We walked along a winding hill road with Clemency's ankles showing the first signs of the tendinitis which would eventually force her to spend 8 days in a hotel in Lugo. Earlier, we had picnicked under a tree, during a warm, light, summer shower, but that was hours ago, and now it was time for rest and food. While every second farm seemed to have a big old villa with an abundance of bedrooms, a sparsity of renovation and a sign at the gate advertising habitaciones, and although the next village was, as yet, only a name on a map, we turned down the opportunities for immediate rest and walked on in the hope of a decent cafe.
We lie when we knowingly deceive, either by stating falsehoods or by withholding truth. When we lie we present to the other - or to ourselves - not the truth of who we are but a fiction; a version of ourselves which we hope will be safer and more presentable. Lies, therefore, make true communion impossible.
So, this morning I woke in my lovely house, more than a year after being in Santillana del Mar and remembered a commitment I made there, to myself and to God, to walk towards truth and away from lies.
We continued our camino the next morning, out of the ancient town and along the path towards Comillas; towards Asturias and Lugo and Santiago de Compostela; towards the future kept in store for us, waiting for us to be courageous enough to receive it.