Our bus traveled from Finisterre to Santiago. We rode past the farmland and miniature pueblos of Galicia and landed in the motherland.
We had a three-hour layover in Santiago de Compostela where we had nothing to do but sit in an outdoor cafe, downtown, watching hordes of pilgrims arrive at the cathedral and publicly rejoice in Santiago Square.
And it was here that we battered and weary trail veterans silently processed the great human endeavor we ourselves had just completed.
This was my wife’s and my second Camino. And now it was over. Now our Camino would only exist in private memory. Flashes of mental images that once were, stored somewhere in the collective consciousness of mankind.
In a few hours we would be boarding a train with a lot of pilgrims who all smelled worse than chain-smoking billy goats, on our way back to the real world.
But each of us was moderately confused on this matter. “What IS the real world?” we were asking ourselves. “Is THIS the real world, out here on the trail? Or is the real world found back home, paying cellphone bills, watching 24-hour news, and cutting the grass?”
But for some reason, here in Santiago, I felt alive. Maybe more alive than I’ve ever felt.
I’ve always been alive, of course. Ever since I was born. But sometimes you don’t FEEL alive. Sometimes you actually forget that you’re alive. Sometimes, you simply go through the motions of life.
Take me, for example. I think, perhaps, I’ve been merely going through the proverbial motions for most of my adulthood. Just existing.
How can a fool such as I forget how alive he is right now? After all, being alive is such a rare and precious gift. Do you know how many people would give their own lives to be alive right now?
But sometimes you forget the blessing of your own humanhood. Sometimes you lose sight of what you’re here on earth for. There are entire swaths of your existence when you forget that our jobs on this planet are to be fully and beautifully human, and to help others do the same. For what else could we ever be?
Throughout centuries of religion and self-destructive dogma, sometimes our humanness has been belittled by the pious experts of the day.
As a child, for instance, I was raised by hardshell evangelicals who did not believe in being human. We tried so hard to be anything besides human, sometimes behaving more akin to reptiles.
Some of our elders inadvertently taught us to be ashamed of being born a mammal. Sometimes, I felt downright disgusting for being so errantly human.
But what if they had it all wrong?
What if mankind isn’t repugnant the way some of us were taught to believe? What if God actually LIKES humanity? What if Adam and his bride’s only fault was trying to somehow become more than they already were?
What if that’s the lesson for me to learn on this Camino? What if “trying to become more” instead of “just being” is the root of most of my problems?
What if you and I still live in a majestic Eden, with the entire magnificence of this lovely earth still lying at our feet? What if we are STILL marvelously and wonderfully made creatures with extraordinary engineering beneath the hood? What if we are beautiful and don’t even know it?
We may be mammals, yes. But have you ever stopped and observed how incredible our humble species is? We are born with the capability to reason. Born to be writers, engineers, mathematicians, musicians, artists, nurses, teachers, and steelworkers. Birthed with the innate ability to demonstrate self-sacrifice for a higher purpose. Endowed with inalienable rights to pursue happiness, love, and cheesecake.
And as I watch the throngs of pilgrims, both young and old, arrive here in Santiago, I cradle my coffee mug in my hands, lost in a kind of wonder.
I watch pilgrims wrap their arms around each other, covered in sweat, smelling foul, hair a mess, jumping up and down with elation, with open blisters bleeding, and tender joints wrapped with athletic tape, laughing together, embracing, and occasionally weeping. And I can’t think of anything more beautiful than being a human.
Thank you, God, for giving me the opportunity to be one.
Buen Camino a todos.
Questions: SeanDietrich@gmail.com
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Originally published on Sean’s website. Republished here with permission.
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