13: The Iron Cross

October 1st, 2017 - Day 25

Dawn. A cast of silhouettes and gray clouds against the dark expanse. A string of headlamps clambering up a mountain. At the top, an iron cross.

The autumnal air invigorates me, my legs are weightless. I pass several pilgrims on my way up. Shanti is up ahead. I reach him and he smiles at me. We climb through the dark together, delighting in the thrill of the ascent. The Spaniard and I are at home here in the highlands of Galicia.

 

Several pilgrims are gathered around a swell of stones. A wooden pillar protrudes from its center, and on top sits an iron cross. Perhaps it represents the relationship between earth and heaven, humanity and God. I’m tickled by the thought, but can’t help and feel a peculiar air of mysticism. The other pilgrims are gazing skyward.

I move closer and scan the assemblage of rocks and tokens. Necklaces, bracelets, beads, crumbled notes, a mangled hiking shoe, faded photographs, a teddy bear. On a rock, “CAMO AND MORELLO, 2017.” A woman in a headscarf approaches the altar, kneels, and sets the picture of who I think is a loved one between a rock and the foot of the pillar. She laces her fingers together, bows her head, and begins to cry.

According to legend, pilgrims will carry a rock with them from the beginning of their journey and place it here at the base of this cross. The rock symbolizes the sins of the pilgrim, and the act of leaving it behind is supposed to clean the slate.

I see it differently. To me, the rock represents all of the extra, unnecessary weight we carry with us through life – bitterness, resentment, fear, negativity, cynicism. The rock weighs us down. It prevent us from truly enjoying life, from tasting the joy and freedom inherent in being present. It chains us to the unforgiving, unrelenting storm of our past.

Leaving the rock behind symbolizes our growth, it is the movement from there to here, an act of profound surrender. It is a letting go of the overplayed narratives that prevent us from creating a new story, from being who we want to be, from growing. It is the ultimate form of self-acceptance, and moving on.

I didn’t have a rock, but I did have my California license plate. I wasn’t planning to leave it, but the moment beckoned: the expiration date was October 2017, and today is the first day of October 2017. It’s a Sunday too, a day of reflection, beginnings, and endings. The plate is me, the old me. The struggle to find direction after college. The shitty first job. The search for belonging and meaning. The failed relationships. The insecurities. The fear of the unknown. It had to be done.

I write Matilde’s, Franca’s, Stepan’s, and Marieke’s name on the plate. They had brought out and continue to foster the best parts of me. I place the plate against the base of the pillar, dismount from the heap, and walk on. Santiago is near.