The Portugese Camino is much less developed than the French and Northern routes, which was something that attracted me to it. I don’t like being part of the pack of tourists being catered to with neon signs advertising fruit smoothies and souvenir trinkets. However, being off the beaten path made it more difficult to find food and lodging, and locals would look at me suspiciously when I walked into their village with my backpack, trekking poles and scruffy beard.
I could go days without encountering another pilgrim. When I did, we greeted each other with the familiar phrase “Bom Camino!” Most of my fellow pilgrims were eager to talk, if we could find a common language to speak, and our conversations quickly went deeper. I met a Dutch educator who was taking time to reevaluate her career and recover from leading a school through the pandemic. I could hardly keep up with a seventy five year old retired executive from Australia who carried the ashes of his deceased wife to toss into the ocean at Finisterre, her dying wish. Poolside at a hostel, a young banker from Bogota told me he was searching for life purpose and relief from paralyzing anxiety. He, along with several other pilgrims, mentioned the book, Conversations with God, by Neal Donald Walsch and recounted enlightening and harrowing experiences taking ayahuasca (a plant-based psychedelic) under the guidance of shamans in South America. A new friend from Sao Paulo told me she was on a spiritual quest, though it felt ironic to do so walking through a Catholic country that had forced her Jewish ancestors into exile during the murderous inquisitions of the 15th century.
One of the few self-identified Christians I met was an older Quaker woman, who spent an evening telling me her life story, which included incest survival, years as a flower child, a three year love affair with another woman, dance study with Merce Cunningham and ten difficult years of marriage that produced two children. Shortly before the end of her marriage, Jesus appeared to her while she worked in her garden, and invited her to follow him— and she said yes. After serving as a non-profit attorney and climate activist for thirty years, she was walking the Camino to discern how to best seek the common good in the next, and perhaps final, season of life.
Hearing people’s stories and questions reminded me of my own. What do I want to do with the twenty years I have left before dementia or chronic pain set in? A fellow pilgrim reprimanded me for the fatalistic nature of my question, which I defended as pragmatic, based on statistical probabilities and family history. O.K. Let me rephrase the question: As a middle aged white male who is aware of the intersectional issues of race, class, gender, poverty and the climate crisis, how can I best show up in the world?
As I walked along, I listened to a recording of Howard Thurman’s booming voice repeating, “What do you want?” and his famous axiom, “The time and the place of a [person’s] life is the time and place of [their] body, but the meaning and significance of [their] life is as vast and far reaching as [their] gifts, [their] times, and the passionate commitment of all [their] powers can make it.” (The Living Wisdom of Howard Thurman)
What do I really want? I have pondered this question ever since being introduced to it through the Ignatian exercises. I imagine Jesus asking me, as he so often asked others, “What do you want?” Throughout my life I have wanted many things: a life partner, children, friends and community. I have wanted meaningful work and a sense of significance. I have wanted to travel, teach, write and love people. I have wanted to know God, face the mystery of existence and wrestle with the contradictions of beauty and suffering in our world.
Though no one gets exactly what they want, to some extent, what we want ends up finding its way to us. “Ask and it will be given to you. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be open to you.” If we get what we want, we should pay careful attention to our deepest desires.
What do I really want? I asked as I walked along the trail, following the yellow arrows. I recognized that many of my longings have been focused on tangible goals and outcomes. A life partner. Check. A house. Check. A writing or speaking contract. Check. A Merino wool T-Shirt and a good bottle of Portugese wine. Check. These are symbols of more essential desires for affection, security and purpose. The goals I can achieve don’t automatically lead to a sense of moment by moment well-being. They can be facts more than experiences. What I really want is the subjective, existential awareness of deeper reality.
Moments of clarity were more rare for me on the Camino than expected. But early one Sunday morning I had an epiphany. The path led me along a Roman road, through autumn foliage among ancient stones. As I watched the sun rise over a country church and graveyard I wondered, What can I want that I can keep wanting in every moment of existence? I want to love and be loved. I want joy and gratitude. I want peace in my heart and connection to the eternal. To capture the essence of my deeper longings, I wrote the following mantra, that I now say each day to express my intentions:
Watch the sunrise
Walk in the light of divine presence
Want love, joy, peace, mercy and justice
Seek wisdom
Tell the truth
Create beauty
Love courageously
Watch the sunset
Die to the small separated self
Eat and drink, laugh and cry
Listen and tell stories
with a grateful, undivided heart
Sleep in peace
Dream of a new world
Wake up to the eternal
When you think about it, what is it that you really want?