtyard below. A sweet voice rose above the noisy crowd which silenced as she sang. Applause and shouts broke out. The girl sang again, more applause. Falling fast asleep to the beautiful spirit of the camino opens my heart.

Conversations reach a deep level quickly here. Within 8 KM an Italian friend shared that he believed The Bible teaches a good way to live but he doesn’t believe Jesus existed, citing a book that points out there is no physical evidence of his existence. We sat down so he could change into his sandals as his ten blisters made his boots painful. He observed that pain brings people together. I replied that beauty does too. His thoughts on the evidence behind the existence of Christ made me think for many kilometers about why this would be. Our God is mighty. He could have left as much physical evidence behind as he wanted to, but that’s not what belief is about. It’s about faith. And faith involves trust.

Most of the pilgrims I’ve met have come here by ourselves yet we could have never ended up this far alone. By now the constant walking over the Pyrenees and over the hills of the Spanish countryside has taken its toll on our bodies and our minds. Our friend Adolfo wrapped Lucy’s blister in a café as we headed out of Pamplona and he was there to help me later that day when the heat of the camino got to me. We are a group of Italians, Spanish, German, French and Mexican. I am the only person from the United States in our pilgrim family. We come together and lose each other and then when we meet up again. It’s an interesting combination of loosely holding each other and never knowing when we will see each other for the last time.

I have lightened my load twice now, leaving things at the Hemingway Hostel in Pamplona and then again last night in Puente de la Reina. The lesson is clear. The camino is as hard as you decide to make it. We all bring our own baggage and eliminating as much of it as possible is essential to hope to get to the finish line. How much weight we carry is our choice. I find peace in the metaphor.

I am fortunate to have minor “boo-boos” as a fellow French pilgrim calls them—bruises, blisters, swelling, pain, as yet nothing too hobbling. Some have suffered the effects of dehydration, cramps, tendonitis, ankle twists and knee problems. We all continue to walk—mas despacio (much slower).

Today instead of going all the way from Estella to Los Arcos we decide to give our bodies a rest by walking only 10 KM and staying at Alergue Hogar in Villamayor Monjardin. There’s a Roman castillo here and we heard the castle was closed, but discovered we could pick up the key to the castle at a bar. So we did. I’ve never been handed the keys to a castle before and expected it to be heavy and large and very metallic, you know castle-worthy. Instead it looked like the key to my old apartment. The next time I have a home I will put my key on a keychain marked castillo, to remember this beautiful afternoon when I was handed the keys to the castle.

Yellow butterflies have followed me everywhere since June. Every time I spot one I feel the love of the Lord surround me. When I walked around the ruins of the castillo, a fortress that once defended the Kingdom of Navarra, swarms of yellow butterflies flew all around me reminding me that the Lord has given me the key to the castillo.