I was about 17 years old. At a rock festival somewhere near Madona, in a light beer-induced haze, I met a guy. He “caught” me with an unusually pure and heartfelt energy—the kind that scared me the most, because I always felt that I would end up hurting boys like that. And that’s exactly what happened with him. I truly feel sorry about it—but that’s not the point this time… He invited me on a pilgrimage to Aglona. Me! Dressed in black, a skeptic to the bone, with a face powdered ghost-white, black-rimmed eyes, a chain at my side—a proper lost teenager, disconnected from herself and the world, unknowingly doing everything possible to destroy herself.
But I said yes… I don’t even know why. We had to walk about 200 kilometers. We had to carry our backpacks ourselves the entire way, and we slept in schools—if we were lucky, there were showers. I borrowed a big army canvas backpack from my grandmother’s neighbor and stuffed 3 Pilsner beers at the very bottom—because, well… I was a skeptic, a non-believer, but hey, it was an adventure, right? My feet were in shreds. The yellow sneakers were a terrible choice for such a hike. The backpack was heavy, it rubbed and dug into me, and to top it off, I also carried a red guitar—because it felt cooler that way. I don’t remember most of the details or people in our group. But I do remember our warm-hearted group leader, Mārīte, one girl from the Alūksne area, and a very tall, skinny man who could predict the weather and “negotiate with the heavens” to stop the rain. And, of course, I remember the guy who invited me. We walked for over a week, every single day, experiencing the full range of emotions—from laughter to hours of silence, from deep sharing to full-on hysterical crying in the meadows of Latgale. And we made it. On our own. I will never forget the moment I walked through the large gates of the Aglona Basilica. Something inside me changed—profoundly. It felt as if I could feel a light glowing within me. That illuminated moment was slightly clouded by the crowd and the exhaustion. I remember above the entrance to the basilica itself, there was a balcony where men in black robes spoke into microphones, addressing thousands of people—pilgrims. Newly arrived groups were being welcomed—ours too. Suddenly, someone from the group nudges me forward and says, “You have to speak!” And I freeze. Then the priest asks me: “How are you feeling?” And there I stand—the most non-believing teen imaginable, three beers in my backpack, standing on a balcony next to priests and fellow pilgrims, with thousands of people listening to me… And all I can say is: “I’m exhausted and I stink. I just want a shower!” And suddenly, the entire crowd bursts into laughter. Well done, Linda. Well done. My speech of the century—words of inspiration for pilgrims—broadcast from the balcony of Aglona Basilica.
I threw the beers away in the trash bins near the church. I rewarded myself with a silver rosary—worn as a ring. I sent an apology text to my mom, for the way I had acted, for the pain I had caused her. And I met God. I discovered Him in every little countryside homestead in Latgale, where elderly women offered apples to the pilgrims, served fruit foam and warm milk, and gently said, “Please don’t take it the wrong way—it’s all we have.” Back then, I wasn’t familiar with such pure love— love for life and for people. I had never heard words so honest, spoken by old, wise souls that made my heart soften without even realizing it. And that disbelieving teen… began to believe. In God. In the presence of the Universe here on Earth. At the time, I didn’t yet know that a large part of my family lineage comes from Latgale. Now, for me, there’s always something special about going there. There, the houses get smaller, and people’s hearts get bigger. There, in the scattered homesteads—you can meet God. Through people. Through yourself. Through those who, sometimes, are just passing by… and invite you to walk with them.
Today, I look back on this journey and think: “I hope that one day I’ll become the kind of person through whom lost wanderers—or defiant teenagers—can feel the love of the Universe… Because behind everything, there is love.” Maybe it sounds a little cliché or overly sweet, but it’s exactly this awareness that helps me grow— to become a better instrument, a bridge, or simply a more human human being.