It is over when it is over
I have met the real Pedro in Logroño, have walked 900 Kilometer in the Winter to Santiago de Compostela and met an amazing woman, who taught me the mystery of sweet suffering. And here I ask myself: Is it really over, when it is over or is it never over?
The Winter in the north of Spain showed its cold, snowy face. My face looked at times just like that, snowy white and cold. Aliveness seem to grow in me, as if it wanted to tell the stormy weather: “Hey, it is okay. I am not ready to leave. And so, I continued setting one foot in front of the other, walked one day after the other, visited one Sunday after the other and kept waking up each morning to another glorious frosty day.
It never is over, it seems. The sun, she rises in the east and settles for a colorful setting in the west. The morning coffee is fresh and sets me up for the first kilometers. The further west I go the more I witness the warmth of the Atlantic air, preparing the still leafless trees for the coming blossoming of the arriving spring.
Life is never over, as it never had to be born. It has been here long before, to be witnessed through a conscious being, an entity of grace.
Pedro sucks on his hour old cigar. He looks over to me, as if he wanted to say, who needs an end, if there has never been a beginning? And he is right, I think, take a sip from the excellent vine and book my train ticket to Madrid. I will be back to Santiago on Wednesday to continue my pilgrimage to Porto. And so, also this journey needs no end.
Logroño, 13. Feb. 2023
S.K.
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