Because of the press following me, I had felt not only invaded but also that I was in a race against time. I decided I would walk into Compostela on July 4. I would have done the Camino in thirty days. To me it would signify my liberation as an American. Somehow my forty-day advice from my friend Anne Marie was forgotten, lost in the maze of evading the press and not wanting to disturb the search and motivation of the other pilgrims. I didn’t want them burdened with my baggage, yet I was cognizant that I was also serving my overachievement compulsion.

  I had not yet reached the abandoned village of Foncebadón, where the dog packs were, and the specter of that event was ever present in my mind. Perhaps what happened next was a precursor.

  I was walking alone in the hills. Ali, Carlos, and the Irish were either days behind or days ahead. I was deep into a dream-vision about my past life as the Moorish girl. John the Scot was with me again, narrating the meaning of the pictures in my head.

  I was in the court of Charlemagne, as before, poring over ancient manuscripts relating to the positions of the stars and their effect on human behavior. Charlemagne was a man who believed he should be able to control not only the tides, but also the stars. He was an insatiable conqueror for the sake of his pope. Together they would rule the destiny of the known world for Christ.

  John the Scot was with us. Suddenly, John said to me, “Now, you wished to know the identity of your king in your present lifetime?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Look closely into his face. You will see.”

  I looked up into the conqueror’s face. It began to change until it formed the features of someone I knew. I was startled at my recognition. Then another voice overshadowed even the sight of his face as he spoke to me. “Yes,” he said. “You are seeing me again.”

  It was the face and voice of Olaf Palme, the Swedish prime minister with whom I had had a love affair and whom I had written about in Out on a Limb and disguised as a British politician from the Labour party. “I have always wanted to change the world for the better,” he said gently. “I tried to do it in the times I knew you. You inspired me, yet I couldn’t accept you completely in either life because of the social implications.”

  Palme had been married when I was with him. He was assassinated by an unknown assailant, giving rise to swirling rumors that his killer had been a Moslem arms dealer. Palme had been a man of extraordinary intelligence and was instrumental in arbitrating the problems between the northern and southern countries (as he termed them) in the world. He was a socialist, but a strong proponent of democracy. If he had lived, he could have made a big difference in melding a socialist system of economics with democratic principles. He was married to a communist and believed that capitalism was running rampant but communism smothered free thought. He was sensitive, flexible, and yet believed one individual could effect tremendous change. The last time I saw him he told me that after his term as prime minister he would like the job of secretary general of the UN. If that occurred, he would be living in New York and we would be able to spend more time together. I never pressed him on marriage because I wasn’t certain I wanted that myself, but I was certain that he was a man I could have been happy with. We fit in every way, and he satisfied me intellectually and emotionally. There was one problem, however. He was paranoid about the press and very concerned about what our relationship would mean to his power. As karma would have it, he was assassinated as I was shooting the television film of Out on a Limb in Peru. At the moment he was killed, I was meeting with a Peruvian brojo (psychic). The brojo held objects in his hands that facilitated his clairvoyance. One of them was a small silver star. The star fell through his fingers. The brojo looked up at me and said, “Someone important to you has just passed on.” I had no idea what he meant until I saw a Peruvian newspaper the next day, with all the details.

  Now, as I sat against the huge wall fireplace and looked up at the king’s face while we were discussing the stars, I felt a shiver run through me. John the Scot spoke. “You see, my child, you two have had a destiny together. If he had recognized your relationship in society’s eyes in either incarnation, perhaps he could have effectuated his desires. Personal courage when one loves another is as important as the courage to effect change for the society. In the knowledge of who you are, you have the discipline and courage to carry out the agenda you set for yourself. He couldn’t see his way clear to understanding that everything begins with self. Without an understanding of self and all that that entails, one cannot align oneself with the destiny chosen. His destiny had been to align the socialist states after their collapse. He could have aligned a new paradigm with socialism and freedom. He could have united socialist countries who desired personal freedom in a way that was workable.”

  I stared at the face of the king and almost laughed. This was too awe-inspiring, and yet it seemed to fit. Palme had had other women before me, and it hadn’t troubled him. But then they were not interested in spiritual investigations. They were pure intellectuals. My spiritual leanings opened him to ridicule, and he gently tried to undermine my beliefs and questions at the same time that he understood there was something to them. I enjoyed the polarity, but I always felt I needed to warn him that he was out of touch with a fundamental truth that in the end would be his undoing. I never knew what I’d meant until now. When Palme died, I was devastated.

  John continued. “The greatest form of love is to allow the consequences that accrue from another’s own free will.”

  Yes, I understood that intellectually, but to absorb it emotionally was another matter.

  The dream-vision vanished, and I walked on, thinking of synchronicity in the world. It seemed true that one could see it everywhere; every moment there was a reminder of the laws of cause and effect. I remembered that Palme, who believed in separation of church and state, had been responsible for eliminating prayer in the Swedish schools every morning and in doing so had, ironically, wiped out collective simultaneous meditation for Sweden’s children (all of Sweden is in the same time zone). He had also been an atheist. Had he separated himself from the God Source and suffered the consequences?

  If he had trusted the Swedish press with his personal life and confusions, would they have accepted it? I walked on, completely engrossed in my thoughts. I wasn’t even aware that I was moving, when out of nowhere I found myself ambushed by a television crew and a woman reporter.

  She shoved a microphone in front of my face.

  I was so shocked it knocked the breath out of me, and then my shock turned to rage. I slammed the camera to the ground and then turned on the woman.

  “What the hell do you want?” I demanded. She, unfazed, said, “Could you tell our audiences if you are becoming Catholic, and if not, why are you doing this Camino?”

  Like a cornered animal, I shouted things at her that even my curse-proficient father couldn’t have made up. I called her every combination of names in the book and ended with, “I hate you and everything you stand for.”

  The woman turned away from me, trying to hold back tears. Then I went after the camera crew, who were desperately attempting to record my outburst. I lunged toward them and they ran. That didn’t stop me. I was relentless. I picked up a small boulder and, with my backpack thumping up and down, chased them up a mountainside. The woman stood below with tears on her cheeks and her mouth agape.

  The three-man crew kept running from me. I kept chasing them. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I was an enraged fifteen-year-old going after the school bully. When I got to the top of the mountain, they were waiting for me. I knew the camera was on, but I didn’t care. I threw the boulder at it, hoping it would be destroyed. It was, but another camera crew had been alerted somehow, and they got the film.

  There was a small village at the top of the mountain. A hotel owner saw the scene in front of his place, shooed the crew away, and helped me into his hotel. My lungs were aching from the exertion, which took my breath away in the thin air. I couldn’t speak. He led me to a private room, brought me tea, and after he determined that I was all right, left me alone.

  What had just happened?The woman reporter was engaged in ambush journalism, but I believed she was also basically curious about why I was doing the Camino. On reflection, I felt sorry for her. I had decimated her with my words, even if she only understood half of what I was saying. I remembered that her tears came when I screamed, “I hate you.”

  The men, on the other hand, had laughed at me as I pursued them up the mountain, which was what egged me on. They knew I was twice as old as they were and had a backpack to boot. They also knew that if I was mad, it would make a better story. I despised them for their insensitivity and would not stop until I hurt them somehow. I knew the last laugh would be theirs, as it usually is with the press, but I couldn’t stop myself. Unfairness was something I’d go to the mat for. And I did. The film ran on television that night, but I was happy to see it was quite blurred.

  I looked around the small room, saw a bed, and lay down on it. After a few minutes,John the Scot came to me.

  “Well, lassie,” he said to me. “The press-dogs certainly tested your temper, now, didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” I answered sullenly.

  “And you snarled back, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Well, now, you were speaking their language, were you not?”

  “Was I?” I asked.

  “Most certainly,” he answered. “They snarled in order to test your truth, much the way dogs do. You’re afraid of the dogs up ahead, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, remember how you just handled the human version. Dogs have sensibilities they can’t imagine that humans do not share. If you snarl, you will be speaking their language. When they snarl, it is an invitation to understand them. Dogs don’t like it if you’re dishonest with them. Neither does the press. They each nip at your heels until you face yourself. And if you have fear combined with malice, they will both consume you.”

  “Did I have malice against those press people?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. “You had rage because they were unfair. Unfairness denotes an imbalance in life. The woman was hurt, but she must learn to ask her questions in a more fair way. You, child, could tend to your temper. But then you’re Scots-Irish, are you not?”

  “Yes,” I answered, smiling to myself.

  “Well, Scots-Irish are the masters of the Sorrows. They erupt because they feel deeply. I will explain more of the Scots-Irish character later, but for now, know the history of the dogs and the press along the Camino.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, almost knowing that he was going to say something shocking.

  “The souls you encountered today were soldiers in the ancient times who hounded and tortured people until they ‘pressed’ them to become Christians. They focused on the Moorish people, whom they regarded as infidels. They are still doing the same thing today. And some of the most cruel and torture-loving have returned as dogs; however, that fate is extremely rare. They return to haunt the same sites to test the honesty of humans. That is what you will find in Foncebadón. You have learned how to handle them today.”

  I didn’t understand how snarling at them would protect me.

  “You will see when you arrive there. The dogs and the press consider themselves masters of the truth.”

  I sighed and said nothing.

  “One more thing,” said John. “Your interest in Islam comes from your experience on the Camino as a Moorish girl. It is a good perspective from which to examine your concerns about Islamic fundamentalism in the world today.”

  John the Scot slipped away from my dream-vision. I lay there thinking about rabid dogs, rabid press, and rabid fundamentalism: Christian, Islamic, or otherwise.

  The ancient hatreds between religions were a source of deep sorrow for me. I had read the prophecies that claimed Islam would cause great destruction in the world. From Nostradamus to Edgar Cayce to interpretations of Revelations in the Bible, the presence of Islam was associated with the end of the world as we know it. Was that possible? And if so, how?

  Would the Moslem Albanians turn on the West at some time in the future? And since Islam was the fastest growing religion in the world, would there be a silent revolution from within the Christian countries? Would the Moslem countries unite against Israel and necessitate our coming to their aid, thereby precipitating Armageddon? Would, as some prophecies predicted, China and Iran unite and use nuclear weapons against the West?

  Each religion seemed to have had its crusade. Were we going to experience the Moslem crusade in a way that would end the world as we know it?

  Was all of the suffering in the world the result of karma that the human race perpetrated on itself? That was why we needed to go within ourselves to find our true identity through time. When we know who we are, we know the joys and sorrows of ourselves. When we admit that to ourselves, we can loosen the bonds of karma and move on.

  As I was pondering these questions, lying on the bed,John came in again and gave me a dissertation on karma:

  The fulfillment and resolution of the law of karma is the following: One drop of joy is so potent it will transform concern into compassion. That is the ability to give of yourself in the knowledge that whatever it is you give will return to you, improving your life and the lives of all those around you. One drop of joy plus courage becomes passion, which enables you to take effective action without thought. One drop of joy plus discipline becomes empathy, the ability to know that your emotions are real and all those around you are real, which then restores your God-consciousness. When you realize the energetics of all things, you understand that God resides in all things. This, then, is the unification of the upper and lower chakras, where you marry the masculine and the feminine in yourself—the God and Goddess within yourself.

  The law of karma is not the return of events, but more the return to your soul. As you come into the God realization, your ability to move through everything is restored. Your inability to move is the definition of sorrow. When you empty yourself out of sorrow, you enable yourself to receive the next level of joy.

  The Holy Grail is an example. It is like any other cup except that its real value lies in its emptiness. The joy comes when the cup of sorrow is emptied. Therefore, the joys of the sorrows along the Camino are the rediscovery of your own soul…. Mankind, therefore, has a moral duty to seek joy.

  John vanished in my head, and I recorded what he said as best I could.

  I then lay back and thought about it.

  I felt the courage to go forward was located in a place in my heart. I could feel it physically. The feeling of courage did not reside in my mind. It was a heart feeling that said I had the knowledge that I had the mind, body, and spirit to do anything. And the courage enabled me to move forward by going within.

  I thought of a house that was burning with me inside it. The only way out was through the flames. I was experiencing the journey through the flames. A primary emotion was the ability to feel concern. Whenever I felt concern and didn’t act on it, I became angry. If I had the resolve to go within, I could transform the anger into courage and thus move forward.

  The people in the cars along the highway who yelled “Ultreya!” were giving me the courage to go within. So the real discipline was not the focus of will to the exclusion of everything else, but more the ability to look inside myself and receive what already belonged to me—JOY.

  I thought of dashing up the mountain after the camera crew. The mountain had been a focus of my angry will.

  Symbolically, everything from a mountain ultimately crumbles to the valley floor. Everything flows to a valley. All I needed to do was become a valley in order to receive what already belonged to me. In other words, surrender—surrender to the knowledge that within myself was the balance of masculine and feminine and the ability to find joy in whatever occurred. All of life was a lesson in self-knowledge. The more knowledge we have of ourselves, the more we are able to deal with anything.

  Our leaders in the world today were examples of that. Each of them was suffering from a lack of self-knowledge. That was why so many of them acted in ways that were destructive. They were, in effect, self-destructive, not only of themselves but of the people they led—Clinton, Milosevic, Osama bin Laden, the mullahs in Iran, the leaders in China, and so on. The leaders I had known who spent time in prison in solitary confinement—Gandhi, Nelson Mandela—had resolved so many of their inner conflicts because they had had isolation forced upon them. And they all said that was the most important time of their lives. Today, not many took the time for the inner search, hence the state of the world, which bordered on the brink of disaster. Certainly, the regular people in any given society had no time for the inner search because they were caught up in the competition of survival, due to rampant materialism. The people of the world seemed to be on a treadmill of survival, ignoring the joys of evolution, which could only come from taking the time to know who they were.

  I didn’t want that to continue to happen to me any longer. It was as the poet Yeats had said, “The only journey worth taking is the journey within.” If the journey within revealed that I had been many people in many different times, then so be it. At least I would have the equipment with which to evaluate how to fulfill the personal destiny I had been born to.

  10

  As I reached the halfway point on the Camino, I noticed the refugios were less full. Had people begun to drop out?

  People were more harsh, less respectful of each other, and more aggressive.

  Three drunks followed me out of a bar where I had bought orange juice. I turned and just stared at them. They went away. Some young girls ran after me for autographs. I signed and gently moved on.

  It was difficult to hear on the streets of the cities I crossed; so much din from cars, conversations, and arguments.