Well, here we are, having tapas at Geminis in Almanzora. . . 4 km from Albox, which was 7 km from Ventarique . . .
Since it is Christmas Day, when magical thinking is accepted in all the countries where the day is celebrated; a jolly old chap in red costume, with long white hair and beard, delivers presents to children, as long as they are good and their parents or substitute parents have paid into the illusion; a baby is born, the mother a virgin, her husband accepting, wise men with gifts, the real father an old man with long white hair and beard, not always jolly, firm but fair in some versions, dispensing punishments in others, kind and compassionate in others . . . in all cases supremely powerful . . .
. . . the images imagined by humans . . . the similarities remarkable, the effect on children and credulous adults similar when they discover trusted parents, priests, have been embellishing the truth . . .
. . . I want to be completely vague about this, so as to communicate something to credulous friends, whilst not alienating cynical ones . . . when I say "we", don't imagine I walked here with someone . . . but it became apparent along the camino, as I travelled mostly alone for 20,30,40,50 km a day, that I was not alone, and the more I relaxed and allowed the journey to unfold, the more interesting it became . . . the more I trusted that all was well, the weller it became . . . for family and friends who fear I have lost the plot: it's true, the plot, the plan, can be the problem . . . the best stuff is outside of it; and rest assured I have a friend who knows me well, reads the blog and FB posts, a qualified psychologist (she may protest that she is a cognitive psychologist not a clinical one, but a PhD impresses me, whatever the speciality), told me once I was one of the sanest people she knew . . . in the sense that I am at ease with my current delusions perhaps, but for me mental pain and anguish are symptoms of dis-ease, being content living in this mad, mad world is a challenge, and I am quite content, whilst doing what I can to build a world where love prevails . . . and peace on earth is not just for Christmas.
When I was a child, Christmas had that magic. We were four children, Mum and Dad, occasional auntie, random strangers Dad invited for dinner. Stockings first thing, then presents after breakfast and after Dad had milked the cow. A ritual round the tree, each present unwrapped while the rest watched and waited for their turn.
Big dinner, compulsory family walk in the forest before we were allowed to watch the circus or whatever on the television.
When my own children were young, we shared the magic, their grandparents too.
After the divorce, the children spent Christmas with their mother, New Year with me. Christmas lost the magic, though there was the reconstructed second family for a while.
After that, I lost interest, found the whole thing rather ridiculous and opted out, preferring a long walk in the countryside. One year I spent the time at a Buddhist monastery, which was different.
This year, in Spain, I sent messages to family and friends, then set off on a walk, calling in for coffee at the hotel in Albox, tapas in Almanzora, enjoying the solitude, musing on options ahead, returning to Svein and Maureen for dinner at 5, having left before they got up, at 10.
I make no judgement on anybody's version of Christmas. Linda was at one of her four sons' house for dinner with 17 people, Emily working at Baltic making delicious desserts, others doing family things.
It's a bit like Luis' description of the camino - life concentrated. Lovely families having lovely time, feuding families fighting, lonely people lonelier, depressed people too often pushed over the edge.
Separation and suicide statistics peak.
Lots of happy children and adults bask in the warm glow of a special day.
Anyway, it's done for another year.
I enjoyed mine and I hope you enjoyed yours . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment