“Ce n’est pas moi qui fait le chemin, c’est le chemin qui me fait.”
(“It’s not me that makes the Way, it’s the Way that makes me.”)
Every place we stopped for the night, from gîtes to chambres d’hôte to AirBnBs, all have little sayings scattered around the walls. They’re there to make you stop and think. But it was this one, from an anonymous pilgrim, that really seemed best to capture what I was feeling. We (my brother and I) set off on a relatively modest route, walking the requisite 100 km to certify that you are, indeed, a certified pilgrim, with the excitement and confidence of young men 1/3 our age. We were carrying practically nothing, at least as compared to my old backpacking days. We had reservations all along the way, scans of pages in books, and a lot of preparatory conversations with other camino travelers over the years. I was in very good shape, physically and mentally, and figured I’d just take the obstacles as they presented themselves.
Most of the surprises had to do with being new at doing a venture like this. For example, it took us a couple days to figure out why the maps in the book, the iPhone GPS, the advice of locals, and fellow travelers all have different ideas of where the actual Chemin is. (“It’s up the street and to the left.” or “It’s to the right of the boulangerie you see in the distance.” Etc.) Finally we learned to trust the red and white painted stripes on the trees, expressly for those of us following the GR65 (Grand Randonée, the Via Podiensis, the Chemin de Saint-Jacques). Getting lost, realizing that the GPS’s only concern is to get you there directly and quickly, is definitely NOT the aim of the Chemin.
And then there was the discovery that there are two towns by the same name in the same region, and I had booked our accommodation at the one that was 19 hours away! Here I thought I was so clever by organizing all of our accommodations several months in advance. Now I find that I’m in the same boat as most other pilgrims, taking it a day or two at a time and making last minute reservations by phone.
What happens to one when walking for an average of six hours each day? Initially I focused on the exceptionally beautiful scenery, mostly farmland and rolling hills and small villages. Then I focused on the conversations my brother and I were having about everything under the sun, from family stories to politics. Then I focused on when to stop for water and snacks. Then it was the fact that my shoes (which I have had for over a year) were suddenly very uncomfortable, causing blisters and pain in my little toes at every step.
Having all these ways of passing time, by over-thinking, only made the trip feel long. So, too, did a pre-occupation on how many steps I’d walked, elevation gain, percentage of the day’s walk that is behind me/in front of me.
Perhaps it was the realization of omnipresent birdsong, but at some point, all the ways my mind created to keep me occupied settled into a zone of internal quiet. I wasn’t anxious about what lay ahead, nor dwelling on anything in the past; life simply rolled along. And it was then that I felt the first connections with fellow pilgrims from the far past (medieval) because they likely would have also gone through the same preoccupations eventually leading to internal quiet. The Chemin was doing me, not the other way around.
No one tells you this ahead of time, but the most magical and wonderful part of the day is not the walk, nor the glorious vistas; it’s the dinner-time at the end of the day. Of course, food and drink are welcome after an exhausting day of expending energy, but the main thing is the community that develops over and over again, night after night, among fellow Chemin-walkers. We all find a way to communicate in a combination of French and English, sharing stories, talking about how far we plan to go, and telling a little bit about our lives. Everyone has come to the Chemin for different reasons. Some for adventure, some because they are between chapters in their lives, some to challenge themselves, some to join someone else who was very eager to walk the Chemin. No one seems to be doing it for religious reasons, much less the once-common reason: penance.
This begs the question: What role does religion play in society today? It’s pretty clear that it’s not a guiding force as it was when Church and State were one in the same, and punishment, torture, and death awaited most people that had the courage to disagree with Mother Church. Yet the fact that endless numbers of pilgrims are drawn to the Chemin, countless throngs of people are pulled, inexorably, into holy shrines from simple village churches to huge cathedrals, travelers spend months in anticipation of visiting the great centers of beauty (Musée d’Orsay, Louvre, Taj Mahal, etc.), and everyone gravitates toward meaningful contact with nature, from national parks to walking along a beach at sunset, to gardening, says that the quest to connect with Divine Truth, with consciousness, with Presence, is alive and well. Religion may not have a meaningful place in humanity’s future, but that which gives religion life, namely the love of finding things larger and more meaningful than ourselves, is alive and well, indeed, thriving.
This is what I realized on my pilgrim adventure in France. Life is about curiosity, the opposite of passivity. One cannot be negative and be curious; I don’t believe that’s possible. Choosing to find one’s way, rather than letting the way find oneself, is the essence of pilgrimage. Yes, the Chemin walks inside me now. That sounds passive. But it was my choice to put it there, to set off, one foot in front of another, even when blisters caused every step to be painful.
I forgive the past for all the ways I was let down or disappointed or hurt or abused. Not to forgive keeps me in passivity. This is what the Chemin taught me.
©2022, Jonathan Dimmock