I walked the Camino de Santiago with my husband in 2014. Last year I had a vivid Camino dream about a small door within a large door that opened into a Templar church. From that dream emerged a series of scenes that have become the bare bones of a novel. I’m posting some of the scenes in their raw form, starting with “The Messies.” I’ve done some revising for readability; however, in the spirit of Martha’s messies, what you have here is pretty much how this scene emerged onto the page. It’s not perfect, and I’m letting it out anyway. I invite you to share your reactions in the comments.

The hero of my story is Martha, a newly-retired school teacher walking the Camino de Santiago by herself. This scene happens about ten days into her Camino, a journey which will take her about six weeks altogether.

I am a mess, Martha thinks. I am just a mess. Maybe I’ll always be a mess. Maybe being messy is just how I am.

Of what does this mess consist? Memories, dreams that never saw the light of day, abandoned goals and desires – What do I do with all this mess?

Walking by myself I can’t be distracted. The lid wiggles loose and the messies start to crawl out. Am I big enough to contain my messies? There are so many of them! They seem vaguely malevolent. They’re wild and angry, exulting in their newfound freedom and room to roam. They surge out of the jar and crawl all over my insides. I can feel them clinging to my chest wall and hanging on my heart. They’re crawling all around inside me. They crawl up into my arms and down to my hands. They gleefully grab my organs and skitter down my legs. They’re so glad to be free – these messies. They’re blue and black and red and green, with wild fur and eight legs and googly eyes and fangs. I’m afraid of them. They’re a little crazed, a little frantic.

I really am going a little crazy, Martha thinks. But let’s go with this: I’ve taken the lid off – the lid has wobbled loose on the Camino. Day after day of walking has jostled the lid loose. Day after day of being a stranger in a strange land has jostled the lid loose, and the messies have taken their chance. They’ve rushed up and out. They’re now crawling around my insides – around my chest between my lungs and chest wall, around my heart, up to my shoulders and down my arms. They like the bones for traction.  

Martha’s mind is going crazy with dismay and worry.

It feels good to have the lid off. It took so much energy and effort to keep them hidden. Oh. They’re different things – some of them are dreams. Many of them are emotions. Some of them are memories. Some of them are joy, too.

 I can see some of the ways I’ve kept the messies bottled up: other-focus, codependence, addiction, busyness, distraction, rule-following, being nice, staying quiet.

 I have to loosen the lid if I need to stuff another messie into the jar. They resist, and they try to escape whenever I open it. I’m pretty good at keeping them contained. But now, here on the Camino, as I walk mile after mile, the lid has loosened enough that they’ve popped it off and they’ve escaped.

 Tonight, in the albergue, someone will say, “Hola, Martha! How was your Way today?”

 My answer, if I wanted to tell the truth, would be, “Today on the Camino I discovered that in my heart I keep a jar full of everything I don’t want to know – the messy things – the inconvenient truths of my life. The sadness I don’t want to feel. The unkept promises and failures. The losses and the rage. The dreams I’ve let languish. The pain and the betrayals I didn’t want to see. All the stuff I didn’t want to do but I did anyway. All the things that didn’t fit with being perfect. And the joy it wasn’t safe to express. Now they’re out. And they’re crawling all over me, inside and out. And I can’t put them back in.

Martha walks, smiling and weeping. She’s beginning to suspect there will be many tears on this Camino. Every pilgrim she meets, she sees their jar of messies. We all have them, she sees. We all have our sequestered messies.

The jar is very old. It was given to me when I was a little girl: “Here’s your jar. Please put into it everything about you that we don’t like. Don’t ask questions. Just do it. No messies allowed. Or aloud. Either one. Your job is to sequester your messies so they don’t bother us. We only want to see the smart, pretty, nice bits. Thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter. We’ll teach you how to identify, capture, and contain said messies, since you’re just a girl. Before you know it, you’ll be so good at it you can do it without thinking. Expect to feel listless and depressed at times. That just means you’re doing it right. Anytime you want to do something irrational or have a feeling we don’t like – catch that messy and STUFF IT INTO YOUR JAR. And NEVER let them out.”

 “Oh, and by the way, a little joy goes into the jar with each messy. That’s normal. Pay no attention. Not a cause for concern.”

 It takes a lot of energy to keep the lid on. That’s why I can’t commit to anything else. I have to hold back some energy at all times so I can contain the messies. Don’t ask too much of me. I have to keep the messies in. “Don’t let loose, don’t let down your guard, or the messies will get out.” So no going flat out and giving something all I’ve got. Never let myself get too hungry or tired or enthusiastic or passionate, or carried away with ANYTHING. If I do, the messies will erupt.

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