Running with the Bulls and My Perspective on Spirituality
Put the camera away and run.
It was an overcast early morning in Pamplona - just shy of 8am, just shy of when the first pistol would be fired and the bulls would be released to run the quarter mile route through the narrow, winding streets of the city to the stadium. It had rained all night, so the cobblestone was slick underfoot, but that did not deter the dozens upon dozens of runners crammed together at the starting line, waiting for their moment of glory. But for most of them, that courage came from copious amounts of alcohol they had consumed the night before, instead of sleeping. It was impressive they could stand, let alone run, given their fatigue and blood alcohol level.
So what was my excuse? I had slept. I was stone cold sober. I wasn’t even staying in town. I had driven an hour to stand on this very street twenty feet from these men and women. Then again, I wasn’t running. I was just here to get a photograph of this historic cultural event. Although, if I was honest with myself, I was looking for something more than a picture. After three years at an office job, I quit and traveled to Europe. I don’t know. I guess I wanted to feel alive, wanted to find myself, wanted to find some meaning in all of it. Why would I find that here on the streets of Pamplona? I blame Ernest Hemingway. There was nothing rational about it.
“If you want to take pictures, you must go behind the fence. If you want to run, you must put the camera away,” a female police officer said as she approached, noticing the small 35mm camera in my hand.
I looked at the drunken knot of runners behind the starting line, then shifted my gaze to the fence that ran along the length of the route where thousands of people were packed together like canned sardines. If I wedged myself in with those spectators, I’d be lucky to see a hoof. In that moment, I felt like the universe had presented me with a choice as to how I wanted to live my life. Did I want to watch it go by or did I want to go all in? There was only one answer. I stuffed my camera into my pocket and took my place among those drunken runners.
When the starter pistol fired, most people fled down the street. Not me. I had learned the first pistol was only to give the runners a head start. There was a second pistol. The real pistol. The next few minutes ticked by like hours - then finally, it fired. I waited breathless with anticipation as I heard the distant roar from the balconies far down the street. The bulls had been released. As that roar raced towards me like a tidal wave, growing louder by the second, my heart began to pound in my chest. But it wasn’t just my heart pounding. It was the hoofbeats of eight angry bulls as they pounded across the cobblestone. And still, I waited. I had to see them. I was all in. Faces were masked with terror as runners hurried past. The first bull exploded from the crowd behind them. I watched agape, as if it was seven feet tall and breathing fire when it charged by. But it was only when the second bull passed me that the awe subsided long enough for my brain to re-engage. I turned and ran as fast as I could. I rounded corners, leaping over piles of fallen runners who had tripped or slipped on the wet cobblestone. Before I knew it, the stadium came into sight. I felt a sense of elation like I had never known and was overcome with the desire to pat a bull, so I ran up alongside the nearest one to me and patted him on the back. Suddenly, we were pitched into darkness as we ran into the narrow entry tunnel ahead. A second later we burst out into the arena where we were greeted by thunderous applause. The place was packed to capacity. Of course, I knew that the cheers were for the bull that I entered with, but I had never felt so alive.
Running with the bulls was one of the most reckless things I’ve ever done. It was also an unparalleled adrenaline rush and, in its own right, a spiritual awakening for me. Before you roll your eyes, allow me to clarify my view of spirituality. I have come to see this world and everything in it, us included, as one. And in that moment after I completed that run, I felt more connected to all of it more than I ever had before. It was like a jolt of electricity that woke me from my daily doldrums of mindlessly moving from one task to the next. All of the wondrous and terrible faces and places and events in the world around me came into focus in shockingly vivid color. It was a recognition that I was part of something so much bigger than me.
In fact, it’s bigger than I can even imagine. I read recently that the observable universe has two trillion galaxies. Each galaxy has one hundred billion stars. We are grains of grains of grains of grains of sand. We are bits of stardust. This is such an insanely mind-blowing concept that it’s impossible for me to truly wrap my tiny dinosaur brain around it. Unless you’re an astrophysicist, I suspect most people feel the same way. It can be overwhelming, confusing, even scary. I believe a good story is far more compelling than a bunch of numbers and formulas, which is a big part of the reason why I think people gravitate towards religion. Characters and stories are powerful because they are relatable, even when they seem impossible. They assure us that we are not alone in this life and offer us promise of an even better life after death. It’s a pretty tempting sales pitch.
As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not much of a religious man - at least not in the most traditional sense. I sure as hell don’t have any answers. I don’t pretend to know what or if there is anything greater than us out there and I would be skeptical of anyone who says that they do. Much like our society, I am a smorgasbord of beliefs all churned together until one flavor can’t be distilled from another. I am a walking, talking contradiction. I pray all the time - to God, to the universe, to the saints my Mom taught me to, to whomever or whatever is out there that might have the power to show me mercy or kindness in a moment of need. But in my time on this earth, there are two things I have learned that I believe in without question. One - love and kindness are the heartbeat of this world. And two - we must try to be present and cherish every moment, because we may only have this moment. Nothing else is guaranteed.