still walking

i've been back in berlin for a little over a week now. during those eight days, there have been eleven more walks, runs, or bicycle rides. in a way, i have not stopped the camino. certainly not the inner one.

the outer camino ended in santiago. the inner one seems less interested in destinations (i am mostly walking in circles, around lake müggel - the trees know me, perhaps?).

the inner camino simply continues. and i guess that was kind of the point. not to finish the camino, but to allow it to continue within me.

the curious thing is that even when i walk alone, i rarely feel alone. there are the people physically present in my life. there are the people i speak to. the people i write to. the people i read. and there are those whose stories, words, and examples continue to accompany me long after our paths first crossed. we carry fragments of each other. every walk is also a walk with the souls that have touched our own.

something else has continued as well. cracks have begun to form in the armour i spent decades building around my soul.

the camino, the conversations, the walking, the reading, the writing, the silence, somehow they have all contributed to those cracks forming. it is painful to look inside these cracks. but i am grateful for them. they let the light in. they also let things out.

which brings me back to hans' book once again. difficult experiences are not merely obstacles in our lives. they become part of our lives. traumatic experiences leave their mark. they shape us. and if we are willing to face them, to revisit them, to confront them honestly, they also become opportunities for growth. for maturation. for development.

that sounds straightforward in theory. in practice, it is anything but. because what exactly happened? how was it when it happened? what did it feel like? what did i understand at the time? what have i forgotten?

memory is a curious thing. it is never a recording. never an objective archive. it is always personal. always incomplete. always shaped by perspective. we forget little details that may matter. we do not simply remember our stories. we continuously recreate them. we tell and retell them to ourselves. we edit them. sometimes consciously. often unconsciously.

some stories we repeat so frequently that they become part of our identity. others we lock away. seal them behind closed doors. we bury them beneath work, achievement, distractions, routines, obligations, or silence. but they remain. especially the fragments in time that changed everything.

and when the cracks begin to break open, they come out anyway. emotions ask to be felt. the questions above want to be revisited. you cannot erase your scars. nor should you. even if you feel what has formed them again.

they are the starting point for another camino - the one towards healing.