This is part of Sue Kenney’s book “My Camino”. It is published by permission of the author. After reading it I asked Sue if I could publish it here, she graciously agreed.
Adaptation
Stone by Stone
The next day I left in the stillness of the winter morning to walk 34 kilometers alone. It was a gorgeous sunny day. The terrain was easy with only one a small mountain range to challenge me. For some reason on this day I noticed neat piles of stones placed on the edge of the path or piled on top of the concrete markers that were decorated with a blue tile imbedded with a scallop shell symbol indicating the way to Santiago. I assumed the piles of stones were placed by the pilgrims before me and wanting to be a part of a historic ritual, I added a stone of my own. Even though I didn’t understand why I did this, I felt like I was a part of something very special.
Around 3:00 p.m. I arrived in the city of Estella, which means star in Spanish. Located at the point where the Camino Frances meets with the Camino Arles route joining the two paths to Santiago, it brings pilgrims from different routes together.
Later that afternoon, I arrived at the refugio and introduced myself to the others who had journeyed from the four corners of the world. They were gathered here from Germany, Argentina, Brazil, Holland, Switzerland and Madrid. The refugio had no cooking facilities available so some of us decided to go out together for a pilgrim’s meal at a local restaurant.
Everyone was from a different country and so the conversation was a feast of many languages. Luckily for me, someone was always able to translate what was being said into English. During a lull in the conversation, I asked if anyone at the table knew the reasons for the piles of stones left along the way. Sitting directly across from me, Andreas, a young German pilgrim smiled with anticipation and told me he knew a story about the stones. Speaking slowly, he explained. “It is said, if you pick up a stone and put some of your sorrow into it, when you place the stone down you leave some of your sorrow behind.”
I was moved. The story resonated with me. If I could leave my sorrow on the Camino, surely it would create more space in my heart for love. The next day, as soon as I went outside to begin walking, the first thing I did was to pick up a stone. I wasn’t sure how to put my sorrow into a stone, so I just imagined I could. Holding the stone in my hand as I walked, I caressed the smooth edges with my fingers like I was rubbing the sorrow into it. After a few minutes, I carefully set the stone down on the side of the path, letting go of my sorrow with it. Almost immediately, my heart opened up for more love and it felt so good that I wanted to pick up another stone right away. So I did, but this time I thought about putting the sorrow of my daughters into the stone. Seeing a small round stone, I picked it up for my oldest daughter Tara. I held it for a while as I walked, putting her sorrow into it and then I placed it down on the path. The next stone I picked up was for middle daughter Meghan. I held the it close to my heart imagining her sorrow was moving into the stone, and then I gently placed it down too. Finally, I picked up a stone for Simone, my youngest daughter. With intention, I put her sorrow into the stone too. Never at any time did I suppose I knew exactly what their sorrow was, I only knew they possessed it. This was my secret gift to them. It was perfect. This would soon become a daily ritual for me.
Two weeks later and having picked up supplies for the journey to climb O’Cebreiro, I returned to the refugio in Villa Franca. When I opened the door to go inside, sitting there at the table was the German pilgrim, Andreas who had told me the story of the sorrow stones. The first thing I mentioned to him was the profound impact his story
had on me. I was shocked when he said, “I don’t actually believe in sorrow stones.” I was so stunned by this comment, I couldn’t speak. “It’s just a story a friend told me that I was sharing with you.” For me, the ritual of leaving my own sorrow and the sorrow of others along the Camino had changed my life. Hearing this, I came to a full realization of the true power of believing in something. It was my faith in the possibility that I could put sorrow into a stone, that had made it real for me. Now I knew that it didn’t matter if Andreas believed in the stones or not. In the end, what’s important is whatever I believe.
Copyright Sue Kenney 2005 – www.suekenney.ca
http://www.suekenney.ca/bookandcdinfo.html – same story in Spanish, German or Brasilian Portuguese