On Pilgrimage

(This will be part of a series - this post is generally about pilgrimage, its meaning, and its importance in my life.  Posts will follow reflecting on particular pilgrimages I've traveled.)

In 2002, my life was looking pretty bleak.  I would not consider myself suicidal, because I never seriously considered it, but I thought about death a lot and I was terribly depressed.  I hit a low shortly after the one project I believed in fell apart - my grunge rock band with political and self-critical/reflective leanings, Fuzzy Raisin.  That was, I suppose, the last straw for me.  After its dissolution, I found myself a college dropout working at Rite Aid with no girlfriend, owing a lot of debt (a result of my reckless spending on musical equipment), with no big plans for my life.  I was stuck.  I responded by doing what I'd been doing for years: I wrote songs.  Sad, depressing songs.  I spent hours holed away in my room recording those songs.  I experimented with sounds and created very weird musical landscapes.  I compare my work in those days to Radiohead's later albums, though, of course, I'm not as good as they are.  The resultant album was 'The Homeless Pilgrims - Sleeping in the Park', which perhaps 20 people have listened to.  Another reason to feel sad.

Fortunately, as I was dealing in my twisted mental arenas, a book was being published called "The Camino" by Shirley MacClaine.    Technically, this book was about her experience walking a very old Catholic pilgrimage.  Most of the book, however, was about her interacting with astral lovers and aliens as she occasionally took strolls on the old Catholic pilgrimage.  I would not read this book until well after it contributed toward radically changing my life.  This book was discovered by two angels in my life, Wendy and Jenny, in a phase of their lives when they were regularly hanging out in New Age book stores and feeling a very deep connection to some ineffable presence I had no idea about - something very, very large and nurturing.  They became very excited about the pilgrimage Shirley walked, as were New Agers from all over the world.  They thought a lot about packing some bags and going.  At the same time, we were hanging out a lot.

In a moment of inspiration, I planned a trip to Idyllwild, a gorgeous town in the middle of the San Bernardino Mountains, shadowed by 10,800 foot San Jacinto.  Jenny and Wendy came along, as well as my dear friend Josh.  Spending two days in the mountains and hiking the old Jacinto trail, Jenny and Wendy casually asked me if I'd be interested in traveling with them to the Camino de Santiago in Spain.  Without thinking about it much, I said yes.  Fortunately, they took me very seriously.  That casual agreement served as a commitment.

We had a year to plan, which meant buying equipment and saving enough money for plane tickets and the trip itself, as well as saving money to return with and to pay our bills while we were gone.  We decided 3 months would be suitable: 1 month to walk the pilgrimage, 2 to travel around Europe like hobos.  One thing was decided, we'd do this cheap.  The rest was up to fate.  As time passed on, and this happens I think to everyone who's ever considered doing something life-altering, our resolve weakened.  I second-guessed myself.  I considered giving it up.  It was too expensive, it was risky, it was irresponsible, it wouldn't solve my problems...  Similar ideas plagued Jenny and Wendy.  Fortunately, we were all too embarrassed to express doubts within the group, and one day we stormed into a student travel shop and, probably due more to mutual peer pressure than anything else, we bought plane tickets.  We bought plane tickets.  There was no turning back.  Any doubts in our minds were thrown aside, they became irrelevant - we now had a deadline.  We worked and saved and worked and saved and shopped at REI and worked and saved.  When the day came, we were ready.

This trip saved my life.  We flew to Paris, caught a train to Bordeaux, and a taxi to a tiny town called St Jean Pied de Port.  We arrived late at night, when everything was closed.  We walked like homeless vagrants, not sure where to sleep until we pitched sleeping bags on the side of the road.  I haven't desired a bed since.  My home is in the earth, in the beaten down soil trampled by centuries of wandering feet.

A pilgrimage can mean many things to many different people.  Traditionally, it's a path who's destination has a spiritual significance.  The Camino de Santiago, for instance, leads to the ashes of St. James.  It should be immediately clear why pilgrimage can take on a myriad of meanings: spiritual significance varies greatly between people.  For me, pilgrimage doesn't necessarily refer at all to a destination, but rather to a mode of travel whereby one is purposively self-reflective and has ample ground to connect with a world much greater than their own.  The travel can be physical, but not necessarily.  It can refer to a journey of the mind as well as of the feet.  I do consider it necessary that a pilgrimage has a destination and a 'road' to travel - a route.  But it's been my experience that the end is only significant insofar as it marks an accomplishment, whereby one can now stop, reflect on the journey, consider the lessons learned, and make plans to integrate those lessons into a more mundane life.  I've been on many pilgrimages.  My physical journeys have been The Camino de Santiago, the Transamerica Cross-Country Bicycle Tour, the Astoria to San Francisco Bicycle Tour, and the John Muir Trail.  My more abstract journeys have been my BA in Philosophy from Humboldt State, my MA in Philosophy from San Jose State, and the Peace Corps in Ecuador.  All have been vastly different, but have confirmed one thing in common: the world is beautiful and to be taken seriously.  I have not been depressed since.