I had a dream.

(Sorry, Martin Luther King Jr…)

Okay, yes I'm jet lagged, having just arrived back in Australia from Spain. But in this dream, just now, I was standing alone in the Cathedral in Santiago.

I had a rifle.

I picked up the rifle and I aimed at the largest and most beautiful stained glass window in the Cathedral.

And I fired.

I watched with horror as the bullet hit one of the small glass panels, and made a tiny hole. And then the hole grew. And then the whole panel shattered and glass started falling to the floor.

And then another panel broke, and then another.

And as I stood there watching, stunned at what I'd done, stunned at the destruction I was causing, the entire huge stained glass window – the major centrepiece of the Cathedral – shattered and disappeared before my eyes.

I was left staring out into this void, into the sky, where the beautiful glass had just been.

I woke up from this nightmare, literally gasping with shock. Then I turned and looked at the time.

It was 3:33am

Anyone who's read my blog will know that a couple of times on the Camino, I'd woken up at 3:32am and had chastised the Universe for short-changing me a minute.

This morning, I got that minute.

So I did a Google search on the significance of 3:33. And here's the results:

https://www.google.com.au/search?q=significance+of+3:33&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&hl=en&client=safari

I traveled home today. Including layovers, door to door, from Santiago to Sydney, 39 hrs.

I traveled with the smallest carry-on I’ve ever used. Before I left Santiago, I spent €5 and bought one of those tourist Camino nylon mini-packs.

So, for that length of travel, I used this small little nylon sack.

Inside was an iPad, an iPhone, charger, a small Fuji camera, and a book for when I couldn’t use an “electronic device” in case my reading Dan Brown’s Inferno on my iPad warped the jetliner’s navigational system and we hurtled out of control.

(Don’t get me started on the aviation industry’s rules and regulations designed to keep us, the ignorant public, moribund in fear, and thus completely pliable to their nonsensical dictates. Do you know that pilots use iPads inflight and while they’re landing?)

But, the point of this post is that traveling with such little carry-on was revelatory for me. Usually I have a Samsonite carry-on case containing my Nikon camera and lenses and battery charger, my laptop, laptop and phone chargers, books, spare clothes in case my checked in luggage goes astray, and sundry other bits and pieces that bring the total weight to something in excess of 12 kgs.

This is my CARRY-ON, usually. And my checked luggage normally comes in at 22-24kgs.

But post Camino, I’d be lucky if my carry-on sack weighed 1 kg.

Here’s how it affected my travel. I had an 8 hr layover in Paris. So I caught the RER into the city, walked along the banks of the Seine, went and visited the Notre Dame, had a nice leisurely lunch, and got the train back. All with my 1kg Camino sack slung over my shoulder.

I didn’t have to trundle a 12 kg piece of luggage on and off trains, up and down Paris streets, in and put of churches.

My Camino sack made the trip effortless.

Another benefit: when I travel with my 12 kg Samsonite, I always like to be amongst the first passengers on, so that I can ensure that I have my luggage in an overhead bin close to my seat. (Just in case anyone tries to steal something out of my bag while I’m asleep. There’s that fear again, based on possessions!)

That means there’s a real tension as I await the boarding call, then as I jockey to get on quickly.

This time, I sat back and let everyone else get on first. I knew my Camino sack would fit under my seat, no probs. I got onto the plane totally relaxed.

I will never again travel with such burdens. I’ve learnt that they just weigh you down, literally and figuratively. I don’t need all that stuff. On my 39 hrs of travel, I had everything I needed in my 1 kg Camino sack.

Just like for 5 weeks, I had everything I needed in my 8kg backpack, while walking the Camino.

Light ‘n Simple.

That’s one of the huge lessons I’ve learnt from my pilgrimage. Your life isn’t diminished by going light ‘n simple.

On the contrary, it’s enhanced.

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.