Sometimes in our life journey we have to abandon what we expect to find at the end, in order to accept what presents.
Such is the Pilgrim Path.
This is exactly what happened to me this past week when I sojourned to France for, what I thought was, research for my upcoming novel. Yet, the path of the pilgrim is not one that knows the way before venturing out. Like the path of prophesy, the pilgrim’s way is a blueprint, not a fingerprint. A pilgrim is guided not so much by maps, or plans, or timetables but by being open. Geographically. Conceptually. Emotionally. Spiritually. Open.
What I learned on this journey was that more research is not what’s going to drive me to tell a story with passion. And even if I tried to, it wouldn’t impassion anyone else to read it. What I learned was that what I needed most, in fact, the only research I really needed was to listen to myself, to be true to my voice. To hear my emergence and honour the silent knowing that speaks my name.
I learned that when the Pandora’s Box opens, and all of the emotions come to surface, that the overwhelm of feelings can be more enlightening than walking any proverbial path could ever be.
I learned that the carefully constructed illusions and walls that I had erected so tenderly came crashing down with reckless abandon.
I learned that life is change and change begets a new direction, and the path we walk becomes new with every step we take.
And I learned that this is, and always would be, the Pilgrim’s Path.
And I am a perennial pilgrim.