September 17, 2017

It’s day 16.

I start walking with the morning light, and my rush costs me dearly – my towel is left behind (but I will find it out only in the evening).

It’s a beautiful autumn morning, the leaves, acorns are falling down quietly, loud jays are yet quiet. The road is exclusively mine and I use this to sing Gajatry mantra in a low voice. The morning is inviting me to sing, so I put on a record of fire ritual singings, and sing along. What a wonderful start of the day!

During these days I have developed my own theory as to what that cross really is that we each carry. It’s but our own compass of life: north, south – our mind and emotions, west and east – our body and soul. In the middle of it all the human, it shall be the way you turn it.

And while I have been thinking my wise thoughts, I have arrived at yet another tiny village, I climb up the high church stairs made of rock. It’s an ancient church with a weird aura, it feels as if someone is scanning you with an X-ray. The paintings of the church have been replaced by pencil and charcoal drawings. The Way of the Cross is portrayed in a weirdly beautiful manner. It’s the same topic all over again – do we ourselves allow ourselves to be crucified? When we don’t lead our own lives, instead we realize someone else’s visions for the sake of peace and quiet. How does it feel when, being afraid of loneliness, we lock up our own ‘I’ in a chest of steel, throw away its key and forget all about it; ‘I like dancing’, ‘I have dreams’ become ‘we think’, ‘we like’, ‘our underwear’? How often, deliberately or not, we take up the role of Juda, when we turn our back to some of our friends, colleagues, because ‘my own shirt is dearer to me’, saying ‘while it doesn’t affect me, it’s none of my business’.

I remember my last time as a participant at the general meeting of Latvian Association of Biological Agriculture, where, while protesting the government ignoring the problems of the farmers, some manufacturers stated their wish to leave [the Association], but others, who were very vocal behind the back with ‘yes, that’s the way to go! You can count on us’, were sitting quietly in the hall with their heads down avoiding eye contact. Only one pair of eyes was important to me, but it was as if the eyes were glued to the floor ‘come on, understand, I have a business to run…’. No, I don’t understand and I have never understood. If you are not brave enough to stand for yourself, then stay in your cave and be quiet.

I am feeling that the memories have reddened my cheeks, my blood is boiling. I am leaving the village, I am alone again, I lean against a tree and scream, the feelings that I have kept inside me for years are finally coming out, the feelings of helplessness in the face of betrayal that took lives of people, homes including my own that we built with our own bare hands. I am sitting down by the roots of the tree and I am letting everything flow away…ashes to ashes, light to light.

As my accommodation for the night, I choose an albergue at the top of a mountain, with a foot bath. I am sitting down and enjoying myself when I hear a quiet ‘hello!’ That’s Olivia, a pleasant young woman from California, with whom we met here and there for the past couple of days and exchanged some phrases. She looks tired and grey as if of sadness, we start talking. The traditional question ‘why are you walking?’. I say I don’t know, the Way sent me an invitation.

‘What do you mean? A text, an e-mail?’

‘No, in a dream, when I was in Israel.’

Olivia is surprised – it really happens like that? I see that her steps look difficult, I ask her to show me her feet- they look terrible! I massage them and apply some cream. The young woman’s face now has the expression of a satisfied cat.  We get to the neck, I warn her that it’s going to be unpleasant and that it’s important to breathe deeply. Olivia is looking at me, confused:

‘What was that?’

And a river of tears starts flowing down her lovely face. She leans on my shoulder and cries, telling me about her family, about how lonely and locked up she feels. About how she expected that on this way a miracle will happen and she will change, about how tired she is. I allow her to talk, I wipe down her tears with a tissue. Everyone cries on this way, there is no mystery here, it’s when you do more than you can, the mind backs down and all the blocks blow out just like fuses. On this road, nobody is safe from blisters, physical and emotional pain, tiredness, it’s important to see what’s next, farther down.

For a long time we talk about life, people and about finding our own place. In the end I say:

‘tomorrow, when you wake up, listen to yourself, if your inner voice tells you that you have to end the journey, do so.  Get on the bus for the remaining 40kilometres. It’s your way and only you decide how, what and when to do what.’

As I write this, Olivia is peacefully sleeping in a bed next to mine. That’s this way.