Awakening: On My Way To Santiago

By Marco Rispoli

It was spring here in the Southern Hemisphere and, like all mornings, the alarm went off at 7:30.  But, unlike other mornings, I had no problems waking up that morning.  During the night, something strange had happened. Years ago, I had read Paulo Coelho's book The Way before watching the film but I had never seriously thought about doing the Camino de Santiago.  Of course I had told myself many times "One day I will do it!" But that morning, that thought was no longer a simple desire but had become a conviction to do El Camino.  I knew that answers would come only if I walked to Santiago de Compostela: answers to questions about my life, what was left of my life and about overcoming this heavy burden of unhappiness that I had been hiding from everyone, including myself, for far too many years.
That mysterious energy of El Camino called for me, reaching to São Paulo in Brazil, convincing me that now was the time. The Camino de Santiago is alive: it is not simply a well-trodden path but a band of energy fueled by the thousands of pilgrims who have, every year, engaged in this fantastic, incredible, intense and transformative adventure.  This book recounts my own transformation during El Camino which awakened me to the voids in the life I was living and to the hopes I had for the life ahead of me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Babelcube Inc.
• Release date: Jul 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667423494

Book preview

Awakening

Marco Rispoli

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Translated by Belinda Frith

Awakening

Written by Marco Rispoli

Copyright © 2022 Marco Rispoli

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Belinda Frith

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Awakening

On My Way to Santiago

––––––––

Marco Rispoli

www.marcorispoli.com

I would like to thank my Mom and Dad who had taught me to walk.

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Thanks also go to Vito Mancuso who showed me how powerful we can become when we find Truth.

Introduction

Here in the Southern Hemisphere, it was mid-September and spring.  As with every morning, the alarm went off at 7:30.  However, that morning, strangely, I had no trouble waking up.

Something had happened in the night. Years ago, I had read Paulo Coelho's book The Way before watching the film but I had never seriously thought about doing El Camino de Santiago.  Of course, like many, I had vowed to myself several times, One day I will do it! But that morning, the thought was so real and so strong I did not simply awake with the desire to walk the Camino de Santiago, but I woke with the conviction that I had to walk El Camino.  Somehow, I knew that, if I wanted answers, I needed to walk to Santiago de Compostela: answers to questions about my life, what was left of my life and about overcoming this heavy burden of unhappiness that I had been hiding from everyone, including myself, for far too many years.

The Way called me. That mysterious energy reached São Paulo in Brazil and convinced me that now was the time. The Camino de Santiago is alive: it is not simply a well-trodden path but a band of energy fueled by the thousands of pilgrims who have, every year, engaged in this fantastic, incredible, intense and transformative adventure.

Around 8:30, my wife Aglaura shook me gently by my shoulder and suggested it was time to get out of bed. To reach the office, which was only 5 kilometers away, we had to plan on a 40-minute drive. Time would not wait for my return to Earth and I was already late. Kronos is relentless. The ancient Greeks had two words for time, χρόνος (chonos) and καιρός (kairos). While chronos refers to the logical, sequential and chronological time that is familiar to everyone, kairos means a time in between, a moment within an indefinite period of time in which something special happens. That night, The Camino introduced me to kairos, that magical moment which is far from our space-time reality, occurring not at a precise moment, but simply happening, changing our life.

I returned to Earth, my feet attracted by the force of gravity. My body couldn't fly but my thoughts could. I spent the day roaming the Internet to understand what the Camino de Santiago was all about: maps, blogs, sites and Facebook pages where pilgrims exchange experiences and photos.

Everyone cautioned against the month of February, as the cold and snow of the Pyrenees makes the long and challenging 800-kilometer walk even more difficult. Some told me that the mountain could kill me and that I was crazy to even think of going at that time of the year, reminding me that many pilgrims have died along the way, on The Way.

Death has never scared me. On the contrary. I am convinced that Death is a liberation, a goal, a homecoming. So such comments did not frighten me. The Way has called and has decided that for me, my time is now, in the dead of European winter.

I began buying the equipment I would need, starting at a shop specializing in hiking gear.  The assistant asked me jokingly if I was buying shoes for the Camino de Santiago. After all, what were the odds that an Italian in Brazil would go to a hiking shop in São Paulo to buy shoes for El Camino de Santiago? Coincidence? Power? I don't know, but I wanted to think that that innocent joke from the shop assistant was The Way making its first surprise appearance. Over the next few weeks, I trained and started leaving everything organized at both work and home so that my absence would not create problems for others. By January, I had a backpack, a sleeping bag, a waterproof windbreaker and all sorts of other things I thought I would need. 

I was ready.

Aglaura did not object to my trip although this would be the first time after twelve years of marriage that we would spend so much time apart. Aglaura seemed to be nursing a sense of abandonment, but I, for the first time in a very long time, felt that I was making a decision that focused on only my own well-being. I had to find happiness from somewhere, even if I didn't know from exactly where.

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Chapter 1

Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port

Some months after that morning in São Paulo, I arrived in Milan, where I stayed for three days, visiting family and friends. Like those few times I returned to Milan, I met up with friends over dinner, spending long evenings revisiting those memories of the good old days together. Our past.  However, this time, there was a future to talk about: my upcoming walk. A few were proud of my adventure but most were convinced that I would bail out after a few days and limp back to São Paulo.

Their skepticism did not surprise me because I was certainly not known for being