The daily laundry hangs outside an albergue (hostel) in Santa Catalina de Somoza, a stop along the Camino de Santiago, in late September 2024.
By Kim Novak
Guest Column
(Kim Novak of St. Thomas More Parish in Coralville made a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in the fall of 2024 with her husband, Tom. They walked for 35 days over 550 miles across Spain. This is the second in her three-part reflection.)
The rhythm of the Camino is a rhythm of simplicity. Wake, walk, eat, shower, laundry, eat, sleep. At day’s end, we found a place of rest and whatever shower that space provided — sometimes a bathroom shared with 40, sometimes with four. We felt refreshed for just a bit. We admired, appreciated and cared for our feet in a way we had never done before.
Laundry took place in sacred space and time — the smell of clean clothes, the sounds of street noise and the hum of washers and tossing dryers. Handwashing and hanging our clothes on a line or sharing time in a laundromat with fellow pilgrims became a space of honoring the holy in all that is. Watching the gentle breeze blow and the local cats nap, we slowed down a little. The sanctity in this afternoon slow-down called us to sit in the sun. Holy rest.
In the evening, we broke bread and shared wine — fruit of the vine and work of human hands — with pilgrims from all over the world. All of us limping just a little — physically, mentally, spiritually. With guards down, we shared ourselves in story, living in some vague awareness of ourselves as the living, breathing body of Christ and all the joy and sorrow it embodies.
I climbed into my bunk each night with body, mind and spirit craving sleep. Some nights snoring, coughing and footsteps filled the room, making sleep frustratingly elusive. More often, the rhythm of the day, the bodily exhaustion, the wine and the warm feeling of the evening’s table conversation, brought needed rest swiftly. In the morning, we began, again.
Body, mind, spirit
The first third of the Camino was a time of reckoning with the body. This stretch provided mountainous climbs and rocky, steep downhills. Some days my body reeled from the 16 miles we had walked and I observed that my mood quickly followed. There was surrender in this first couple of weeks. My body was fully living the sights, sounds, smells and tastes, which meant that I would also feel a little pain every day. Maybe a hip today, a knee or blister tomorrow. Joy and suffering living fully in my body.
A few rolling hills followed by vast, flat plains with views that seemed to go on forever accompanied us midway through the Camino. Vineyards and olive groves gave way to fields of wheat, sunflower and corn. There was a sweet comfort in the predictableness of this terrain and time for thinking and praying.
For me, this was a place of deep and sometimes painful self-reflection. I observed and walked with my fears, biases and assumptions at a level I sometimes didn’t want to see or feel. I watched myself become tied up in knots over a text from a daughter, the resurfacing of a buried memory, the dread of yet another bunk bed. I questioned life choices and worried about where I’m heading. With time and more miles, I returned to the present moment and my need for forgiveness of self and others.
Psalm 94:19 became, “When anxiety overtakes me and my worries are many, your grace lightens my soul.” I cannot do this life on my own, as much as my logical, problem-solving mind wants to convince me otherwise. This “wrestling with self and God” moved me beyond the mind and a little closer to my Divine center. This is gift.
The last third of the Camino brought us through more mountains, strong wind and rain, darker mornings, worn-out shoes and crowded paths as routes converged and new pilgrims joined. While these conditions brought challenges, I met them in a way that better integrated and honored body, mind and spirit.
Some mornings I cried as we started walking in the dark and rain and I found compassion for these honest, uncomfortable feelings. My body hurt and I was grateful for it. More mountains were ahead, but I approached them with experience and surrender, knowing there was bread, conversation and rest on the other side. Fears and anxieties seemed a bit more like the weather that comes and goes. I felt a feeling of wholeness and a bit of melancholy, knowing that this part of the journey would soon end.
(Kim Novak is completing training as a spiritual director. Contact her at kimberly.a.novak 914@gmail.com.)
