Traveling has always been my passion, as it allowed me to forget about the restrictions of my home, which, if not so many when I was growing up, became too much after my father passed away. Before that, we shared the pleasure of traveling and getting to know other European countries together. It was with him that I started my pilgrimage, and the first time I walked the St. James Way was with my dear father. Because of this, I was a little sad and self-absorbed the second time around, but I walked alone as I didn't want to share my journey with anyone else. So when I noticed a woman stalking me along the way, which she had certainly been doing for some time without I'm aware of it, I became suspicious and irritated. What did that wanderer want with me? I know alone women prefer to find some company in these more remote places, but I really enjoy being alone and am not afraid of many things. Thus, the attention of some stranger did not please me at all, on the contrary. I prepared myself for sending her for a walk, but the woman did not approach me at first.

She stood there, staring straight from a distance, as if deciding what to say to me. A sudden flock of birds flying over my head left me distracted for a moment. Then she walked past me at a purposeful stride, just when I was about to confront her and ask why she was following me. I didn't have time to say anything, but I caught a wry smile as she walked away quickly and disappeared down the path. Surprised, I figured she wanted company and didn't understand what happened. I suspected that she sensed my unfriendly disposition and decided to go on, giving up on approaching me. I was a little ashamed of my antisocial behavior, but put the episode aside and continued on my way without thinking about it any further, ending up completely forgetting about it. It was still mid-morning, as I left the last stop, where I had slept early. The day was bright, radiant, and I walked briskly, energized by the sun and the view. I didn't want to lose time with issues that I were there to leave behind.

Around noon, I arrived at the next stop, an inn for pilgrims on the side of the road. There were several pilgrims passing through. Some who arrived that day and others who had been there longer. People who go on pilgrimage do so for a variety of reasons. Most for religious reasons, as pilgrimage is a tradition in many religions. So, many walk in silence, as a religious aspect of the walk, but there are also several groups that do it for other reasons, even if, nominally, they are inspired by the desire to have some subtle experience. There are also people who see the pilgrimage as a long walk of leisure and adventure. There are several young people and a lot of relatively old people, as well as the majority of indefinite age. Many pilgrims socialize at these stops, but almost no one unthinkingly approaches other people without seeing some sign that they want company, or even that they are willing to talk. For me, that was the larger difference between pilgrimage and simple tourism, which I also practiced at times.

However, I was also not fond of conversations with strangers, even when traveling for tourism. My father had always been the nicest of us, and the one who took care of the interaction with others most of the time. He respected my reserve and individuality, and never demanded that I be more sociable than I was willing to be. In fact, I enjoyed our time together and wasn't happy when others stole our time. That's how I felt when I was with him, so I continued to be somewhat reserved and, I admit, unsympathetic toward some people, especially the more gregarious and communicative ones that abound everywhere. As I was lunching that day, alone and uninterested in the people around, a woman stopped in front of me with a plate of food in her hands and waited for me to recognize her. I had already noticed that someone had stopped in front of me, but I thought that if I ignored her she would go away and sit at another table, leaving me alone, but she didn't, and I had to face her, after a few moments. She was the woman on the trail, and she wanted to sit with me.

I looked around at once, discreetly, and indicated more than I saw that there were other empty tables, but she didn't notice and didn't budge. I couldn't demand that she look for another place to sit, so I shrugged as if I didn't care. However, I was annoyed at having to overhear some conversation that would certainly not interest me for some time, but the woman said nothing. She ate in complete silence and didn't even look at me, which I noticed a few times surreptitiously. She acted slowly and deliberately, and there was something different about her in a way that caught my attention, although I didn't know why. The wanderer was a dark, golden-skinned Iberian but slanted-eyed woman, certainly of Asian descent, at least in part. She was pretty too, but that wasn't what set her apart. The pilgrim passed a distant and evanescent tranquility, as if nothing could reach her, even though she was telluric and strong like few women I've known. She didn't look plump and a little spongy like most Portuguese women her age, it seemed.

However, it was not easy to say. She could have been any age between thirty and forty, and just because her posture left no doubt she wasn't even younger than that. Her straight and long dark hair was tied in a ponytail, which gave her that youthful appearance, as her skin was well-groomed and beautiful. Her security was patent, and an unusual kind of strength emanated from her person. I didn't realize it at the time, or didn't want to admit it, but I was quite impressed. She didn't look at me once while we ate, and she ate so little that finished its food before I did, but she didn't get up to leave the table. She stood there with her eyes closed for several minutes while I finished eating. I even looked to see if she was watching me before I get up from the table, but she seemed to be deeply meditating, such was the peace that passed through her expression. I was a little annoyed, I don't know why. Perhaps because I found her behavior rather arrogant, after we had practically met on the trail some time before. I made a move to get up.

"It's not good for the body and the spirit to eat and then get up," she said in Spanish without opening her eyes.

I was so surprised that I kept sitting. I didn't expect her to say anything when it seemed clear she wasn't the least bit interested.

"The spirit?", I asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"That it's not intelligent," she reiterated, looking me in the eye.

I know there are a lot of fancy ideas about how to eat, fast and other things, particularly in these paths. There were all sorts of people too, some quite fanatical, but I wasn't interested in this madness. Neither was what I asked nor what I had in mind.

"Perhaps," I doubted, "but what does that have to do with spirit?"

I figured the question would make her realize that I wasn't religious and wasn't there for that reason, and that she would back off. Though she was intriguing, I still wasn't interested in her company.

"It has everything to do with it," she replied calmly but with conviction. "If you don't stop and rest a little after eating, it will mess up your digestion. This interferes with the functioning of the whole body."

"It's possible," I admitted, "but I asked what it has to do with the spirit."

"I already told you," she said. "It's not intelligent, and intelligence is spirit."

"It's a way of seeing it." I nodded, a little surprised. "I hadn't seen it that way. I thought you were speaking in a religious sense."

I hoped that was enough for her to take a stand. It was more than enough of an indication for most, but she didn't say anything and continued to look at me silently.

"Aren't you religious?" I asked then, to confirm, because I still had my suspicions.

"No," she asserted. "I am a peregrine."

I had to laugh at the unusual response.

"Aren't we all in these ways?" I asked, thinking it was a joke.

"I didn't say I'm a pilgrim," she declared seriously.

"What is the difference?", I asked. "I confess I don't see it."

"Pilgrims are religious, in general. I'm not."

"Neither am I," I concluded. "Does that make me a peregrine instead of a pilgrim?" This distinction seems arbitrary to me.

"It may seem so," she admitted dismissively, "but in the sense we use it in our path it is not. A peregrine is what we are specifically in our context. Unlike everyday people like you, who just go on pilgrimage, we really do peregrinate, that is, we Return to the Principle."

"I don't know what you mean," I commented, intrigued, "but I'm far from being an everyday person, as you suppose."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled doubtfully. Then looked out the window for a few seconds, before turning back to me.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to walk," she declared. "There's still a long way to go, and I don't want to spend the whole day chatting away."

"Absolutely," I agreed, a little confused.

The situation had unexpectedly turned around. Suddenly, I was the one who wanted to talk, and needed to be reminded that wasn't there for that.

"Will you follow with me?" she asked casually and spontaneously, then got up from the table.

I was surprised by the explicit invitation, which I would hardly accept at any other time. Yet this woman had uncharacteristically disconcerted me. Normally, I was the one who disconcerted people, and I liked this position, which I thought was strong and decisive, but she wasn't alike. I was defensive because I didn't want to bother interacting socially beyond the bare minimum. She didn't look like that at all. On the contrary, her confidence was evident, and it seemed that nothing or no one could ever shake her. I could feel she wouldn't give a damn if I said I didn't want company, but that wasn't the case anymore, and I wouldn't mind her company at all. I was intrigued by her posture and didn't want to miss the opportunity to unravel that mystery once and for all.

"Certainly," I confirmed. "I will follow with you for a while."

The woman smiled openly for the first time and looked very pleased with herself, in a childish, roguish way that amused me a little. I laugh with her.

"By the way, my name is Leonora Callado, but you can call me Leon."

"Mine is Taissa Maya," I replied.

She nodded, and we walked out of the inn together. We trailed for several hours in total silence, and for the first time since my father had left these lands, I was comfortable walking with someone else. He didn't talk when we walked either, and he'd taught me the value of silence. It was then that I realized how much I missed his company and friendship, as well as his superior understanding of the world and people. When the sun started to go down, we stopped to drink water and rest a little. We sat on tree logs placed on the side of the path for this purpose. I noticed that Leon was watching the landscape. From where we were, we had a wide view of the path we were following and some of what was ahead, but she was looking in a perpendicular direction, towards the side of the sun that descended to meet the horizon. I kept silent and continued thinking about my relationship with my father for a while longer. He was a singular man, no doubt, and taught me strange things from other people's point of view. When I looked again, Leon was watching me intently.

"What are you thinking about?", she asked.

"Nothing specific," I lied. I didn't want to talk about my feelings with anyone, particularly a stranger.

"A peregrine deliberately reflects on specific things, or does not think at all," she declared. "Doing different is surrendering to daydreaming, putting aside attention and getting lost of the path."

"Who told you that nonsense?" I asked, judging the idea to be impractical, for no one has control over their thoughts all the time.

Leon gave a sudden laugh that surprised me. It was as if she had been surprised by my abrupt, cutting statement. I'd expect she would be annoyed, like most people, when we discarded their impractical ideas. I used to do it whenever confronted with ideologies, because I wasn't willing to listen quietly and pretend to accept other people's nonsense. This usually worked, and people immediately recoiled or went into rudeness. That's better. If someone was looking for a passive audience, they wouldn't find it in me. She continued to laugh openly, and I ended up getting annoyed.

"What's the fun?" I asked dryly.

"You are!" She said brazenly.

"Oh! Do you think so?" I asked rhetorically. "I see. It's your way of attacking me, because I thought what you said was bullshit. I understand…"

I was ready to get up, turn my back on her, and go the rest of the way alone. It was a mistake to follow that cretin without first knowing her or what she was up to. I thought we could put etiquette aside as we walked together, but I was wrong. That woman was no different from most, as I thought. On the contrary, she was quite typical. She stopped laughing and peered at me silently, looking puzzled. For some reason I didn't know, I couldn't get up and leave. It was as if my will was paralyzed, and I started to get scared. This was unusual for me. I was bold for my age, but also capable of taking care of myself well, or always had been up until that point. I could tell she was pretty strong, and she could certainly get me into trouble if she wanted to. We weren't at such an open point on the trail and there was no one around to turn to.

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"Did you understand what I said?", she asked in a calm, perfectly balanced tone.

That calmed my distrust and lessened my fear. I was being irrational and imagining things. In fact, going on a pilgrimage with someone else was something quite unexpected for me. I hadn't done that in years and had no intention of doing so again anytime soon. That's why I was so uncomfortable with my own behavior. I thought that using some company would be something new, different, but I wasn't ready yet.

"I think so," I confirmed, "but don't agree."

"Why not?" She wanted to know, and seemed genuinely interested.

"No one can reflect only on specific things, or not to think at all. This is fantasy," I said with conviction.

"No one means nobody," she pondered, without directly refuting my statement. "There are too many people in the world for you to make any reasonable statement about them all, don't you think?"

"It's a generalization," I admitted, "but there's no way to be reasonable without doing some."

"It may be so," she agreed. "In the world's terms this may be a fact, but I have not spoken in this sense nor of worldly people. I spoke of seekers, peregrines."

"You refer to this as being something other than what everyone thinks," I said. "If you have a separate idea of what a peregrine is, I really can't know what you're talking about."

"What everyone thinks is not relevant to our conversation," she said. "Only what we think."

"Right," I agreed, unable to refute her logic. "What is a peregrine to you, then?"

"A peregrine is someone who follows a specific path, called Periegesis," she declared. "Or, more simply, The Peregrine's Path. It is also the spirit on the Path of Return to the Principle."

Where have I heard something like this before? I asked myself curiously. Oh! I remembered. My father told me about the 'periegesis' a long time ago. I had completely forgotten. This was not a trivial matter, certainly. On the contrary, it is something few people know about.

"Isn't Periegesis what the ancient Greeks did on their travels?" I asked uncertainly. "Someone told me about this a long time ago. Something related to cartography, if I'm not mistaken..."

"Yes," she confirmed, "that is the mundane meaning of the word, or it was, in antiquity, to map the surroundings while on the way, usually on foot trips, as was done at the time, but also in other ways, while registering the characteristics of the environment. I think this had a certain relationship with the pilgrimage. Something in between science and religion."

That was astounding to me, but I didn't understand the relationship. My father used to draw unexpected parallels like this, but I didn't quite get what he meant either.

"What has such a meaning to do with the path you speak of?"

"It's just an analogy," she declared. "Periegesis is one of the names given to this path. It does not mean that peregrines are cartographers, at least not literally."

"What are they, then?" I wanted to know.

"They're walkers," she explained. "In the sense of being the seekers of a specific 'path of knowledge': the Peregrine's Path."

"Path of knowledge?" I asked, not knowing what she was referring to. "What is that?"

"For us, it is the process by which the seeker attempts to reach the goal of the specific knowledge he seeks. Not worldly knowledge, but knowing how to return to the Principle consciously and deliberately."

I understood her words perfectly, but I also realized that the meaning of each of them needed to be well-defined and explained for me to properly understand what she meant by that. I realized that her conversation, the intended meaning, was far from casual. What didn't make sense at all was why this woman, a stranger, would say such things to me. She wasn't just any person. That was clear, but her motive for telling me about it was beyond my comprehension.

"Are you a seeker in this sense?" I doubted.

Although it was the obvious implication of her behavior, I wanted her to confirm it beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I could confront her; or to deny it and admit that it was only a particular ideology, therefore, something that did not interest others. That it was only her ideal and, perhaps, that of other supporters.

"What you think?" She asked, not being direct.

"That you're suggesting it, but it's hard to believe."

"Because?" She wanted to know.

"People say what they want," I said, believing I would score a point, "but that doesn't make what they say true."

"People again?" She asked disdainfully. "It's not relevant what they say to our conversation, nor what 'everyone' thinks or does. This is nothing but cliché. I want to know why 'you' find it hard to believe that such peregrines exist."

"Because I've never found one," I said, annoyed at not knowing how to contradict her, "and I don't know anyone who has."

"Were you looking for?" She asked, keeping her tone neutral.

"Well, no." I admitted. "I don't think there is something like it. I think there are ideas and fantasies, or ideologies, but not people who aren't like everyone else. They can believe it, no doubt, but there is a long way to go from there."

"That thinking is circular and rather cynical," she said. "You're too young to be so skeptical…"

"I have my reasons," I declared.

"I see," she commented unperturbed. "You have to 'absurt' them, though, or you'll turn out to be a perfect idiot, regardless of your reasons."

"What?" I asked, standing up indignantly. "How dare you make any judgment about me when you don't even know me well? Who do you think you are?"

"I am not," she said, as if quoting a proverb.

"Fancy!" I mocked. "So I don't need to stay here, listening to the wind saying nonsense, do I?"

"Of course not," she declared, laughing and looking me up and down. "The question is, do you want to know if the 'wind' is just saying nonsense, or if what it says can change your life entirely, and in a way that will make you an excellent peregrine, totally directed towards the goals of the 'consciousness evolution' and the Returning to the Principle?

I stood there, staring at her in bewilderment. I felt that she was not just reacting to my aggressive attitude, but actually interested in telling me about the things she was talking about. They gradually penetrated my defenses, but not in an intrusive or impertinent way, making me increasingly curious whether what Leon was saying might be true. I sat down again without realizing it and looked away, as she had before, contemplating the twilight that was slowly ending, the yellow and violet clouds, a remnant of the sun that was slowly sinking. I felt a sudden loneliness and shivered in the cool breeze that carried the scent of the weeds, hoping that something would give me a sign of how to deal with my life. For some time already, I've been wanting to find a bigger meaning, but Leon was right. I was really skeptical and also a little cynical, perhaps a reaction to the upheavals in my life. Everything had changed suddenly when I was fifteen and found me alone, having to defend myself from everything and everyone. My home was not safe after my father's death as I could not trust my stepmother.

She was cold and relentless. A spiteful woman who had never had children of her own, and was not happy about it. At first, when I was younger, she had been quite friendly, but she remained childless over the years, except of me, who wasn't really her daughter. So she became more and more dry and unpleasant. When my father died, and we were alone, I had to protect myself not from direct attacks, of course, but from his hidden rancor that soured our relationship. This made me skeptical of other people's motivations and cynical about what people said, because my stepmother was moralistic and thought of herself as a model of virtue and perfection, while behind the mask she was mean and vindictive in her feelings. She was almost a gorgon. What made her even angrier with me was my father leaving me three times as much money as he left her. I know he did it because I had no other source of income. My stepmother, on the other hand, is a successful businesswoman and has her own money, which is no small thing. In her mind, though, it was because he liked me more than he liked her.

"You have to let go of the past," Leon declared suddenly, emphatically. "It's 'superfluous luggage' that it's no use dragging along the path. On the contrary, while dragging it, you won't be free."

"I thought I'd gotten rid of it already," I declared, a little dejectedly.

"Obviously not," she replied. "Just look at how your history still conditions you."

"My history?", I asked without understanding.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Your history, or what you carry of it in your inventory."

"Easier said than done," I declared. "I left the past behind, for sure, but I don't know how not to be the result of my history."

"First, you have to deliberately turn your mind to here and now," she declared, directly responding to my rhetorical remark. "Then, when there is nothing more to think about, you have to 'contemplate' and 'not think' at all. Contemplating is a method of the Path. I mean, it's a 'non-method' of the Peregrine's Path."

"Contemplating what?", I asked, interested. "What is a non-method?"

"Contemplating anything," she said. "Contemplating is an example of 'non-method', a 'non-action', or 'wu wei', as the Taoists say. If we are at home we can use certain tools to 'contemplate', like the 'tiles of Chartres', for example, or certain Indian 'mandalas'. In the countryside, or on a path like this one, the most excellent thing is to practice one of the 'thirteen contemplations of the heralds'."

"Whose contemplations?", I asked, surprised. "What you mean?"

"Heralds," she declared nonchalantly. "I mean 'precursors'."

"Who are these heralds?" I wanted to know.

"That's not important now," she said. "This is the ideal hour to 'contemplate'. Twilight is the hour of power."

I stared at her without understanding. My skepticism struck again, which was certainly evident in my expression. However, if she noticed, she didn't care.

"Look towards the west," she instructed. "Observe without focusing exactly on any point, but let your gaze wander aimlessly, spontaneously, placing your attention on the periphery of the focus rather than the center."

I thought about asking a little more about the procedure to make sure I understood, but she didn't pay me any attention. She looked away and immediately began to 'contemplate'. I had no choice but to imitate her. I stared off into the distance, towards the setting sun, which had now completely disappeared, though its rays were still visible above the horizon. After several minutes, in which I lost myself in the procedure, I realized that it was already quite dark. I turned to Leon and cried out loud. It didn't seem like a human being was looking at me, but some animal, a predator, because for a few seconds I only noticed two yellow eyes glowing in the dark, as if a jaguar was watching me closely, but hidden by the darkness around. Soon after, my perception adjusted to the low light of the environment and I saw that Leon was watching me with an attentive look and a furtive smile, as if she was surprised by the exaggerated reaction and still found it funny. For a second I could have sworn that a big cat stalked me in the dark, and I was terrified. She got up and came to my side, looking worried.

"What was that?", she wanted to know.

"I don't know," I replied. "I think it was an illusion, from contemplating for so long."

"What you saw?," She asked.

"Two yellow eyes staring at me in the dark," I said. "It felt like a jaguar was stalking me."

"Mother of God!", she exclaimed, as if she was shocked. "Poor thing!"

I looked suspiciously. Even though she was reacting in a normal way, or exactly because of it, I was sure she was having fun at my expense and frowned.

"What's up, my dear?" She asked like someone who doesn't understand.

"I'm the one asking," I said, annoyed. "What did you do to me?"

"I don't understand," she commented. "I did the same as you. I gazed into the distance, one of the 'thirteen contemplations of the heralds'."

I kept silent, because I didn't know what had happened. Although I was convinced she had done something to me, but I couldn't say for sure. It didn't make sense.

"I think we'd better move quickly," she suggested, "if we want to get to the next inn in a good time."

I didn't say anything else, because I didn't want to look mad, and this was looking some madness. She couldn't do anything to give me hallucinations except put some drug in my food, but I didn't eat anything I didn't bring with me, or just what was served to everyone at some stop, so that wasn't likely. Also, Leonora was weird, no doubt, but she didn't strike me as evil or vicious. On the contrary, she seemed apart and detached, free indeed from any label that anyone might attach to her. Perhaps 'contemplation' is something that has unsuspected potential. I've heard of meditation techniques, and a few others, that supposedly lead the mind to perceive new possibilities. I just didn't believe it was true, and thought it was the fantasy of crazy people, desperate to give meaning to an empty, purposeless life. In this sense, I had not found any purpose either, but I believed that life did not need imposed meanings, because it justified itself. It was clear, however, that even though I thought so, it wasn't how I really felt, as I used to wander various traditional paths ostensibly for pleasure, but secretly to find that same purpose or meaning that I didn't realize.

We arrived at the inn at night, and slept immediately after a shower and a bowl of soup. We said nothing to each other, but I no longer wanted to walk alone. I wanted the opportunity to find out more about whom that peregrine was. What was her purpose and if it could give me any greater meaning than I thought there was, but I hoped in my guts that it existed somewhere. I thought about her for a while before I drifted off to sleep. I was walking alone in the bright morning on a mountain trail beside a cliff. The sensation was exhilarating, and also threatening. The view was beautiful, but the abyss was terrifying because it was so deep and dark. I had to get to the top as soon as possible, but didn't want to run, or would surely fall into that bottomless hole. The loose dirt of the path was not very reliable and on the other side the vertical wall left no room for maneuver. I had to walk very carefully, so I wouldn't fall. When I finally reached the top of the hill, there was no way down. It looked like a landslide had toppled the cliff passage below. I didn't want to go back, but couldn't go on. I heard someone calling me from the other side and saw a woman waving in the distance, so I launched myself forward in an absurd leap, without thinking twice.

Leon had called me over, and she approved my feat with a nod and a welcoming smile. Then she turned and walked down the path in front of me. I followed without knowing where we were going. Some time later we arrived at a large wooden gate set in a high wall. She opened it and gestured for me to go in first. We follow the stone walkway and pass a lake with aquatic birds on the left side and a platform on top of a hill, in a wooded park to the right of the path. Then we came to a circular courtyard bordered by a low wall and paved with colored stone slabs in an intricate pattern. In the center of the courtyard was a huge two-story old house. The house was so wide it looked low, despite that. Leon headed for the front door, a double arched doorway with ring knockers. She pushed open the door and once again invited me in before she did. We followed the dark corridors to an open-air interior garden in what appeared to be the center of the property. There was a trapezoidal bank in each corner of the garden and four paths formed a cross. In the center was a fountain whose water poured from a stone angel's pitcher into a well where ornamental fish swam. I followed her to the back of the house through other corridors.

As we entered a large hall through a carved door, I saw other people sitting in a circle around a low wooden coffee table. They watched me silently, expectantly. Leon indicated a vacant armchair and sat down next to me. We spent some time in silence, or so it seemed to me. I don't remember anyone saying anything, but I think a lot was said, due to the images that flashed through my head, like a quick movie, the moment I woke up in my bed. That had been a strange dream, but a very absorbing one. In the span of a second or less, so much came to my mind that I was utterly confused and perplexed. There was no way I could order that kaleidoscope. It just seemed like a bunch of nonsense, but I knew it wasn't. Something unusual happened to me in that dream. If anything beyond the recurring fantasy of the human mind can occur in dreams. It was early, still far from the sunrise, but I got out of bed. I could not sleep after that. Then, I decided to get dressed and go downstairs to wait for Leon to wake up, but she was ready and waiting for us to leave.