I wandered into a church today in Tui – on the Portuguese Camino, Spanish side of the border.

In a small alcove there was a statue of St. James, with his staff and his gourd – and then I noticed he was pointing to his exposed right knee, which was bleeding. And then I noticed an angel was trying to heal the knee.

So even St. James had knee issues!! And he was the ultimate “true” pilgrim!

My knee gave out on me on the second day coming down the treacherous rock-strewn hill into Zubiri. So many other pilgrims I met along The Way also had knee issues. But many others also had problems with blisters, shin soreness and tendonitis, archilles pain etc.

Okay – let’s move into the metaphysical. Louise Hay. Some of you may have heard of her. Some may not. She’s a metaphysical healer, and author. Her books have become classics. Heal your Life has sold more than 50 million copies.

Essentially what Louise Hay says is that injuries or medical issues have an emotional or psychological basis. Knee problems, she says, stem from being stubborn and having an unbending ego and too much pride.

Hmmm – let me see… is that me?

I have to dig really deep inside myself to see if I tick that box.

Yep.

That deep search took all of 3 nanoseconds.

She also says that knee issues show a resistance to change.

Yep, tick that box too.

That took 2 nanoseconds.

I probably started out my Camino being stubborn, having too much ego, and too much pride. I’m not quite sure because my ego and pride stopped me from seeing that time clearly.

Yet, I can be accused of being resistant to change. I like to do things my way, the way I’ve always done them, the way they should be done. Which most times is my way. Because it’s the best way.

Ahem.

Ego? Nah…

Anyway, the Camino changed all that. Because my knee humbled me. It reduced my ego and pride to tatters. It forced me to be flexible about the way I was going to approach the rest of the walk, and it has since caused me to reassess a whole bunch of things in my life. In other words, it’s induced change in me.

My wife reminded me of a phone call we had when, she said, I was at my lowest ebb. She said that in the thirty-two years of us being together, she’d never heard me so down.

I was in Santa Domingo de la Calzada. I was in a huge amount of pain – from my knee, from excruciating shin soreness, and from a blister that had taken on gargantuan proportions. The substance of the call, she reminded me, was my utter anguish and despair at how I could complete the Camino. It seemed an impossibility.

I was very emotional. I’d set my heart on walking the Camino, but even though my will-force was strong, my body was thwarting me. Thwarting my dreams.

But, two of the most dangerous and destructive things in life are self doubt and self pity. I was doubting my capacity to overcome these physical obstacles. I was allowing myself to wallow in self pity.

My wife reminded me that it was just a walk – that I’d chosen to do it – and that of course I’d complete it, it was just a matter of how long it would take, and how much pain I would suffer. She also reminded me I’d done tougher things in my life.

I’m a film director. It’s tough directing a movie. Very tough. And film directors are, by nature, stubborn people. With egos. We have to be, otherwise our movies never get made, or they get made all wishy washy and without a particular vision.

But, the best film directors are also flexible. They see opportunities as they make their movies, they take on fresh and new ideas, they bend, without breaking. The best ones often subsume their ego and pride for the betterment of the movie.

The Camino has its own lessons for each of us. For me, I have to embrace change. I have to bend more. I have to be more flexible.

I have to remember that statue in that church in Tui, and that little angel trying to help St. James.

With his crook knee…

Another Post Camino phenomenon –

I have no interest in the news.

Me, a former journalist. Me, a former news junkie. Me, who had RSS feeds from the major news sources coming into my every electronic orifice.

That was Pre-Camino.

Post-Camino, I don't care.

Because most of the news is what it is – journalistic chaff. Reportage roughage. Informational dietary fibre.

There are important breaking news stories of course – and informed well researched commentaries – but mostly, the news is not important. Not in the whole scheme of things.

I went five weeks without looking at a news site on the web. That's the longest period in my adult life when I've gone without the news.

And I didn't miss it one dot.

When, post Camino, I finally did check in, nothing much had changed.

There were some scandals at home involving a couple of high profile people, which the country seemed absorbed in, while I was walking across Spain blissfully unaware.

I don't feel my life was any the poorer for not knowing the details of these scandals. On the contrary, the Camino showed me how facile and totally unimportant it all is.

If I saw The News walking down the street coming towards me, I'd cross the road to avoid it.

Because I'd know that The News would want to grab me by the lapels and shout at me about all the horrible things that have happened lately, or it would want to gossip, or it would want to pull down the reputations of good people I admire.

It would be full of negativity and idle meaningless chatter. And it would try to pander to my basest fears. Fear of my personal safety, fear of people of different races, fear of change.

The News would try and rattle me. It would try to make me angry. Try to make me hate.

So I figure The News would be someone to avoid.

That's what I'm doing Post-Camino.

I'm crossing the road.

Two little things happened today, that tell me something has shifted.

And perhaps, for good.

I wanted to get an ice-cream. A gelato. Lemon and chocolate in a cone. My favourite.

I'm in a small town in northern Portugal – Braga – famous for its extraordinary church a few kms out of town, the Bom do Jesus.

But this morning I was in town, and so I went up to this ice cream stand. The lass serving was talking to a customer, who'd already got her cone and was now gas-bagging.

She went on and on and on and on.

She could see I was waiting, but still she went on and on and on and on.

The lass serving also knew that I was waiting, and wanted to extricate herself from the conversation but didn't want to be rude.

Pre-Camino, I would have done either one of two things: I would have glared at the gas-bagger and said in a loudish voice – Hey, send her a text!

Or I would have cleared my throat and said to the serving lass in an ever-so polite voice: Excuse me miss? I am just dying for one of your delicious ice creams. Would you mind serving me when you're done there?

Or words to that effect.

Post-Camino, I was patient. And I started to examine the situation. The lass serving was obviously anxious to do her job and attend to me, and yet she didn't wish to offend her friend.

This I felt was an admirable trait in her.

And I started to think that it's moments like these that define people. It's the little moments. Her allowing the conversation to come to a natural conclusion said heaps about her, and me not losing it said heaps about the Camino!

When the serving lass finally turned to me, she had a big apologetic smile, and she gave me huge scoops of lemon and chocolate, in my mind, to compensate the waiting time, and to thank me for being patient.

PATIENCE

Pre-Camino, I was impatient. Everything had to be done NOW. I hated waiting for anything. I'd stamp my foot and purse my lips. And sometimes I'd even frown, sternly.

But the Camino teaches you patience.

There's no status on the Camino. No Platinum Frequent Walkers Card that gets you to a bunk in front of anyone else. No Personal Assistants to do your chores, so that you, the Exalted One, the Important One, has free time to change the course of The World.

Meals come when they're served. Your washing, that YOU do, takes so long to dry. If an albergue doesn't open its doors until 2pm, then you wait. In line. Like everyone else.

So today, I waited.

And I felt good about that.

The second thing that happened today was – I went out to do some grocery shopping for dinner. I walked about 2kms to the supermarket. While I was there, I reached into my bag for my iPad, and I couldn't find it.

I always carry my iPad with me.

I thought back, and tried to remember when I last had it. It HAD to be in my hotel room. So I slowly, and without any panic or sense of dread, walked back to the hotel.

(My knee is still cactus by the way.)

I calmly opened up the door to the room, and looked around. No iPad. Still, I didn't panic. There's no such thing as loss in the Universe, I said to myself.

I took another look around the room, and there it was, on the window shelf. I'd left it there while drying my undies, which weigh 75 gms by the way.

Pre-Camino, I would have rushed back to the room in a panic.

Post-Camino, I couldn't care less.

So I lose my iPad – so what?

These are just two little things that happened to me today, which tell me that there are big changes happening under the hood.

(Pic below is of Bom do Jesus, Braga, Portugal.)

Damn.

I have to keep blogging.

Thoughts, reverberations, echoes – deeper thoughts, deeper echoes, keep assailing me. Things I didn’t articulate. Things I couldn’t articulate at the time. Things I feel I can now articulate, with a growing perspective.

The further away I get from the Camino, the closer I feel I’m getting to it.

I feel I have more to say – with time, with distance.

So I will post once a week – on Fridays, which is the day I arrived in Santiago.

If you want to keep following, and you haven’t already done so, just become a follower and I guess there’s some way you’ll receive notification of a new post.

The next post will be in a day or so – and then on Fridays.

Also, when I return home I am going to look at turning this into an e-book, with photos. And I will use that opportunity to expand on various aspects of the blog. Blogs by necessity have to short, sharp and preferably sweet.

Mine was short, often sharp, but sweet? I’ll let that one go through to the keeper.

This Camino. It gets into your bloodstream and never leaves you.

Damn.