The Pilgrimage (19 page)

It is not a sin to be happy. Half a dozen exercises and an attentive ear are enough to
allow us to realize our most impossible dreams. Because of my pride in wisdom, you made me
walk the Road that every person can walk, and discover what everyone else already knows if
they have paid the slightest attention to life. You made me see that the search for
happiness is a per- sonal search and not a model we can pass on to others. Before finding
my sword, I had to discover its secret and the secret was so simple; it was to know what
to do with it. With it and with the happiness that it would represent to me.

I have walked so many miles to discover things I already knew, things that all of us know
but that are so hard to accept. Is there anything harder for us, my Lord, than discovering
that we can achieve the power? This pain that I feel now in my breast, that makes me sob
and that frightens that poor lamb, has been felt since human beings first existed. Few can
accept the burden

of their own victory: most give up their dreams when they see that they can be realized.
They refuse to fight the good fight because they do not know what to do with their own
happiness; they are imprisoned by the things of the world. Just as I have been, who wanted
to find my sword without knowing what to do with it.

A god sleeping within me was awakening, and the pain was growing worse and worse. I felt
the presence close to me of my Master, and I was able for the first time to turn my sobs
into tears. I wept with gratitude for his having made me search for my sword along the
Road to Santiago. I wept with gratitude for Petrus, for his having taught me, without
saying a word, that I would realize my dreams if I first discovered what I wanted to do
with them. I saw the cross, with no one on it, and the lamb at its base, free to go where
he wanted in those mountains and to see the clouds above his head and below his feet.

The lamb began to walk away, and I followed him. I already knew where he would lead me; in
spite of the clouds, everything had become clear to me. Even if I could not see the Milky
Way in the sky, I was certain that it was there, pointing the way along the Road to
Santiago. I followed the lamb as he walked in the direc- tion of the hamlet which was
called El Cebrero, like the mountain.

There, at one time, a miracle had happened. It was the miracle of transforming what you do
into what you believe in, just like the secret of my sword and of the

Strange Road to Santiago. As we descended the moun- tain, I remembered the story. A farmer
from a nearby village had climbed the mountain to attend mass at El Cebrero on a stormy
day. The mass was being celebrated by a monk who was almost completely lacking in faith
and who ridiculed the farmer for having made such an effort to get there. But at the
moment of consecration, the host had actually been transformed into the body of Christ and
the wine into his blood. The relics are still there, guarded in that small chapel, a
treasure greater than all the riches of the Vatican.

The lamb stopped at the edge of the hamlet, where there was only one street leading to the
church. At that moment, I was seized by a terrible fear, and I began to repeat over and
over, Lord, I am not worthy to enter thy house. But the lamb looked at me and spoke to me
through his eyes. He said that I should forget forever my unworthiness because the power
had been reborn in me, in the same way that it could be reborn in all people who devoted
their lives to the good fight. A day would come said the lambs eyes when people would
once again take pride in themselves, and then all of nature would praise the awakening of
the God that had been sleeping within them.

As the lamb looked at me, I could read all of this in his eyes; now he had become my guide
along the Road to Santiago. For a moment everything went dark, and I began to see scenes
that were reminiscent of those I had read about in the Apocalypse: the Great Lamb on his

throne and people washing his vestments, cleansing them with his blood. This was the
moment when the God was awakened in each of them. I also saw the wars and hard times and
catastrophes that were going to shake the earth over the next few years. But everything
ended with the victory of the Lamb and with every human being on earth awakening the
sleeping God and all of Gods power.

I followed the lamb to the small chapel built by the farmer and by the monk who had come
to believe in what he did. Nobody knows who they were. Two name- less tombstones in the
cemetery by the chapel mark the place where they were buried. But it is impossible to tell
which is the grave of the monk and which of the farmer. The miracle had occurred because
both had fought the good fight.

The chapel was completely lit when I came to its door. Yes, I was worthy of entering,
because I had a sword and I knew what to do with it. These were not the Gates of
Forgiveness, because I had already been for- given and had washed my clothing in the blood
of the Lamb. Now I wanted only to hold my sword and go out to fight the good fight.

In the small church there was no cross. There on the altar were the relics of the miracle:
the chalice and the paten that I had seen during the dance, and a silver reli- quary
containing the body and blood of Jesus. I once again believed in miracles and in the
impossible things that human beings can accomplish in their daily lives.

The mountain peaks seemed to say to me that they were there only as a challenge to humans
and that humans exist only to accept the honor of that challenge.

The lamb slipped into one of the pews, and I looked to the front of the chapel. Standing
before the altar, smiling and perhaps a bit relieved was my Master: with my sword in his
hand.

I stopped, and he came toward me, passing me by and going outside. I followed him. In
front of the chapel, looking up at the dark sky, he unsheathed my sword and told me to
grasp its hilt with him. He pointed the blade upward and said the sacred Psalm of those
who travel far to achieve victory:

A thousand fall at your side, and ten thousand to your right, but you will not be touched.
No evil will befall you, no curse will fall upon your tent; your angels will be given
orders regarding you,

to protect you along your every way.

I knelt, and as he touched the blade to my shoulders, he said:

Trample the lion and the serpent, The lion cub and the dragon will make shoes for your
feet.

As he finished saying this, it began to rain. The rain fer- tilized the earth, and its
water would return to the sky after having given birth to a seed, grown a tree, brought

a flower into blossom. The storm intensified, and I raised my head, feeling the rain for
the first time in my entire journey along the Road to Santiago. I remem- bered the dry
fields, and I was joyful that they were being showered upon that night. I remembered the
rocks in Leon, the wheat fields of Navarra, the dryness of Castile, and the vineyards of
Rioja that today were drinking the rain that fell in torrents, with all of the force in
the skies. I remembered having raised a cross, and I thought that the storm would once
again cause it to fall to earth so that another pilgrim could learn about command and
obedience. I thought of the waterfall, which now must be even stronger because of the
rain- fall, and of Foncebadon, where I had left such power to fertilize the soil again. I
thought about all of the water I had drunk from so many fountains that were now being
replenished. I was worthy of my sword because I knew what to do with it.

The Master held out the sword to me, and I grasped it. I looked about for the lamb, but he
had disappeared. But that did not matter: the Water of Life fell from the sky and caused
the blade of my sword to glisten.

From the window of my hotel I can see the Cathedral of Santiago and the tourists at its
main gate. Students in black medieval clothing mingle with the townspeople, and the
souvenir vendors are setting up their stalls. It is early in the morning, and except for
my notes, these are the first lines I have written about the Road to Santiago.

I reached the city yesterday, after having caught the bus that runs from Pedrafita, near
El Cebrero, to Compostela. In four hours we covered the 150 kilome- ters that separate the
two cities, and this reminded me of the journey with Petrus. At times, it took us two
weeks to cover that distance. In a short while, I am going to the tomb of San Tiago to
leave there the image of Our Lady of the Visitation, mounted on the scallop shells. Then,
as soon as possible, I am going to catch a plane for Brazil, because I have a lot to do. I
remember that Petrus told me once that he had condensed all of his experience into one
picture, and the thought occurs to me that I might write a book about everything that has
happened to me. But this is still a remote idea; I have so much to do now that I have
recovered my sword.

The secret of my sword is mine, and I will never reveal it to anyone. I wrote it down and
left it under a stone, but with the rain, the paper has probably been destroyed. Its
better that way. Petrus didnt need to know.

I asked my Master whether he had known what day I was going to arrive or whether he had
been waiting there for some time. He laughed and said that he had arrived there the
morning before and was going to leave the next day, whether I appeared or not.

I asked how that was possible, and he did not answer me. But when we were saying good-bye
and he was getting into the rental car that would take him back to Madrid, he gave me a
small medal of the Order of San Tiago of the Sword. And he told me that I had already had
a great revelation when I had looked into the eyes of the lamb.

And when I think about it, I guess it is true that people always arrive at the right
moment at the place where someone awaits them.