Preparing for pilgrimage

Answering the call to journey into mystery.

Throughout history, people of all faiths and none have walked in search of meaning. Whatever our beliefs and whoever we are, the transformative practice of pilgrimage is part of our shared human experience.

Walkers on a pilgrim path. Photo by mostafa meraji on Unsplash

Over the next three weeks, I want to explore the idea of pilgrimage in more depth. This week’s article is about what motivates us to become pilgrims. Next week, we’ll focus on the practicalities of pilgrimage, from planning to packing. In the final article, we’ll discuss the process of walking day by day and the all-important return to everyday life.

Pilgrimage can provoke big questions, so at the end of each of these articles, I’m including some journal prompts. I’ve found that journalling is an essential tool on my own trail, and I hope the questions create space for you to reflect.

Whether you’re looking for change, intrigued by the idea of pilgrimage, planning the adventure of a lifetime, or simply thinking about how to add depth to your everyday wandering, I look forward to sharing this journey with you.

Why we walk

The harbour at Malpica, at the start of the Camiño dos Faros. Photo by Robert Jan Schokking on Unsplash

Almost seven years ago, I set out on a pilgrimage along the Camiño dos Faros, a 200km trail that hugs the coast of Galicia in northwest Spain and leads to the lighthouse at Cabo Fisterra, the end of the earth. I walked the coastal path alone for twelve days, soaking myself in the space between sea, sky and land, journaling my experiences and enacting rituals at the water’s edge. I slept on beaches and clifftops, felt the wind in my hair and struggled through the insistent scratching of gorse bushes on my bare shins. I gave myself completely to the trail, and in return, it changed me, profoundly reshaping my identity and creating space for a new life to grow.

Many pilgrims are drawn by the transformative potential of walking day by day. Pilgrimage has a long tradition in religious communities, but you don’t need to be a member of a major faith group to feel the call to walk. My life’s path led me through painful territory with the church in my teens and twenties, and I recovered in part by following the trail into the woods, reconnecting with nature and discovering the druid spirituality of the islands I call home. But many people with no spiritual beliefs engage in pilgrimage, too. Even among the thousands of people on the Camino de Santiago, Europe’s most famous Christian pilgrim trail, around a quarter say they have no religious motivation for walking.

Whatever our beliefs, something in us senses that a commitment to pilgrimage offers much, but it demands even more. Stepping away from day-to-day life for an extended period can be difficult for many of us, and a pilgrimage is no walking holiday. Of course, there are sights to see, meals to enjoy and experiences to gather. But being a pilgrim is deep work, maybe a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ask questions of ourselves and our lives. Who are we when all else is stripped away? What are the limits of our longing? And what if we walk to the end of the earth and there are still no answers?

Setting the compass

Setting a compass direction. Photo by Ali Kazal on Unsplash

In truth, I had been walking the pilgrim’s path long before I set foot on the Costa da Morte, Galicia’s fabled coast of death. My life had been slowly unravelling since my teenage son told me he was leaving home, and I was looking for answers. I suppose I had always been driven by the question “Why?” but I sensed that the act of personal pilgrimage opened the possibilities of a powerful “How?”

In the years and months before I began my journey to Galicia, I reflected often on my intentions for walking. At the root of them all, I recognised that I was carrying a profound sense of unease about my life. Countless inconsequential decisions and necessary compromises had led to an overcomplicated life that I could no longer sustain. I felt I was running out of road, and all my attempts to find a new path led me to the same conclusions. I needed to find another way.

Many people engage in the practice of pilgrimage at a moment of transition. In some sense, this makes pilgrimage easier, as it’s more straightforward to unpick a life that is already coming apart at the seams. But it takes bravery, too; the urge to hold things together can be strong, and surrendering to the forces that are pulling us apart is painful. But embarking on a pilgrimage can be a powerful catalyst for confronting grief, releasing burdens and embracing personal renewal.

The challenge in pilgrimage, as in life, is to hold our intentions for change lightly. I may know what motivates me to begin, and I might have a destination in mind, but I cannot know what the path will teach me until I walk it.

I think of a pilgrim’s intention as a compass heading. It draws an imaginal line from where I am towards a distant horizon, one that I can commit to following whatever territory I encounter. There will be detours and diversions, obstacles to overcome and many magical moments. But my intention keeps me on track, bringing me back to the simple act of walking.

Building community

Crowds of pilgrims in Mecca. Photo by ekrem osmanoglu on Unsplash

My pilgrimage along the Camiño dos Faros was part of a longer journey on my own, but a supportive community surrounded me.

I left England on a ferry to Santander, then travelled overland by train, coach and on foot to reach the beginning of the trail in the fishing village of Malpica. My Spanish then was limited to typical tourist interactions, and my Galician was non-existent. For the forty days I travelled, I felt the loneliness of being dislocated from the conversations around me. Every moment of securing help, from finding a bed for the night to getting directions to a station, felt like an achievement in reconnecting with the human world.

In the months before I left, I had built a community that would sustain me in my self-imposed isolation. The rituals I enacted at the ocean’s edge were inspired by deep conversations with friends, family and colleagues. I sought out other wanderers and explorers to hear stories of their adventures and seek their advice. And I created a network of emergency contacts that I briefed carefully on when to intervene and when to stand back and let events unfold.

For the forty days I travelled, I made no phone calls, sent no text messages, and had few conversations with others I met. I carried with me a GPS beacon, which could summon help in an emergency and marked my location before I slept. Watching the lights blink in search of a satellite became a nightly ritual in itself, sending a reminder to the life I had led that I was moving on.

As a pilgrim, community is essential, but like with intentions, it is good to hold on gently. On the Camino de Santiago, you’re in the company of thousands of fellow pilgrims. On the Hajj, millions. Many others have walked the trail before you, and even more are cheerleaders for your success.

But ultimately, however many footsteps surround you, the only ones that matter are your own.

Preparing for pilgrimage

Choices and directions on the trail. Photo by Antonio Feregrino on Unsplash

Even before you choose a path to follow, pack your backpack and pull on your boots, the work of pilgrimage begins.

Listening for the call to walk, setting your compass heading and building a supportive community are all essential groundwork for the transformative journey ahead. The preparation can take time, but it cannot be rushed. You’ll know when you’re ready.

Preparing your heart and mind is essential because pilgrimage is a risk. In the months before I left, I reconciled myself with my fear that nothing would change; after all, following the coast of death to the end of the earth was an epic adventure in itself. I never anticipated the more existential risk that everything might change. But the path itself taught me to trust the process, unfolding the steps of severance, release and renewal that profoundly altered my life.

So, was my pilgrimage a risk worth taking? Absolutely, yes.

If you are at a crossroads in life, stuck at a dead-end, or simply needing to change something, embarking on a pilgrimage could be a life-changing experience. Or it could just be a long walk. It’s a walk into mystery, after all, and you’ll only know what the path can teach you when you walk it for yourself.

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Journal prompts: Preparing for pilgrimage

• Recall a pivotal life transition like loss, a career shift or a relationship change. How might pilgrimage serve as a bridge between your past self and the person you are becoming?

• Pilgrimage often strips away life’s distractions. What habits, obligations or comforts would be hardest to leave behind? How might their absence create space for growth?

• Identify at least three people in your life who could form your support network. What specific roles (for example, encourager, practical helper, spiritual guide) might each play during your preparation and journey?

• Pilgrimage might change everything. What aspects of your current life feel most fragile or ripe for transformation? How do you feel about releasing them?

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If a pilgrimage is on the horizon for you, or you’re simply feeling the need for change, I’d love to hear about your reflections. The other readers of Pilgrimagic could be the support community you need for the next stage of your journey, so please do leave a comment or feel free to email me.

Next week, we’ll talk more about the practicalities of pilgrimage, including adaptive gear, route planning, and cultural immersion - because sacred paths are meant for all bodies.