The Joy of Pilgrimage

I’ve always been something of an explorer, seeking ways to do things outside the expected route. If I see a trail, leading off into the distance, I want to know (and go) where it leads. Alleyways, ginnels, snickets, wynds, footpaths, bridleways… Wherever I am, city, town or countryside, the paths find me.

Walking has helped me move through the depths of grief, has kept me grounded during times of immense and ongoing upheaval and has provided an outlet to calm my overthinking. As I walk, the solid presence of the Earth beneath my feet encourages my mind to relinquish its grip on whatever it’s chewing over in the moment. That feels like safety to me.

My first pilgrimage felt like coming home to something I’d always known but not yet tasted. I wanted it to go on forever.

I relished the slower pace and the encouragement to turn my gaze inward. Spending quality time with my dreams and intentions. Each day, an opportunity to surrender more deeply to the path and what arose: joy and grief, sadness and peace; companions not consciously chosen who nonetheless echoed my steps.

Picturesque villages, their ancient abbeys and convents swathed in flowering vines, lined pathways used by pilgrims for centuries. People greeted me from their gardens and terraces, eager to speak to me as I passed, some offering tea and pastries or a cold drink.

I found succour in the simple act of committing to the walk. Show up, every day. Ask myself how I feel. Put one foot in front of the other. Eat, rest, be. My body knows what to do, freeing my mind of the need to worry over details. Meditation in motion.

There’s a wild freedom partnered with a sense of being held by the structure of the path, the rhythm of the walking. An inherent sense of community arises through this dedication. ‘We’re all in this together,’ echoes down the pathways and in pilgrims' hearts.

A common pilgrimage adage is, ‘whatever you need shows up on the trail.' This may be something physical, like a well-placed bed for the night when you can walk no further, or something emotional longing to be expressed. It may be a new friend or lover, a new sense of purpose, a deep healing, a remembering of who you are beneath the stories you’ve somehow allowed to define you.

I have countless memories of pure bliss on pathways in France, just me and my backpack, the flora and fauna, and kilometres of trails ahead. With the barest sense of the route I’d chosen, and a guidebook buried at the bottom of my pack, I was free to follow the inner voice that kept whispering ‘surrender.’

Not everyone walks a pilgrimage this way. There are as many ways to ‘do’ pilgrimage as there are pilgrims. For me, that’s part of the joy: knowing that although the trail exists and offers the same physical layout to everyone, how each pilgrim shows up and engages with it is entirely personal.

People walk together, people walk alone. Some walk in silence, some seek out conversations with strangers soon to be friends. There are those who walk the routes in sections, during their annual holidays, picking up where they left off the previous year. Some plan every step and resting place, while others leave it up to chance, or perhaps a higher power.

Bus trips to sacred places, guided tours to ancient castles; these too, are called pilgrimages. The beauty of the word lies in its flexibility, its capacity to confer the inherent rhythm and structure on a variety of forms. Intention and presence dwell at the heart of the journey. Sacredness, self-reflection, changing from within.

In the same way, many of life’s passages, such as parenthood, illness and grief have a rhythm that mirrors pilgrimage. The need to slow down, to look within, to be present to what arises, to release old ideas and patterns impeding the flow of forward movement, and an inevitable sense of being renewed or transformed along the way.

There is no right or wrong way to a pilgrimage. What each of us intends, what each of us needs, is different. The paths welcome us all as we are, with our unique stories and whatever it is we’re carrying. They invite us to unburden ourselves a little more with each step we take, and grow more comfortable with what’s true, right now.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on what pilgrimage means to you. Feel free to leave a comment, and if you know anyone who'd appreciate this post, please share.

~ Jenny