The part-time pilgrim

Last summer my Zen buddy Vic and I decided that we would like to embark on some kind of pilgrimage. We had no idea where to or any of the finer details, but Vic had a hefty tome, published circa WWI, with suggested routes. It only took a glance at the contents page to know that we would need to look elsewhere for inspiration. Aside from the fact that most of the routes were about fifty miles, and of course did not account for the change in landscape over the century, we needed to be realistic. Between us we do not have two spines, four knees, or ten toes that do not have additional needs as they all approach their half-century birthdays. 

We were also not prepared to camp or be traditional style pilgrims with no money or pre-packed snacks. But we did want it to be special.

So, we embarked on a modest 12–14-mile route from Tewkesbury Abbey to Gloucester Cathedral. After a brief sojourn at an Italian eatery for sustenance, we explored the Abbey and found a quiet corner to chant and to set our intentions for the journey ahead. 

Relying solely on Google maps and a rather scant description of the route on a UK pilgrim app, we were grateful to be given some directions by a local to the River Severn, which we intended to follow for most of the way.

Setting off, we soon fell into step, with a mutual understanding of the number of impromptu picnics that would litter our trail. Our flasks were deep and our willingness to sit and watch the river flow seemingly unending. After all, the journey was way more important than the destination.

We learned what elvering is (if you know please leave a comment!), watched farmers clearing bramble patches with impeccable skill on large tractors, and listened to the birdsong. It felt so good to be outside. We discovered churches and chapels with hidden secrets, free range guinea fowl, and endless pubs all keeping to countryside hours, which meant not even one was open as we ventured past.

Not wishing to overdo things, we broke our journey with a pre-booked holiday cottage, loaded fries, and two Guiness zeros. We pondered the fact that we were nowhere near Gloucester yet had still walked over 7 miles. We were on track and were not to be deterred by such minor details, our sense of achievement surpassing everything else.

The next day we knew would be a full day and we set out with a spring in our step, grateful for such kind March weather. Brand new lambs with protective looking mothers watched with curiosity as we skilfully tackled stiles and marvelled at our dexterity and newfound countryside ways. (This mainly included speculating which birds were singing which songs and successfully guessing which side of the river to take for the last leg, having only seen one bridge the entire way).

Sometimes we walked companionly in silence, bringing our meditation to the fore. Other times we chatted about what it meant to be a pilgrim. ‘Do you think life would change if every journey was treated like a pilgrimage?’, Vic asked. An interesting question and one that we pondered at length together.

Nearing Gloucester, the path became much less clear, and to our sheer amusement I was battling with Google maps when we looked up to see the magnificent cathedral looming large half a mile away. We had been walking for a long time now and had to refocus to get this thing done.

Arriving at the cathedral we were told by an inexplicably chirpy uniformed guide that it was closed to the public, unless we wanted to attend evensong. We did. A black-cloaked verger with an impressive looking gold staff showed us to our seats. The choir struck up again, and the organ boomed, and it was awe inspiring. Afterwards, we humbly agreed that we could not have done better ourselves. And that our timing had been impeccable.

Never mind that we had walked 221/2 miles instead of 12. Or that we had missed a couple of the suggested churches along the way. Or that we had got sunburned on a cloudy day. We had made it! A zestful cheer accompanied us to the local curry house, and to our beds soon afterwards.

But the question of every journey being a pilgrimage remains for me. What if every trip, no matter how short or seemingly insignificant, was made with total practice of presence? With attention to detail, with care and appreciation? Isn’t that what everyday Zen is? How can I be more in the moment? To really live the journey, instead of the destination? How can any of us?

Perhaps to some degree I already am. My practice comes with me whether I ‘like’ it or not. As Confucious famously said: ‘wherever you go, there you are’. I intend to dig a bit deeper into this. It doesn’t take a carefully planned pilgrimage to start straight away, but we are already investigating our next route!