O Cebreiro.
El Camino de Santiago

I remember the stars above the mountains at O Cebreiro. Huge swirls of light in the black sky. Still cool air and friends. Friends who shared the little we had and gave willingly to all. Shared thoughts, shared joys, shared pain, shared love; we gave freely of all we had. A piece of bread, a glass of wine, and more importantly; we gave the time that we would rarely have to spare in our lives if we were at home. We gave laughter and music. We gave ourselves totally.

Our homes, so far away, were just distant memories. Home now was a different place every night, an old house, a soul-less sports hall, a seminary, a nunnery where knitting needles clattered as the nuns watched soaps on television, a baking hot basement. We knew not where home would be on the morrow, and cared little either. A roof, a bed, wine, food, music and good company; the timeless gifts that make man immortal. 

The calendar said 1988, our spirits knew better; 1288, 1388, 2188? It didn’t matter. We didn’t care. We were free of care; free from time. Free to be the people we really are, not the masks we wear to shield us from fear or deceitfulness. We walked as if naked and nothing harmed us. Nakedness brought us power. We were strong, fearless, impervious and immortal. The sun could burn us. Thirst could scorch our throats. Pain would tear our muscles, but we would prevail. 
We were indestructible and we would win through. The stars were ours to touch.