Temples and Altars: a path of forgiveness

Alberto and I are back from the Camino de Santiago, after a short but most meaningful experience. It was our first time walking it together, and it brought to each many great memories. Still, this was a pilgrimage, and we were clearly called; so we were attentive not only to what our eyes were showing us but to the Voice of our Inner Guide (Spirit), asking Him to guide us to what He knew we needed to learn in this stage of our journey. This practice of surrendering our plans and wills is not new to us, and has become only more reinforced as we have deepened our study and practice of A Course in Miracles.

Many things happened, but I want to share one lesson that especially impacted us. It began right away, on our first day walking, early morning in Leon, as Alberto and I stood admiring its beautiful Cathedral. As I contemplated its loveliness, a thought entered my mind,

“Remember, what makes a temple holy is not the beauty of its structure but what lies upon its altar. Look closely at the altar.”

I recognized the reference from the Course, and picked up the meaning: Don’t let the outer distract you from the inner. Don’t let the gilded frame dazzle you from looking at the picture inside. No matter how beautiful the temple, its true beauty lies in what its altar venerates.

So, of course, as we walked, I began to pay attention to the altars of every temple we walked into, from the most stunning to the most humble. And what I saw, almost without exception, were images of pain, suffering, sacrifice, judgment, attack, loss, grief, death.

I felt the voice of judgment rising within me… and just as quickly remembered the fundamental teaching of the Course:

The outer world I see (and judge and attack and condemn ) reflects my own beliefs, the ideas I value and hold dear, what *I* have placed on my own inner altar which God created holy, pure, innocent, guiltless, sinless.

I am the one who has placed the idea of suffering on the altar of innocence.

I am the one who is venerating it in my (temporary body) temple.

The world is only showing me this idea in form.

This is what I love about this Course, about Ho’oponopono and the many teachings which place the responsibility (not the guilt or sin) for what is happening back with the individual, with the thought system they cherish, consciously or unconsciously.

I took responsibility for this error in my thinking, for accepting the belief that a God or Creator Who is All Love would demand sacrifice or suffering from His Creations Whom He created like Himself, whole, pure, perfect, forever extending Love unto eternity. I gave this error to be corrected, and accepted the truth of my Identity as God’s Son (Child, Extension, Creation). This is the forgiveness practice of the Course.

I thought it was done. No more suffering. I accept the correction and truth. We can walk light and free. In fact, at Cruz de Ferro (where pilgrims traditionally leave a stone of their “sins”), Alberto and I lay lilies of forgiveness, to symbolize the correction in my mind of the error of sacrifice and its replacement with pure-white thoughts of innocence. We offered them not only for our healing, but for that of all our brothers so that we may all be liberated from this idea. We both believed our pilgrimage ended here, and that we had fulfilled the purpose for which we had come.

But we continued ahead, without really asking Spirit whether or not we should. The rocky path continued its up and down trajectory, but it now looked like someone had emptied a quarry and dumped it there. We joked that not even the goats were daring to walk it! Was it always like this, and I never noticed? Neither of us thought so. At one point, a wire fence lined with hand-made crosses accompanied us for a long stretch. Was it always there too? Over the next days, blisters upon blisters formed on both heels, along with bites, swelling and allergic reactions to I don’t know what all over my face and body. Alberto had similar eruptions.

The mind wanted to offer its “logical” explanations; but in the stillness, I knew what was happening.

There is a wonderful Lesson (136) I have been listening to a great deal which states that all sickness is a defense against the truth. In the moment that truth gently reclaims the altar upon which it was placed by its Creator and shines forth in peace, the remnants of the idea of suffering resurge to make their presence known; to remind me that I am indeed a body (not Spirit or holy or Son of God) and that, as a body, I am weak, fallible and can definitely suffer pain.

Because pain feels so real, it’s tempting me to believe it is real. But it is not. Convincing? Yes. But what is created holy and forever safe within its Creator cannot suffer pain. Only in dreams can it choose to think so. And what happens in dreams is not real. The idea of suffering uses the body to convince the dreamer to keep alive the idea (and dream) of pain and suffering.

I practiced the Course’s teachings as I walked, and had many moments when I truly felt I had transcended the body and that it was being carried along. Alberto kept asking me why are we walking in suffering if we had left behind the idea of suffering? I couldn’t answer properly. I wanted to at least arrive to Villafranca del Bierzo and its Puerta del Perdon to say to myself that I had at least made it there walking. The Door of Forgiveness. It would be as if I had made it to Santiago; but what sense did it make to arrive suffering in order to demonstrate that suffering isn’t necessary?

Clearly, something else was going on. As we sat to take a break in Camponaraya, and for me to vent my frustrations, I finally had to admit that to stop walking because of what I considered trivialities meant that I had failed as a pilgrim; more specifically, in my ideas of a suffering pilgrim, the one who walked despite the pain, who carried their backpack, who never called ahead and made reservations, who slept in whatever conditions were offered her, giving thanks and never asking for more. This was the image of a pilgrim who suffered in order to reach God, who through pain and struggling and overcoming was somehow purified and worthy to be received into the temple and to pray at the altar. So many tortured ideas that this unworthy pilgrim image represented, and that I had obviously identified with.

All I can tell you is that a miracle happened in that little plaza in Camponaraya which I will share at another time, whose messenger clearly told me I need not suffer, and to take the bus to Villafranca first, then to Santiago and finally to Finisterre.

It took time to overcome the idea of feeling I had failed, but even I had to eventually admit its usefulness had come to an end. It was time to let it go. For me, my red backpack - the one I had carried on my first Camino alone and on our pilgrimage to Jerusalem - symbolized that image. Traditionally, pilgrims would arrive in Finisterre where they would burn their old clothing and bathe in the waters of the Atlantic in a ceremonial ritual of death and rebirth. The burning is no longer allowed - and rightfully so. Alberto suggested we donate it to the pilgrim albergue in town; a brilliant idea that immediately felt right and which the hospitalera happily accepted. It was a bittersweet moment, more emotional than I expected it to be. I placed it under a painting of the bronzed pilgrim boot found on the rocks behind the lighthouse, where the journey and the ideas it represented came to an end. I felt profoundly at peace.

There is so much more I can share, so many miracles that took place, but I do hope this sharing serves you, whether on the Camino or off. We walk together, holding each other’s hands, following the path that Love has traced for us, back to the Home that awaits our return and that we never left in truth. The path is sure, and the destination…inevitable.

With infinite blessings, 💖

Mony