The Call of Pilgrimages

Upon returning from my recent journey to Paris and Barcelona, I have been thinking of the idea of pilgrimages—why we feel called to make them, what they mean to us, and how these journeys affect us.

What is it that draws us to a make an intentional journey to a hallowed or historic place? I don’t just mean those of a religious nature or the pilgrimages to shrines or holy sites, though I have made many of those journeys as well. The kind of pilgrimage I’m talking about is my desire to order coffee at Cafe de Flore,

cafe de Flore

to buy a book at Shakespeare and Company bookstore,

Shakespeare & Co.

to see the six-toed cats at the Hemingway House in Key West,

six-toed cats

and wander down the lane in the West Village in New York where e. e. cummings once lived.

ee cummings

I have done all these and many more.

After I wrote about “Writer as Pilgrim” in my last newsletter, a friend sent an email telling me about a book that touched her deeply: The Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau. I ordered the book the next day and though I’ve not yet finished the Introduction, I know already this book will take me deeper into my exploration into the concept and the call of pilgrimage.

I know it was more than the coffee I wanted at Cafe de Flore, or the book I bought at Shakespeare and Company. I wanted to be in a place and touch a piece of history that carries meaning for me and to allow the experience to inform my life as I continue to live it.

In my book, Wild Women, Wild Voices, I devote a chapter to Life Journeys and include a section on pilgrimages. The epigraph at the beginning of the chapter is from Miriam Beard: “Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the idea of living.”

I don’t know where my next pilgrimage will be, but I know there will be one, and another and another and another. I’ll know I’ll write about them, too. For me, writing is another kind of exploration that allows me to discover what has meaning and what matters.



Notes from My Travel Journal

I’ve just returned from a glorious journey to Paris and Barcelona, still a little jet-lagged and recovering from a terrible cold that assaulted me our last night in Barcelona. I’m afraid I was one of those people on the airplane we all dread: the one with the red-tipped nose and a box of Kleenex in her lap.

Before I left, I posted a blog about keeping a travel journal. Most everyone who knows me, knows I am a life-long, dedicated journal keeper and that my every journey is detailed, recorded, re-lived through the pages of my journals. I thought it would be fun to share some of my travel notes and photos. Here’s a partial journal entry from early in the trip, along with some photos:

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A Map of Creative Expressions

Remember when you were five years old and didn’t know you “couldn’t” sing? (I write this for me, the girl who dreamed of growing up to be a singer, the one who couldn’t carry a tune even if she had a peach basket.) Remember when you were given paints and a piece of paper and you just sat right down and made a picture? And you liked it. You liked the doing of it, and you liked the picture you created as well. You gave it away as a gift and felt good doing that, too.

Here’s another writing exploration from my book, Wild Women, Wild Voices–Writing from Your Authentic Wildness

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