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Published: August 31st 2007
...continued Cahors would be the last time I would ever see The Way. As I sat, as I wandered through the small picturesque town situated on a bend upon the Lot River—as I felt my body and listened deeper to a purpose gone unknown—I came to understand much about Le Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle. The Way presented itself with all I had dreamt of: it was rough, it was a challenge, and it was isolation and segregation from the external world beyond me. The Way of Saint James was immense, and its’ scope of power and realization fulfilled my expectations, but it guided me in the opposite direction.
From the outset, I imagined walking alone. I saw myself wayfaring with the simple contents of a backpack filled with few clothes, tent and sleeping equipment, and the necessities of any photographer and writer. Mother Nature would wrap around me and protect me. She would warm me by night and cool me by day. And onward the months of walking would proceed; through the Midi-Pyréneés of Central France, over the mountains of the Basque country and onto the Spanish plateau towards Santiago de Compostella on the northwestern coast
where Spain meets the Atlantic Ocean. From there, my trails would continue, carrying me south down through Portugal and into Lisbon before the much-anticipated crossing of the Straight of Gibraltar toward North Africa.
Ah yes… the beauty of dreams. They are fantastical. They are the stretching of the mind into a realm where possibility reigns supreme. Welcome to the heart of the soul, where the rationale mind is left behind for something more massive, for a life of greater beliefs, adventures, lifestyles, opportunities, and best of all—Love. Dreams make the world go round with a peaceful coexistence, and dreams create a space of change because, as I was about to find out once more, not all dreams come true. Mine certainly would not.
Le Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle came with enthusiasm and it left with enthusiasm transmutated into deep appreciation. Two days after I arrived by foot into Cahors I left by train, traveling at exhilarating speeds northward into Paris. The factors were many to bring me to such a sudden conclusion, and it was The Way that allowed me to experience these lessons. It was the art of the pilgrimage that presented me
the direction in which I was to proceed. Such is The Way.
Evolution of the Journey As a lone wanderer, exploring the different cultures of the world in my solitude, I have experienced transformative emotions and periods of surrendering. Through this habituation of remaining upon a solo-quest and venturing into the unknown by myself, I have come to understand that the best method that allows me the most growth is to be just this—alone. It is a repetition of isolation from family, friends, people and places I know best.
Therefore, in order to suckle from the power and meditation The Way of Saint James meant to me, I firmly believed I must go alone. I must recede into my inner state of hermitage and walk the Earth as a troglodyte. I must be the monk of the Tibetan highlands, dwelling in solitude somewhere in the cave of my unknowing. I left with this understanding, and I came away with a new perspective.
All things great and small come and go. My period of the solo-quest came at a young age and taught me more than I can transcribe at this moment. I view one of
the journeys within the quest, if not all, as a modern
right of passage: the transformative journey all boys must take to become men. Without a male in my life to show me the way, I had to go alone, to places and among people I never knew.
Now, long over and digested with meaning, the adventure changes. The pursuit of the unknown is still vibrant within my imagination, yet it does not involve a lone image of Cameron Karsten. I am there, yes. I carry a rucksack and minimal weight (
Less is more). And my spirit soars. But more than anything, I am accompanied. I am in the company of family and friends, of loved ones and strangers alike—all coexisting within this human family. In this new vision, the emphasis no longer portrays a right of passage or a profound phase of revelry or surrendering, but relationship. It remains a continuance to open the mind, body and soul in order to release the heart’s love, but it also involves the very essence of being human: relationships. The journey takes a new turn into the growth among relationship between two or more persons giving and receiving, and relearning
to love one another each new day. It is the art of sharing.
Factoring In Wisdom It was over a meal one night in a small town by the river. I had spent the afternoon walking with a fellow pilgrim from Germany. His name was Tobias, and instantly we bonded, sharing the many beliefs we lived for. It was the art of sharing and as we continued to talk under a plastic shelter, the rains lashed the grounds while brilliant flashes of lightning alighted the darkness of night. Thunder roared across the horizons, causing the electricity to flutter, and the energy of the evening rose. He inquired about my solitude.
"The whole way you will walk alone? All the way to Lisbon?"
"Yes," I replied. I then relayed my reasonings.
Tobias paused after I finished. He was respectful, but I could see he was thinking. At last he responded, nodding his head. This is what he said, and at that moment I did not grasp its' full power: "You can't learn everything by yourself."
Tobias was right. For the first time on all my travels I began to experience true loneliness upon The Way.
Never before had I been lonely. In the past, there were moments when I was overcome with being alone, but it was not a sense of missing someone—missing the gift of companionship. Albeit, while walking the last three days into Cahors, my mind struggled with a ping of loneliness that only grew sharper as my feet moved onward, rising and falling over the rocky terrain of southern France’s Lot region. The heat intensified in this dry climate as dust rose and my mind burned. I missed family. I missed friends. I missed the lifestyle I knew and it all twisted me into the struggle of confusion.
The corkscrew of my mind fought it:
Nothing important, I thought.
Just your desires and wants. Keep pushing. Keep pushing. As the days went passed and the moments alone walking, sleeping and eating gave me the space to truly feel, observe and rethink the train that chugged and blew its’ whistles through my mind, I came to see the reality of my present situation. Before me, I had two and a half more months of walking until reaching Lisbon, Portugal. First I had to go up and over the Pyréneés. Second
I had to keep moving, every day walking to an unknown destination where I would unpack my gear, curl up for a short night’s rest (
if you could even call it that), and then pack it all up again the next morning for another day towards some other destination. Thirdly, I had the cold to combat as summer neared its’ completion and the transformations of fall descended upon me with the falling leaves. An august moon would shortly be in the past as the crisp winds would sail over the Atlantic; the clouds heavy with hulls of rain. I faced the facts. I was ill equipped and unprepared.
The Last Steps of Le Chemin de Saint Jacques de Compostelle The moment I stepped into Cahors the clouds opened their frames and released their cargo. It poured as I quickly sought shelter within a phone booth. The glass shielded me, but the winds swept the rains under to shower my sandaled feet. I looked around and saw Cahors. I pulled open my shoulder bag and removed an apple. It was my seventh apple I had eaten that day; another day on the apple diet. No, I had not seen
any prunes or pears despite my eyes’ keen awareness. Only apples. And more apples. Suddenly I remembered Tobias. His words came back to me like the coldness that crept into my toes:
You can't learn everything by yourself. Those twenty minutes in that one phone booth with my seventh apple, and the wisdom of my fellow pilgrim, changed me. I saw both the external world of Cahors, as well as the internal world I was walking with. It was Cameron Karsten, silent in a
one-man glass shelter—silent and listening for the next direction. The external signs pointed into Cahors where the internal signs pointed homeward.
After the rains ceased, I stepped out of my one-man container. At that exact point, I opened my Self to the rest of the world and trekked off The Way, and into town to find myself my first bed in months and my first shower in weeks. I laid down, clean and fresh, closed my eyes and slept. In less than a week, I would be home and within my own bed. Secretly, my body knew this, as well as my mind. My soul was the mediator, laying down within me to point The Way.
Solo questing comes to a close. It was a period in my life where I required isolation in order to surpass the ordeals necessary for growth. Now, built up and prepared with a peace to present and a love to give, the world opens my heart and the dynamics of human relationships present themselves as the next phase of development. For me, it is The Way, and such is The Way. Dreams come and they go. Changes arrive and they pass. But standing firmly within is the pilgrim, taking every rise and fall, every twist and turn in steady strides. I am still the wanderer and explorer. I am still on The Way, but it is a new Way: The Way of the Human Family.
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Lily
non-member comment
Welcome Home Cameron.
May your journey continue in the familiar unknown.