Walking Towards The Ocean

«Otherwise never mind. It means that it is not destiny» she added later. She would miss me so much, she concluded. I would have missed her so much too. A bitter smile and then I had decided not to think about it anymore: it was useless to crack your brain, St was firm on her position and only she keeps the truth. I had to accept her will, hoping that we would see each other again and such a thing would never happen again. We arrived at the boarding and, before entering, smiling, she told me: «Abandon yourself to Life, Rich». She hugged me, turned around and left. St has become precious to me; and me for her? I've wondered several times, but I believe there will remain another unanswered question for now.

A bald middle-aged guy, sitting in a small armchair almost in front of me and with his hands on his knees, looks into space in front of him; from time to time he raises his pelvis a few centimeters, turns his gaze to the right and then to the left, and laughing like a fool sits back down. He does this a dozen times until a little boy arrives who takes him by the hand and takes him away. I give him the name of Bracco. On the street, another guy, with a yellow plastic folder like an umbrella, repairs his head and runs in the rain which is getting thicker and thicker; he does not seem to seek shelter, perhaps he is in a hurry to get somewhere. The rain is beautiful: I love watching it and running under it makes me feel alive. Then a man enters who looks like a cross between a hippie and a pirate of yesteryear and sits down not far from me; he has a parrot on one shoulder and the bird seems to be watching me with his big yellow eyes. He orders something from a blonde waitress, while another, the brunette, brings my order: a hot chocolate and a cake that looks like a cream puff. He puts down the cup to the left of the magazine I've just opened and the dessert to the right, and takes her leave with a shy smile. I am tense and until I have seen St I will not be able to calm down, even if the feeling that we will meet is strong enough. And I know that I can almost always trust my feelings. I missed her so much. I missed her especially in difficult moments such as when I underwent gallbladder surgery, when I was afraid of not getting out of that damn operating room alive. And she wasn't there with me holding my hand with that smile of hers full of love and reassuring me as only she can. And here the memories of those moments come alive.

It's forty-one minutes past ten p.m. Department of surgery. I just walked up and down the L-shaped corridor of the ward for the thousandth time. And so I will do for the next eight hours or so, until tomorrow morning they come to pick me up and take me to the operating room. Between one L and another, between one thought and another, which I sometimes recorded on my cell phone with a trembling voice, I met the doctors: the surgeon, the cardiologist, the pulmonologist and finally the anesthetist. After several tests and checks, they agreed that the surgery will be done tomorrow.

«You have a good health and, obviously excluding the diseased part for which we operate, everything is really fine» the surgeon told me.

For the hundred thousandth time, as has been happening for several days, the same scene comes to mind: the doctors shouting “we're losing him, quick, quick defibrillator, defibrillator!” and tools that go crazy. And then the surgeon leaves the room shaking his head, throws the gloves in a bin, approaches my loved ones and lowers his head saying: «There was nothing to be done». My friends laughed a lot when I told this thing and they all agree that I watch too many episodes of Dottor House, Doctors on the front line or Emergency Therapy. I calm down for a few moments, then those terrible scenes and those terrible words “we're losing him, defibrillator!” start to obsess me more than before, they take my breath away and throw me into despair. The reassurances of this morning, from the surgeon and anesthetist, try in vain to alleviate my torments: “Are you afraid of a hemorrhage? No, no, we know how to avoid it and how to intervene if it happens” – “Are you afraid of feeling pain, despite the anesthetic? What am I supposed to do?! In addition to falling asleep, I start the surgery when I'm sure you don't feel pain, I have a specialization for this. Are you afraid of never waking up again? I'm also here to wake you up, right? I took a specialization for this. I have been doing anesthesia for twenty years and everyone has always woken up. And do you know how many anesthesia are done every day in the world? Do you know how many they are doing right now?!”

Bruno Silvio also tries to calm me down. But he doesn't count, he's much more coward than me and I don't want to imagine him in my place. He would turn the whole hospital upside down.

Suddenly everything gets dark around me, a sea of stars and colors surrounds me and an angel appears before me. I don't believe so much in angels, but now I see it and it makes me feel good. She is a blonde with a halo, she takes me by the hand telling me not to worry, she will be there too tomorrow and she will guide the doctors' hands.

A nurse's hand resting on my shoulder and his «How are you?» makes me go back into the L-shaped corridor. He advises me to go to sleep but I'm not sleepy. And I start walking again. And those scenes and “We are losing him, defibrillator!”resume for a few minutes.

«I would already like to be with St in Spain to continue our W ayto the Ocean of Finisterre and instead I have to wait, assuming that I get out of this situation alive and assuming that St comes to the appointment» I say to my mobile phone while it is recording.

“Come on, everything will be fine and in the spring you will continue” Marin told me on the phone a few days ago.

And to think that at almost forty I will probably have to leave this world. It is right now that I am beginning to have some consideration for my books and who knows that one day I may not even leave that crap job I have been doing for fifteen years; lately, with the arrival of the new owner, the situation has worsened. They really don't want me and I'm forcing them to keep me.

“The law is on your side. Stay calm and don't worry about anything” Jo’, my lawyer, once told me.

Good God, and if all goes well I'll have to go back to Lacondary and keep looking for another job - I've been trying for almost fifteen years now - and hope that my artistic success will come or that I win a lottery, but it's not easy.

Here it is. That vision again, as I just turned into the L-shaped corridor: the doctors, their terrible words “We're losing him, we're losing him, defibrillator!”.

Now I walk to the center of the corridor. If I move even a few centimeters I feel uncomfortable sensations and I realize that unpleasant situations are recurring that seemed to have disappeared for some time. If the corridor floor were checkered, instinct would force me to walk only on the light tiles. Every time I go to the bathroom I wash my hands for at least ten minutes to kill the microbes. When another patient passes by, for fear of breathing something contagious, I hold my breath until he walks away. The fear of having the cell phone under control has also returned: in fact, I fear that someone is spying on me, for example Lacondary.

I didn't say that I will undergo a surgery - I asked for vacation - they don't have to know, with the power that my company has, it would try to make something go wrong during the surgery, if anything, bribing some nurses; I don't mean the surgeon or the anesthetist, they are serious people. So I only answer if call me people who know they don't have to talk about the surgery. Uncle Nando could hardly breathe with laughter when I told him about these fears. I hope that it is all due to the tension for the surgery and that the fear of fainting, the sense of suffocation, the irrepressible desire to have to touch the wall or a door or any object after every three steps do not reappear, otherwise I will have to again give my salary to Doctor Ul, my psychiatrist, for a few months.

An image of Padre Pio is posted on the wall, only now I notice it. Many, even if not religious, would trust him in a circumstance like this, but I just can't. And here is the angel again who comes to my aid.

Thirty minuts past two a.m. For the umpteenth time, despair, the angel and the reassuring words of the doctors alternate; and all my life flows before me.

«Let's go» one of the two nurses who have just entered the room tells me.

On the moving stretcher, I look at the ceiling of the corridor, then that of the elevator, that of the corridor downstairs and finally that of the operating room. A few minutes of waiting; for me it's an eternity. I'm terrified. The surgeon tells me they are ready. I look away, while I feel a pinch on my arm and the anesthetist who tells me: «Come on, let's count together, 10, 9, 8...».

«Would you like anything else, sir? We have to close» the blonde waitress tells me, distracting me from my thoughts; I realize that I am left alone in the cafe, and it is almost all off.

17.

We have just passed a gas station and are leaving Estella. I see great emotion in St's eyes. Mine is no exception. A woman with a child, playing with a funny dog, wishes us «¡Buen camino!» It is an ideal day for walking, hot at the right point and we continue, as usual, at four or five kilometers per hour. I think about our meeting a few hours ago. After a moving hug, we told each other a few things, over a nice breakfast; obviously she only gave me some general information such as “I read a good book... I took a nice walk in the mountains... I wrote a poem about nature which I will then read to you...”. She told me she missed me a lot. She felt sorry for not having been near me at certain moments but - again the usual story - she just couldn't have done otherwise and she couldn't reveal the reason; I told her not to worry and that it was okay, and she really appreciated my attitude.

«Have faith, boy. And…»

«And we have a lot of that, even if we are not religious; didn't Father Xavier tell us this?»

«Of course, and I'm more and more convinced of it.»

She then told me that I must be happy: life made sure that everything was fine and put us back together again.

«Come on, it is more beautiful this way. After a year of silence, we will have more things to say and our being together will be more precious, don't you think?» she concluded by getting up and grabbing the backpack.

«Maybe…» I replied taking my backpack.

I realize that I have been distracted for a few moments; Stefania is talking and I wonder about what. I commit myself to hearing the rest to try to understand and while I'm trying, she tells me:

«So, Rich, what do you think?!». I'm screwed; I smile, I'm afraid she has noticed my distraction and that lwhat do you think?! was an attempt to unmask me. I scramble, but fooling St is impossible.

She smiles at me and grinds her teeth: «You got distracted, Rich! Is it true Rich?».

«That's true, St» I replygleefully.

«Well... but oh well, this time I forgive you! But... I won't repeat what I said, so you learn and next time, hopefully, pay more attention, huh?»

«Okay, okay, St, pardon, but repeat this time, come on» I beg her jokingly.

St stops and makes me stop too, stands in front of me, puts her hands on my shoulders and says:

«Nooo, no face it, so it was nothing that you will not be able to understand later; if you have not listened to me, never mind». She takes me by the hand and invites me to continue. We consider that we have not met any walkers yet, perhaps because we left Estella quite late.

«You look really good, Rich. You seem more relaxed than last year.»

«Yes, St, I am. Last year I had a lot of heavy thoughts, related to the surgery and especially to Lacondary. Now the art field is getting better and fortunately the operation is now a closed and archived chapter, and... and then, I don't know, it's as if... the experience of the operation had changed me for the better. I feel lighter towards life, I am more tolerant towards everything and everyone, in short, I don't know how to explain… How to say… and… The resentment towards some people seems to have vanished.»

«I understand you Rich; it is difficult to explain some things, even for a writer like you, who knows how to use words.» She smiles. «First you have the feeling that you can't do it and you see everything black, especially you!» She bursts out laughing. «How was it “We are losing him, we are losing him, defibrillator”?! Ah ah ah, then… the return to life when everything has passed. There is nothing to do, you appreciate Life more after such experiences. As for resentment... I understand that sometimes - unless you are a saint - it's really hard not to feed it, especially when some individuals drive you to exasperation, but you have to try hard not to feel it and... well, I'm glad you removed it, it's not good for you and it's not fair to feel it; indignation towards some actions, some havoc, not towards people directly, maybe yes... But resentment... I think... no, it's not good for any reason in the world, Rich! It hurts, it hurts a lot, especially for those who feel it.»

«Sure! That's right, St» I say, putting my hand behind my neck and flashing a dazzling smile, the way some cartoon characters do to express joy.

For a few moments I get distracted again, thinking about the voice full of love I heard during the postoperative half-sleep: “You should be happy for what you have.” This time it seems that St did not notice my distraction and I tell her about that voice.

«Nice that thought, Rich, and I think what it says is true. We should be really happy for what we have and instead we are often not because we want more. There is nothing strange in wishing for a better life and if something more comes better, of course, but you cannot feel uneventful or even bad while waiting for something better to happen.»

We arrive at the monastery of Irache, the oldest of the hospitales for pilgrims in Navarre. There is a source from which good wine flows; it's really nice here, to get there you have to take the small detour as soon as you leave Ayegui. A long brown-haired walker is sipping the red liquid almost attached to the tap. He turns to us and, wiping his lips with his forearm, signals us to get closer to the source. We drink too; they say that this wine helps to continue the Way with more strength and vitality. We turn around and no longer see the walker: he seems to have vanished into thin air. We advance towards the church.

«What do you say, Rich, are we going in?»

«Yes sure. This church inspires me.»

It is a Romanesque church, I simply like it for the visual impact, for the atmosphere, and the serenity it instills in the soul. I often have this feeling when I am in a temple or other isolated and suggestive place. I think of the desire I have long had to go and visit the most important places of the different religions and philosophies of the Earth and I remind the blue mosque in Istanbul and the largest in the world which is in Mecca; the most important places of Indian and Tibetan spirituality; the mosque with the gold dome in Jerusalem and the places of Judaism and Christianity in Jerusalem itself. From the gentle songs that come from the opposite side of the church, we deduce that mass is being celebrated in one of the side chapels. We continue until we enter it and realize that today is Palm Sunday: people have olive branches with them to be blessed. I haven't attended a Catholic religious service for more than ten years. I remind a melody that was perhaps sung on Palm Sunday, but I don't remember the words. I find myself for a moment in the cathedral and see the choir in which I sang. St takes me by the hand and leads me to the exit of the chapel, while the celebration is about to end. Behind us the others slowly begin to come out. We cross the central nave flanking the altar and go to the opposite side to visit the rest of the church. At the exit we meet a small group of walkers who are entering. There is an air of celebration now. We look around, we find a sign of the Way and we continue silently with our usual step. We are joined and passed by well-dressed local people who return home with their olive branches. A stocky guy with a clean look hands us one, wishing us a good day in Spanish and

«¡Buen camino!» and we gladly accept it.

Suddenly, many olive branches appear in my mind waving, standing out against a blue sky. Then I see a crystalline blue sea and a large cliff under which the waves break. At the top, a man in a white robe, tied by a dark cord, intones a chant in a language that sounds like Aramaic; I see him ever closer and I recognize in him the walker we met at the source of the wine. Doctor Ul would say that it is all the result of the unconscious processing of real images. While the man in the white habit continues to sing, St distracts me from the vision by pointing out a sign of the way: it indicates that there are thirteen kilometers to Los Arcos, where we thought we would stop. We will have to walk for about three more hours.

«I got distracted again St» I confess, stroking my head..

«I realized you were in who knows what world, but what matters is that you don't go there when I'm saying something, especially if it's important. Come on, let's listen, where were you? If I can know.»

I tell her about the vision.

«Really beautiful and deep.»

«Now a melody is coming to mind, perhaps a liturgical chant, but I cannot understand what it is, nor associate any words with it. Even earlier in the church something similar happened.»

I tell her how Dr. Ul probably would have interpreted the vision, the chants and the feelings I had.

«And you, St, to the songs, to the vision, what meaning would you give??» I ask her.

«What does it matter? How can you tell and who can tell if they mean anything or if it's all a joke of the mind or both, Rich? What matters are the sensations, in my opinion. I believe that the best thing is to welcome them, to abandon oneself; feel, and don't ask questions, just be careful what you feel. The answers come by themselves if they really exist, without any reasoning and without any effort. I understand that it can be difficult to put aside rationality, but in these things I think it is the enemy and it has little to do with it.»

«Yes, I think you're right, Stefania.»

«I don't think it's a question of right or wrong, but just a question of how I feel about certain things. I think the expression I agree with you is more appropriate, Richardo.»

«You are right; indeed... I rectify: I agree with you, St.»

«Ok» she smiles at me shaking her head.

«I think I never told you that time ago I attended Catholic Action, right St? I had removed that period and only today it came back to me.»

«Wow! Are you an affiliate of Catholic Action?» she jokes.

«Yes, I was part of it for some time, until about ten years ago and…»

«And then?»

«And then… I left. In that context, I was only fine when I played the guitar, went on a trip, ate a pizza all together, but when we prayed and did those catechetical meetings, I was terribly bored and I felt empty. I had the feeling that many were saying words they didn't really believe in and then it seemed to me that they were telling me what to do with my life and how to do it and it didn't suit me: I think no one can tell you how you have to live, what is right and what is not, in short... And many of my ideas did not really go hand in hand with those of that context.»

«And how did you feel after you left?»

«Free, free as never before, free and serene.»

«This is what matters, Rich. Nothing has to be done necesarily. However, I too attended the parish for some period and then, more or less for the same reasons, I left it. To many, whether they are Catholics or of any other religion, something similar happens: at some point, what they receive in those places is no longer enough and they begin to ask themselves questions to which often they do not have satisfactory answers. Some return over time and this is good if the heart asks them. I think that often certain environments are not, however, very suitable for a true spirituality. Am I wrong? Maybe, but that's what I feel like telling you. I believe there is a need for a new spirituality, indeed a renewed spirituality.»

«There is a need for a renewed spirituality. Great St, you said something sublime.»

18.

Azqueta looks small and pretty. About a hundred meters from us, we see a group of walkers standing looking at a map; others, on the other hand, a little farther on, are sitting on the ground and drinking while passing a bottle. A man with a beard and white hair stops us. He speaks to us in strange Spanish that St and I struggle to understand. Maybe it's a dialect form. His smile instills serenity; he has a familiar face, I think I've seen him before, but I think it's unlikely. Of what he has said so far, we only understand that he was offering to stamp Azqueta's sello on our credentials; then St takes them from her backpack, hands them to him, and he, taking a nice red stamp from his trouser pocket and using my hand as a base, stamps them. He tells us something else that is incomprehensible to us; then, in ungrammatical English, he proposes that we visit a church of which he has the keys, but we don't want to and we take our leave with courtesy; he smiles at us shrugging his shoulders, as if to say “Do you already go away?” or “I'm so sorry we don't understand each other enough” and he wishes us «¡Buen camino!» A little further on, in a square with benches, we see the signs for a bar.

«I'm thirsty, can we get a bottle of fresh water?» St. proposes me. «I think the one in the backpack is almost broth, for emergencies it is also good but now that there is a bar... Could you go, please? I sit down for a few minutes.»

«Sure St, I just can't figure out where the bar is. The sign says from there, but... there is the wall and... ah, yes, maybe you have to go up those steps, ok, ok, I hadn't seen them. Come on, I'll go there.» I take my backpack off my shoulders and hand it to him. St goes to the bench, I to the stairs.

In line at the cash desk, I look at what there is to eat: hot dogs, fried squids, sandwiches with sausage or chicken, chips, biscuits with jam and chocolate. I decide not to buy any of this, we have crackers and cereal biscuits in our backpack and they are just fine for us.

My turn comes and I ask, in my rudimentary Spanish, for a large bottle of still water.

«Here it is» the cashier replies, reaching down and taking a two-liter bottle from the fridge under the counter, then she asks me if I want anything else.

«No thanks.»

«Ok» she says and, smiling, hands me the receipt. He takes the money, greets me and pays attention to the girl behind me. I go back to the bench, gulping down almost half of the bottle, it seemed that I was not very thirsty yet in a few moments I drank almost a liter of water.

Stefania is talking to two boys.

«He is Luca and he comes from Cuneo, and he is Palos and he is Brazilian» St. says.

«Hi guys» I tell them, patting the Italian on the back. They look at me weird and St laughs. Handing them the bottle, I ask if they want to drink, but they answer me almost in unison: «No thanks» «No thanks». Then I hand it to St who gulps down the other half and then throws it into a litter box nearby.

«As I said to your friend, we are doing the Way together, we started from France and we plan to arrive to Compostela for the second week of next month» the Italian explains to me.

«We instead - did Stefania tell you? - we are doing it little by little» I tell him sitting down «and...»

«Yes, your friend told me that you started last year, you did the first hundred kilometers just to stretch yourself a little» he smiles.

«Yes, this time we hope to do another two hundred or so: we can walk for a maximum of twelve days.»

«Well, good luck then! We continue, we have already stopped enough» says Luca after a glance from the Brazilian who seems impatient to start walking again. Apart from that “No thanks” he didn't say a word but only gave us glances and smiles. We say goodbye and the two set off towards Los Arcos.

«Luca told me that, similarly to how it happened to us, they met on the third day of the Way and decided to continue together» St. tells me «Sometimes it seems destiny is what brings together certain situations and certain people. Do you believe in fate, Rich?»

«Yes, I'd say... I'd say yes» I stammer, then I think about it better and continue: «I think, however, that maybe... everything that happens to us is not just destiny, there is also our own; free will? Let's say that what happens to us depends a little on fate and a little on our choices?».

«Yes, it could be true… And certain things important to your life could happen anyway, even if you walk away from them. Something, precisely fate, makes it come back or they are the ones to meet you. Have you seen Sliding Doors, Rich? In that film this concept is well expressed.»

«Yes, of course St! Maybe it's just like you say: the things that matter to your life happen regardless. Then who knows, it could be like this for some and not for others... well, Life is a great Mystery that...»

«Which I think it is better not to try to explain too deeply, I think that no human being is able to do it, perhaps due to their limitations or perhaps because the closer you get to this Mystery, the more Life takes you away, because you probably don't have to find out altogether. In my opinion, from a certain point on, life must be accepted, lived, and that's it! And perhaps it is true that the more you entrust yourself to it, the more you abandon yourself, the more it will surprise you. Many struggle to understand, understand, understand. But I wonder if it's right and if it's really useful... Why not just accept life?»

«Well, maybe you are right Stefania but... You don't think that, instead...»

«In conclusion. I don't know Rich, I don't know. I just know that this speech is giving me a big headache»she cuts it short.

«Is it the signal that we are getting too close to the Mystery? Ha ha ha... Yes, come on let's not think about it, these things, perhaps, are too many and too complicated for our brain and I'm getting a headache. Life... is a Great Mystery that... must not or cannot be fully explained. I like it, beautiful. I'll talk to Pirello about it.»

«Yes, yes, it's really beautiful» she smiles at me enthusiastically. «What do you say if we continue?» suggests St putting the backpack back on.

«Okay» I get up and take mine.

19.

The vision of the palm trees blowing in the wind and the man singing on the cliff from time to time comes to mind. But now another one also reappears: a Templar knight a few meters from me crosses the road on his horse and then goes back where he came from, stops on the edge and looks at me. I had this vision for the first time a few days ago on the train, traveling to Spain. There the knight crossed the corridor, from the compartment door to the window.

We are alone again. The rustle of leaves and the song of birds keep us company.

«You know St, that guy we met earlier in Azqueta has a familiar face, it's as if I've seen him before; it's a feeling I've had from the first moment and it gets stronger and stronger. But I don't think I've ever met him.»

Maybe you have seen him on TV, in some documentary about the Way, or in photos in some magazine: they often interview locals.»

«No, no, I haven't watched documentaries, I've only read a few articles. Anyway, if I had seen him in any photos I would have remembered, at least I think.»

«So you had to deal with him in another life» she laughs.

«I had a… how do you say… déjà-vu? Is that what they say?»

«Or something like that, why not?!»

A few moments of silence follow, then St points to a red wild flower and says full of joy: «Look at that flower, look how beautiful it is; come closer, smell the perfume, and enjoy these things, enjoy nature and its greatness».

I approach it, I kneel in front of it and taking it in my hands I breathe its perfume. «It takes very little to be happy» I tell her.

St sits down next to me and, putting a hand on my shoulder, tells me: «That's true. Life can give us so many fantastic things, if we know how to see them».

I laugh with joy as I lie down on the ground and with my hands on my stomach, St does the same and we stare at the sky.

«You know St, once on the train, in the snack-car, I met a Japanese girl, Yu’ I think her name was, who believed in reincarnation, in short, in this matter of other lives; she hoped that his soul would be reincarnated as a heron in the next life.»

«A heron? The girl is not stupid, she has chosen the bird well, that's all.» She can hardly breathe from laughing.

«Stina, but if reincarnation really happens, logically… shouldn't you be an insect at the beginning, for example, then in the next life a lizard, then a dog, then…?»

«Then an elephant and so on, until you reincarnate as a human being ?!» She laughs, but she laughs a lot.

«Or… it's not like that and you can be reborn in any form and anywhere. Maybe does it depend on the experiences you have to do or some things happen by pure chance? We could even reincarnate as an extraterrestrial, what do you say? I believe it enough, why should we be the only ones in the Universe? We could even reincarnate in a previous or future era, right? For example you die in 2012 and you reincarnate as a dinosaur or a marquis of 1600 or a Roman soldier or a scientist of 3015. Perhaps the concept of time does not exist at certain levels, it is a purely mental thing... Every era... could be like a room in a building called Existence and the rooms of the future are already there. You just have to access it and the keys are delivered, in fact, in certain circumstances. Instead, it may be that a certain, well-defined future does not yet exist and is taking shape as we live; in this case there could only be a probable future, a future written in outline by destiny, and you could only see it mentally... Am I telling big lies?»