Today has been a languid day of rest -- no walking or destination. A short breakfast of leftover fruit in the albergue, then the pilgrim´s mass at Noon to see the swinging of the botofumeiro, check in and lunch at a budget hotel, rest in my room while watching Indiana Jones III dubbed in Spanish, now puttering around until dinner.  Final leave taking tomorrow when I fly to London in the morning.

After a full thirty three days, the journey has come to an end. Even walking down the street in my fleece and cargo pants, I felt more like a tourist than a pilgrim as I saw a steady stream of backpacks and poles eagerly making their way to the cathedral.  I´m in no hurry; I´m just killing time till I have a cheeseburger again and spend too much money in London.

Let me take this chance to say thanks to friends and family who not only supported and encouraged me before I left but were with me often along the way --

• My Mom never failed to leave encouraging comments here, and as countless memories from childhood flooded my mind on the camino, her presence was strong.
  

• My Dad, who is very unskilled in typing and email, followed my steps and checked in with me a lot. As I walked through mountains or past lakes, reminders of past vacations with him came to mind and heart often.
  

• My friend Jason was the first person to congratulate me or reassure me when I needed it. That´s the great blessing of a friend who knows you well. Plus, he took me to the airport and drove me around to buy gear. Can´t beat that.
  

• My grandparents came to mind a lot as I thought of trips with them to New Mexico and Colorado as a kid. My grandmother, a pro at email, also made sure I knew I was loved, loved, loved while on the way.
  

• My college fraternity brother, Daniel, followed the blog and always kept in touch to let me know the journey was a gift to him as well as to me.  It was like having him here.
  

• My friends Dustin and Ryan threw a big going away party before I left, including a collection of money. The overwhelming generosity of that gesture touched me deeply and has stayed with me. I have also thought of Dustin every time I heard the roncadores (snorers) in the albergue.  Trust me; Dustin is a pro.
  

• My priests, Nancy Lee and John, gave hours of counsel, encouragement, and love before I left. And they prayed for me while away. Every Sunday morning around Noon (6am in Washington) I thought of them faithfully waking up to give of themselves to our church and community. We are very, very lucky. I also thought of them when my pack was too heavy (NLJ) and when it rained (JFD). :)
  

• My spiritual director, Marc, was in mind often, but especially when I was at the lowest points and when I needed a presence to lean on, knowing it was sturdy and robust.
  

• My sisters, Stephanie and Laura, who sent me encouraging emails and who gave me the knife which I used many times for opening oranges or cutting blister pads.
  

• My friend, David, who took my mail while I was away. And, most importantly, who walked with me one day as I thought of how much I treasure his friendship -- especially vegan cupcakes and free places to stay in NY. :)
  

• My friend, Marco, whose apartment is always free, whose car is always available, and whose heart is always open. Thanks for the hospitality, and many, many times, I´ve had visions of a visit to Texas for bbq, steak, and Mexican.  Mmmmm.

• My friend and former seminary companion, Michael, who walked this way six years ago and who gave great advice.  He has also been very kind to pray for peace on my feet.

Friends and family and all those whose gracious presence surrounds and uplifts me, thank you, thank you, thank you.  What you have done and still do for me is amazing.  I am truly blessed. And on this first day off the camino, I rest in your love.

Santiago may be the official destination of the camino, but my pilgrimage didn´t come to an end until today. By bus I made my way to Finisterre, what the Celts and Romans belived was the end of the world. This finger tip of rock juts out into the Atlantic, and the sea stretches to such a far horizon that it´s no wonder the ancient world thought ships would fall off the edge. Only a lighthouse sits where the ancient temple to the sun once perched, and past the faro (lighthouse) is nothing but giant stones, wildflowers, and scrub bush that tumble steeply down to the sea below.

Sitting there on the rocks, virtually alone, I watched turquoise and aquamarine water undulate quietly and then break violently over sun bleached rocks, turning into foamy white cream. I saw birds soaring effortlessly on the air. I saw the sun, a blazing fireball in an almost cloudless sky. I imagined (and felt?) the stream of ancient pilgrims making their way to worship at Ara Solis.

It was a profoudnly moving moment, especially as I broke out of silent revery to ask my neighbors if they had a lighter or match, not an easy request when you don´t speak the same language. After ten minutes of fruitless hand gestures and noises, I found an Italian man with a lighter, and I began to build a fire.  Traditionally, profligate pilgrims burn their shoes as a symbol of completing their task. All over the rocky promentory are charred remains of past fires. I found the perfect cleft and began asking others if they had something to contribute. One by one, pilgrims began to smile and rummage through their sacks for shirts, towels, socks, or anything else that would burn, since boots nowadays are a tad expensive. Two of us broke our sticks used as pilgrim staffs into smaller pieces after kissing them and giving thanks for the countless steps they helped to stabilize. I brought so much paper for kindling that the fire produced a large flame quickly, and with several shirts and sticks, we made a good amount of smoke. It was magical, as I threw my hands up, shouted a big yalp, and surrendered all my expectations, excitement, and feelings of accomplishment to this one moment of sacrifice and thanksgiving. I think I would have made a good pagan.

As the fire died down, our group slowly dispersed one by one. I lept down the rocks further, wanting to be alone on the penninsula. I watched the waves for an hour maybe, keeping an eye on a Peruvian pilgrim even further below. Someone told me he traveled for 3 months, all the way from Nuremberg, Germany. He looked out to sea for hours, alone, and I wondered what he must now give up in order to end this journey. The camino is funny that way. I spent days anticipating the end, and now that it arrived, I wasn´t sure how to let it go.

A day in the sun, after countless days in rain, surrounded by ocean, mountains, and forrests is a bit intoxicating. But eventually I made my way back up the rocks, and past the lighthouse I felt tempted to turn around and soak it the scene again. Instead, thinking of Lot´s wife, I decided to commit myself to the way forward, back home. In a brief pause, I loved the day and held it in my heart and mind, but I decided not to  hold it too tightly. So, past the lighthouse I embraced the eastward way, walking toward the sun for the first time in a month -- walking not toward a pilgrimage destination but taking my first steps toward a long, winding amble home.

My pace down the mountain to the village, a 30 minute walk, was slow, movingly slow. For the first time in thirty days, I did not have a destination or a sense of urgency or a sense of accompishment.  I just walked as if I was savoring the entire journey, no longer headed somewhere but headed from somewhere, sinking peacefully into a rhythm of afterglow. Down the mountain. Retracing steps. Headed home.

The destination and goal reached, the pilgrimae is over, but the journey continues. Only now there is no clear end, no Santiago or cathedral or site of an ancient temple. At the end of the world, there is nowhere else to go but back. And while I know there is more life to be lived, it is strange to not have a path or map, a next step to take. No more buen camino, just an ever unfolding ultreia. Now this particular pilgrimage is wrapped up into the larger way of my own life.

The Christian story provides a conception of an eternal end, not just heaven as a geographic place, but the human journey toward greater and ultimate communion with God. But that´s a bit harder to incorporate into each day´s walk, compared to a specific town or albergue or signpost or church that defined the camino target. Yet, some kind of end is absolutely necessary, else I´m just wandering without purpose. I wonder how to find one, knowing I have one in my tradition, yet still pondering how to give that flesh and walk the path. 

This morning at 10:30am, much earlier than I imagined, I wound my way through the suburbs of Santiago to the first pilgrim hostel I could find. After a quick stop and change into thick rain pants -- big drops were falling at this point -- I walked the final 2 kilometers (30 minutes) into the city center. Either because it was rainy or because I was distracted, I never saw the cathedral spires. After rounding many corners in the old quarter and veering through slowly ambling crowds, I turned a corner at the bottom of some stairs. There I found myself in a large plaza with big groups of school children, tourists, and grinning pilgrims flashing photos and giving hugs. I craned my neck to look upward and got my first glimpse of the cathedral. On the camino, I´ve seen countless photos and posters of the cathedral, but now, in concrete flesh, I saw the first view of the end of my journey.

The pilgirms' Mass would start in about 20 minutes, so I skipped the postcard view from across the plaza and rushed right up the grand staircase entrance, through the two porticos, and into the interior. Unlike many other cathedrals, once inside, the view of the high altar is a straight shot, and you get an eyefull of the gold and silver altar right away. It was anticlimactic actually. The Tree of Jesse pillar is sectioned off for renovation, so the traditional first pilgrim ritual was out of reach -- putting your fingers in the five-finger grooves worn over centuries into the marble pillar by pilgrims giving thanks for safe arrival. With the Mass starting soon and the seats filled up, I searched for a seat and finally found one between two people who didn´t want to move. With a deep breath and stretching of my legs, there I was, at the end of the journey. It felt, so, unexpectedly ordinary. :)

I don´t like cathedrals really. They´re large, impersonal, and cold. Baroque retablos don´t inspire me, and the figure of Santiago Matamoros ("the Moor slayer") striding atop the cupola, with a sword in hand to murder Muslims, is a weird, jarring image for prayer. So I leaned forward, put my face in my hands to rest, and gave thanks for arriving.

I made it through the Mass without nodding off since I was more tired than I thought, and as we made our way forward for communion, one of the priests led the congregation in singing a German hymn to the tune I know as "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty." This is a song which I have sung many, many times on the open camino road. I was struck still inside. The Mass thus far did little to inspire, but here was a tune which had accompanied me along the way, and now to the very end. It was like a faint, wisened smile from the universal Spirit, a reminder that a presence larger than my language or understanding can draw all things together, beginning and end.  Afterward, a nun led the congregation in singing Ubi Caritas in a familiar melody because we sing it at the Taize service at home. A few tears welled up but didn´t fall, as I enjoyed a really nice reminder of the gracious way to Santiago.

There is much more to say, but this post is long enough. For now, I can say that the city is big, smoggy, and impersonal, and I don´t find it beautiful (yet?). It is exhilirating to see pilgrims I know, to shake hands, to hug, and to offer words of congratulations. It is sad to see pilgrim friends slowly fade away to their homes and other destinations. It is scary to think of moving on and changing lifestyles, again. It is thrilling to think of marching out tomorrow onto the penninsula in Finisterre to see the end of the ancient world. It is fascinating to wonder how this journey will continue to shape me and impress me as I take it all in over the next few days.

Mostly, it is humbling and moving to think of all my friends and family whose support, prayers, and even money made it possible for me to be here. And it is lovely and delightful -- a right and good and joyful thing, always and everywhere -- to give thanks to the One whose love called me here and calls me onward.

Yesterday was picturesque. Today was a muddy slog. Yesterday was pastoral, bucolic, and tranquil. Today was busy, rainy, and frenetic. Yesterday I ached to think of the camino ending. Today I look forward to saying despedides to Santiago on my way to London on Monday.  I´m still enjoying the pilgrimage, even when the way bends around murky parts like today, but it´s funny how my experiences swing from highs to lows, just like the Spring weather.

Today in the albergue after walking a short 20k, I finished several days of looking back through my journal as a way to remind myself of all that has happened on the way, and as a way to prepare for the end -- so that I don´t forget all that has transpired on the journey as I rush headlong into celebrating the destination. Each signpost I pass in Galicia announces the number of kilometers to Santiago, and pilgrims keep scratching our heads at how small the numbers get, as if the rain is melting them away. Around the 20 kilometer mark, a Madrileno asked me (as part of an hour long conversation in Spanish I might add!) how long my pilgrimage was because he only started a few days back. 776 kilometers I said proudly.  776! And now it´s less than 20. How can the end be here already, and how can the gravity of arriving be encapsulated in a cathedral or a compostela?

After finishing the rereading of my journal, and after rehearsing all those epiphany and ennui moments, I was sad and excited.  I was sad with a kind of samsara sadness; samsara is sadness at the passing of beauty, appreciating and mourning the fleeting nature of all that is marvelous in life.  I was excited to think of all that has happened and will continue to happen to me, in me, that is beyond my awareness. In other words, I think the entirety of this pilgrimage will form me in ways that I can´t capture in a journal or even fully realize until time has passed and I sense a change within like the change without.  My feet and my body have been put to the camino and impressed by countless rocks, tracks, ascents, and downhill plunges, formed by the terrain in imperceptible ways until they take on a new shape.  The same is true with my mind and heart. At times I can´t even remember the name of the town I slept in the previous night, and much of the beautiful scenery fades from memory; yet something has shifted inside which is due to the many days of walking and praying.

In th end, I hope there are deep and lasting ways in which my soul has been impressed by rocks, ascents, and plunges both physical and otherwise.