It was a short walk. I had breakfast with Dominique and Patric, walked the 17 km over here to Sahagún (passing the halfway point for the Camino Frances and the place I started in 2014), found a new labyrinth on a spot I had lunch 18 months ago and enjoyed a sunrise walk, and got into the monastery I enjoyed so much last time I was in this town.
An eerie silence filled the fields, as the harvesting activities I saw here last time were replaced with quiet growing. Even the tombstone of the New Englander Methodist minister seemed quietly stoic today.
My feet felt great during the walk though my left foot by the end of the day persists in blistering. I walked around town and figured out that in conjunction with a festival this weekend, there will be a bull run through town on Friday!
I attended a singing church service offered by the nuns of this monastery, followed by a blessing. Then I had dinner with Jote (from yesterday) and Teo. He just returned to finish the Camino. He walked from the Netherlands 2400 km to get here, went home to run a marathon and do some family functions, then returned to finish.
I spent much of the time alone: resting, roaming, and people watching. And listening to lots of storks and church bells. The walk was silent, the day was silent. Silence dominated.
And it made me think of a blog post I wrote a few months ago: http://www.letallwhoarethirstycome.com/2016/03/the-silence-between-notes-lenten.html
I was grieving at that point and I'm not grieving now. Yet I'm here, in my Benedictine cell, and I feel peaceful silence protecting me, as it did all morning on the Camino.
Between the high notes and low notes comes the silence. And it's the silence in between the notes that, as was stated in that blog post, we get music. Today has been the needed glue to make all this background sound - slowly, magically, patiently - transform into music.
May the music of silence fill your head and heart, and bring you peace, beauty, and rest.
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