Not long into the walk I felt a sudden surge in my body—like a wave of anxiety and excitement all at once.

I had finally acknowledged that I was feeling somewhat disconnected from the experience of the Camino

Things did not start off well. Despite the good dressing each step gave me a jolt of pain and I had to limp to lessen the pressure on that part of my foot.

The day was spent in pure pleasure. I ate good food. I watched street performers. I toured the magnificent Santa Maria de Regla de Leon Cathedral. I got a much-needed haircut. I connected with Tom, Alex and Brad, three pilgrims from Britain. I let my foot and blister breathe. I played my ukulele. I took a nap. I ate more good food.

The Meseta was definitely doing its work. The long multi-day stretches of flat plains had pitched me into a place of radical self-honesty. I was coming to terms with the reality of my own life.

The Camino was not a break from my life. It was my life.

I woke up in Terradillos feeling and thinking, “I want to just kick this Camino in the butt!”

“Go deep, Brian, not big.”

That phrase must have been working on me in my sleep. I had spent much of this pilgrimage trying to craft a future that would satisfy my complex longings.

Lots of time and room to just think today. The terrain definitely facilitates that—endless kilometers of sunflower fields amid an essentially flat landscape called the Meseta.

As deliciously sacred as the night before was, the early morning was nearly the opposite. First of all, I was awakened during the night by someone yelling in Spanish and banging loudly on the locked gate.

I woke up from my night in Hornillos already anticipating getting the to Anton Monastery. I didn’t know what to expect, but the few people who had stayed there told me it was one of the highlights of their Camino.

Any other time I would have considered it sort of campy. That night it was just perfect. So much delight. So much freedom. So much life.

Neither the strategizing of the prior days nor the almost manic “toss everything to the wind” satisfied my yearning to find an answer that satisfied my deeper yearning for home.

If I was trying to develop a strategy to hold onto my house in Portland with my mental musings yesterday, today I went the complete opposite direction.

I don’t’ know what it was about the experience of Granon, but all day was consumed with the thought, “I just want to go home.”

I didn’t know what would come next, but I did know that it had to have “soul” to it one way or another, whatever that meant.

I wouldn’t call what happened on this day a definite threshold, but it had all the signs of a significant shift in the lens through which I look at the world.

A handful of pilgrims asked as I walked by, “Are we going to get to hear more. That was beautiful.”

Nice way to end the day.

There were so many simple delights on the trail this day. We were in wine country and the grapes were ripe.

At day’s end I had this deeply grateful feeling. “Now I am on a pilgrimage,” I thought.