We had already walked 29 miles on the previous two days. I was stiff and sore when I woke up, but didn’t find any blisters. I was determined to at least try the most demanding day of our Camino. Today we would walk for 18 miles. 

After stretching the stiffness out and bandaging the hot spots on my big toes, I developed a plan. I would walk for about 9 miles and then stop for lunch. I’d think of that as “one day”. After lunch, I’d consider the last 9 miles a new, fresh day with only 9 miles left.

As usual, I started out walking with our group but we soon broke apart, all striding at different paces. I wondered if it would be harder to keep going physically for 18 miles, or mentally. I couldn’t remember a time where I had 10 hours ever to just think without another purpose. What would occupy my mind?

Buen Camino. Buen Camino. Buen Camino. I struck up short conversations with people from France, Puerto Rico, Argentina and Brazil. Most were on their first camino and were Roman Catholic following on this spiritual pilgrimage as a life-long dream. I saw bikers today, but they rarely had time to speak as they either whizzed by or huffed and puffed up the hills. No time for conversation.

I found my group for lunch and uncharacteristically felt I needed more “fuel” than my usual midday meal. I indulged on paprika-laced octopus and potato tortillas. I started out refreshed after lunch but realized after the first 15 minutes that I was in dire need of a restroom! For 50 euro cents for “non-clientes” a friendly bar was my savior waystation.

I was determined to continue on although I didn’t feel particularly great. There was always an option at the next town to call a taxi and stop walking. I wanted to at least try to complete the last 9 miles for the day. After all, I had a plan.

After my restroom stop, I walked alone. It wasn’t the physical exertion that was so demanding, but the mental exertion of keeping my mind occupied. The first two days I had played a never-ending loop about work, my eventual retirement, my childhood and the people in my life who were important in forming my faith. I thought of other church trips I’d been on going back to early adulthood. My thoughts were playing in an endless loop as I walked. I tried interspersing “Our Fathers” and “Hail Marys” and counting my steps from 1 to 100. I was sure I was close to the end, but a map showed I still had 7 miles to go!

I thought back to Day 1 of my camino when I experienced the first night described by St. John of the Cross. This night is represented by twilight as light begins to leave us and correspondingly where we leave our attachment to earthly things. I thought back to Day 1 and the question: What am I attached to that is preventing me from deepening my faith?

Today, on Day 3 as I walked in an endless monotone of exhaustion and desire, I experienced the second dark night of St. John of the Cross. In this night there is total darkness, and we enter into the night by living by faith alone, a faith that excludes all intellectual knowledge. In this night, we trust that God is there, not because we can see, feel, or hear Him, but because we know that He is there. He is there protecting us from harm. It is a “night” because if the soul denies what it perceives through the senses, it lives in darkness devoid of light. The soul must pass through this dark night, devoid of all light and shadows in order to reach union with God.

I have no recollection of the last 6 miles I walked. I cannot describe the terrain, the foliage, or if there were birds or cows on the path. I walked in the middle of the day in total darkness.

On the last mile I came upon another member of our group, Suzanne. It was my first recognition that I was back in the reality of our world again. Suzanne had been my encouraging shepherd on the previous two days, but she said she was thinking about stopping and taking the bus the last mile.

Instead, we walked the last mile together on faith alone in the darkest of nights and made it to Arzúa.

To God be the Glory.

 Blessings, my friend,
Agatha