And I also do believe that we have this possibility of doing a pilgrimage every single day. Because a pilgrimage implies in meeting different people, in talking to strangers, in paying attention to the omens, and basically being open to life. And we leave our home to go to work, to go to school, and we have every single day this possibility, this chance of discovering something new. So the pilgrimage is not for the privileged one who can go to Spain, and to France, and walk this 500 miles, but to people who are open to life. A pilgrimage, at the end of the day, is basically get rid of things that you are used to and try something new. Paul Coehlo
A friend turned me on to a podcast interview with Coehlo. Too late to listen, I was able to read the transcript.
I’ve been on a pilgrimage to clean the house, well, the upstairs. Basically, that was my try something new part. My husband cleaned the downstairs a few days ago. He got the kitchen, me the bathrooms and the office and the writing room. He managed the work in one day; I’m on day two with the writing room still to go.
I could whine a little, say all the stuff on shelves and layers of saved pieces of paper on the desk and the bookcases were harder than the kitchen where things all have their place, but I won’t.
In many ways, cleaning the upstairs is a sort of pilgrimage. I cleaned windows and floors, washed and put away the extra fleece blanket I keep on my side of the bed for cold nights, hand washed the rabbit wool socks and retired them for the season.
While we’ve had a lot of rain and chilly days, the sun is now out and growing warm. As I cleaned the little office window, I saw the purple iris are blooming in the back garden. The purple iris are often a topic in my blog posts. There’s one here, and another here, but if you simply put iris in my blog’s search box, there’s several. Seeing them reminds me of the pilgrimage involved in going home.
The office shelves are full of photos. Some of my husband and me, and that takes me on a journey in time, remembering when that photo was taken; another I took of my sister when I lived in Hawaii. There’s a little blue Chinese teapot with gold dragons my son gave me one Christmas, and a small silver kaleidoscope he gave me another year. And books, mercy are there books.
On the top shelf are the art books from when I was going to be a sculptor, forty years ago. The History of Art. That’s a big one. Downstairs, I still have a bust I sculpted from clay, made a cast of, and poured in molten something or another. It’s not metal, but it is heavy. I call her my Bedouin Woman.
The office also holds Cliff’s pilgrimages. One corner shelf, defying easy dusting, is filled on one level with hockey pucks, including one signed by Patrick Roy, my favorite goalie, one year, years ago, when we were in Denver. Another shelf is full of baseballs from various stadiums where he’s watched games.
A spring-cleaned room is a destination one can rejoice in. Yes, yes, I still have the writing room, which, if you could see it, is a little scary. Talk about pieces of paper and books! I am not a tidy writer.
Four floor to ceiling bookcases, filled, mind you, cover one wall and wrap around one corner. Another corner holds a antique built in corner shelf with frilly cut sides (it came with the house) and is filled, mostly, with stones and tiny collections from the places I’ve traveled. Another corner shelf, matching with frilly cut sides, is filled with books and one ceramic lady whose wide skirt is open at the sides for flowers. I painted it, once, so long ago I don’t know when except childhood, and there’s layers of papers and old manuscripts.
I have left this writing room for last. It will feel like 500 miles to Santiago de Compostela by the time I’ve finished, and I will surely feel virtuous.
5 thoughts on “The Multiplicity of Pilgrimages”
Thanks! It felt like a “bravo”!!
I feel as though I’ve been on a bit of a pilgrimage just to get this comment recorded. I’ve read this post (a fine one!) at least four times, but I keep wandering off, getting engaged elsewhere, and finally wandering back. It might be spring fever, since we have wonderful days at last, with no wind (hallelujah!) and moderate temperatures. Oh, and did I mention no humidity?
I should be doing this, or that, or the other thing, but I believe I’m going to tie myself to the desk long enough to finish my next post, and then head outdoors. Maybe I’ll even make pilgrimage to a prairie, just to see what I can see. Or maybe I’ll do a stationary pilgrimage, and just let my mind wander. In any event, I hope your weekend is wonderful, and that wherever you’re headed, it’s with a sense of joy.
Wandering seems to be the order of the day, quite frankly. But after several hours of wandering around cleaning, I had to sit down. Ergo. A Post. 🙂
Thanks for reading in whatever bits and pieces it came to you….
Thanks for taking me along on your spring cleaning pilgrimage and showing me what you find and the memories associated with the objects. Wonderful to think that when I’m combing through boxes to find a letter or picture I know is somewhere and finding something else I had entirely forgotten I am on a pilgrimage, even an accidental one. ❤
Ah, you’re very welcome Vivian. Thanks for traveling with me. Enjoyed your poem of beginning or doing outside work only to have it rain. I puttered around outside one day last week in a break from cold and wind, got roses fed and some other tasks done. Have not yet done fresh mulch. But the return of cold and wet gave me the opportunity to wander around inside….the rest is written, or so it goes. J.