Eduardo and an amazing (painful) Epiphany

Funny how themes arise in the same day-yesterday it was death.  We arrived at lunchtime at a place where the next leg meant a walk through relative wilderness to Hermanillos. It was hot and most people stopped, but I was keen to not just walk alone but to more or less BE alone along The Camino and this is the time of day when it is most likely to happen. So I set off leaving the rest to a leisurely lunch. Towards the end of my journey, when the going got tough, I passed, for about the 7th time that day, a man who walked with stooped shoulders. I kept passing him because he never took a break- just walk, walk, walk at a slow pace. On the last 'take over' I shouted a cheery 'Ola', to which he replied, 'You are going to Hermanillos, yes, then join me for dinner as I do not like to eat alone'. 'Sure' I reply and at that off I go.
Having started my period, my hair sticking to my scalp fom lack of washing and endless disturbed nights from snoring I decide to stay in a Casa Rural. A room to myself and BLISS a BATH! Afterwards I go in search of Eduardo who will come and join me for dinner. I visit the local 'supermarket', whose sign is made of cardboard, hand-written and spelt incorrectly. Actually this shop is wonderful. It smells of Steve's parent's home and the man serving, who owns the shop, is the oldest shop-keeper I have ever met. He is an utter sweety and picks out every dodgy cherry that he is selling me before he puts them on the scales.
During dinner I find out that Eduardo is an architect and lives in Genoa. He tells me about the architecture of The Royal Crescent in Bath that he has studied and then goes onto Christopher Wren. All fascinating stuff but there is so much more that he is not saying and eventually I ask him what is bothering him. He is surprised that I know something is wrong, but he is wearing his misery like a cloak about him and his way of walking is such that it looks like he is carrying the weight of the world on his back. He comes straight to the point:
'I am scared of death. Next year I am 60 and I know that at sometime I am going to die and I am terrified of dying'. What an oppertunity to really tell him the 'Good News', so I say that death has been taken care of by Jesus and all he needs to do is accept the gift of that death in his place.
'But there is no such thing as heaven...or hell' he says. 'God does not exist'.
'But I love God and I know He loves me' I say and I am not talking about some philosophical/religious concept but a living relationship with the living God.  A part of me longs to go home, to be with Him and to see Him, really see Him face to face'.
'But you are so young, you know nothing of death' he replies.
'I know a little' I say, 'My mum has died, my dad has died, my aunty has died and my first baby died at birth and yet I still know that this is not the end- not if I choose it not to be, but you don't force someone to accept a gift do you?'
'Surely Kate you do not believe in heaven and hell do you?' he says and I reply
'Yes I suppose I do but I have no idea who will be where. I think we choose ourselves for the most part as a response is needed of some sort to what Jesus did on the cross for all creation across all cultures and all times. It is not me for to judge. Only God knows the hearts of people. What is done on the outside does not necessarily reflect the heart underneath and no one knows anyone elses entire journey- only God'.
Eduardo goes on to tell me that he collects things and that people who collect things do so because they are frightened of death and this is their legacy that they leave behind. He has collected shells since he was 3yrs old and he keeps the shells in a box under his bed as the sun ruins them. Then he laughs at himself and says how ridiculous this is. I tell him I think it is really lovely and we go on to discuss the author Bruce Chatwin who has written a book translated into Italian as UTZ, which is about a man that collects fine porcelain and smashes it all just before he dies. I search my memory banks for the books I have read by Chatwin and recall one about 2 farming brothers, which we discuss briefly.
Our walk tomorrow is through arid land that is irrigated by canals. For 20km there is no civilisation, just wildlife-BLISS. Most pelegrinos won´t walk it and take the alternative route to Mansilla de las Mulas. Eduardo says he will leave early but is comforted by the fact that I will be behind him as he does not want to die alone and should he have a heart attack I will find him.
Actually he leaves so early I never catch him up, but it is no coincidence that I have met with this man. Not just for his life but for my own. As I am walking, my sister in laws name keeps coming to mind, who I rarely see these days as she has a new man and so the distance between us has increased. Her period of acute pain when my brother left has passed and her life has moved on. And so it goes from there- I do not resist the flow of the Spirit, but wait openly and like a rush of wind it comes upon me and suddenly I see something that I have never understood- the behaviour of my brother, in lifes context, absurd as it was and oh so painful and destructive and the tears flow and I sob my way into Mansilla, stopping mid-flow to ask a farmer the right way (it is too hot to walk the wrong way so even a crisis moment has to be contained)! If you think of the longest walk you have ever been on and the sight of the pub comes into view and you order a pint- well the first taste was like this experience. It really did reach the parts that other healings have never reached where hurt is transformed into compassion because you 'see' beyond.
Much love, Kate