I had breakfast around 10 with a young man from Milan. As he sipped his cerveza he told me I had found the only Italian that doesn't like soccer. Milan is too stressful too.
I have brought my stone all the way from Arizona and am ready to lay it at the foot of the Cruz de Ferro, and along with it my judgment, my guilt, my negativity. Why do I hesitate? Is it because I am afraid I can't do it? Or do I love my suffering in some way. As I sit atop this mountain and realize my suffering has been my own design, the sun is trying to break through the cold and windy sky. I see a patch of blue.the tourist bus has let its customers off,and as they talk and laugh I say to myself I am no better than they...maybe I am ready
The wind was so strong today going over the pass, it almost blew me over several times...grueling day
It seems like such a different world over there. It looks more romantic, less hectic, more sane than America. Does it feel that way to you?
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