We Are All One: Notes from Santiago

Trail Dispatch No. 6 from the Camino de Santiago

The official Compostela certificate received by pilgrims in Santiago de Compostela.

Arrival at the square brings sights of old friends, tears, new friends, hugs, and the gorgeous edifice of the Santiago cathedral. For many, attending daily mass at the cathedral marks the end of the journey. Mine passed quite thoughtfully, which I suppose is to be expected following a three week walk. For this our final letter, I hope some of these thoughts give you a precious moment’s pause.

Farmland along the way, near the end of the route.

There’s always been a few things during mass I don’t fully understand , but when mass is in Spanish, I’d say most things go subunderstood. Luckily there are some things in the Santiago cathedral that don’t need words—like the bicycle-sized incense burner that at times flies across the church on a thirty meter long rope swing, or the intricate carvings from over a thousand years ago that do their best to represent the infinite scale of holiness. And luckily there are a few short phrases that, after my three weeks here, I can understand. Like one that I heard from the Father late in service:

“Todos nosotros somos uno,” or

“We are all one.”

If you familiarized yourself with my previous letters, you’ll understand just how topical those words are to my trip.

Several of the friends I made along the way confessed, in differing words and accents, the same fascinating thing to me. They said that they’d expected the Camino de Santigo to be spiritually relevant to them because of the opportunity to be alone in the quiet trees and being present for a long while’s walking, and though surely it wasn’t hurting them, the most memorable and even spiritually significant moments were actually with others. Others from far away countries who speak different languages but still eat the same. Still smile. There’s certainly some humor to the thought that sometimes it takes going to some other continent to connect to those around you, but there's a serious importance to it too. Let me offer an example, straight from a Tennessee couple I crossed paths with in Apúlia and again in Padrón.

They adored the Camino for its social aspect, and the Portuguese Way was their second stint on it. They, last year, had ended up walking a good portion of the French Way with an Italian couple, neither group speaking any of the other’s language. And yet, the everlasting human thirst for connection led them to get an accommodation together and cook dinner, over only charades and facial expressions, and share wine and contacts, and promise to meet up every couple of years. I laughed when they said that neither couple even thought to use Google Translate until the night had already ended, but it makes sense to me that sometimes a kind face and a belly laugh is all the content needed at dinner.

I wonder, sometimes, about all the loneliness out there. I know how it feels to sit at an empty table. I know that sometimes there are other tables, with other people, but no one will start the talk—its easier sometimes to just start your music. I think there’s a final call to action in here somewhere, but I’m not sure exactly what it is, only that its importance is ground breaking. 

Todos nosotros somos uno. I come from a world of “my partner,” “my yard,” “my dog,” of working from home, playing alone, nursing homes. I have seen the toll it takes on young people. On old people. But now there is another world I have seen. It is of the we, the see and be seen. It is the one blistered foot that slows the whole group down, the one bottle of wine that we all pass around. This world keeps joy in the many wrinkled hands that deal cards at the cafe table; the same joy in the soft young hands that play ball together in the park at sunset, every evening. How wonderful it has been to see such longevity in this joy of connection, and to see that this is the joy all of us want, from every country, from every walk of life. Sometimes, where I come from, it can be easy to forget. It is hidden by consumerism, by personalized dreams, by ego. Lines are drawn across it, lines about religion, age, or gender. But I know now that this joy is still out there for the taking and that it always will be. No corporation or foreign nation can keep us from being human. I can’t tell you how to do it, but I know that you will not regret it. And I can promise you to return your effort. I can promise you that when you look up at me from your table, I will look up too.

Why Loving Moments with Strangers Carry Lasting Benefits

-Payton

If you enjoyed these letters or disagreed with them, if they frightened you or made you jump for joy, the best thing about letters is that they can always be responded to. Reach out to me with any questions or pressing thoughts at paytonschreiberpan@gmail.com.

Previous: Losing the Self: Notes from Padrón

Editor's outro

This is the sixth and final dispatch from Payton on the Camino de Santiago. A compilation reflection drawing together the threads of the full journey will publish on the CNIT blog within two weeks. Thank you, Payton, for three weeks of words and photographs. If his reflections have resonated, you may want to explore our nature-informed practice training pathway, where we teach clinicians to bring this kind of slow attention into their therapeutic work.