There is an inevitability that evolves after a few days on the Chemin. The walking pace develops a rhythm as sure as one’s own heartbeat. Knowing what to say to other pilgrims along the route becomes easy. Shopping for one’s daily needs becomes joyful. The tendency for one’s stress level to notch a bit higher when conversing in French disappears. The tiredness in the legs no longer calls out. And one is left to one’s thinking and experiencing.
I am fortunate to have had two whole days without rain – enough time for the worst of the mud to be absorbed into the earth, and the warm sun to start to create a crust where the mud had been (assuming I’m not in the forest, where all bets are off). There were other absences, too. Although I did see a deer today, I have not seen a single animal or amphibian. No lizards, no mice, no crawly-things, and barely any insects. That coupled with the dearth of walkers along the trail (only one on the first day, only two on the second day, six on the third day, only one of the fourth day, and about a dozen today), and it causes me to wonder if I’m not only witnessing the ramifications of a climate change but also a sociological change.
My abilities in French are passable until I try to participate in a conversation between two French people. When they talk together, the speed of their speech increases twofold, the localized accent becomes pronounced, and many slur their words knowing the other person can anticipate and understand the meaning from the gist of what they’re saying. In those contexts, usually over the course of the majority of the meals at the gîtes where I have stayed, I mostly sit and observe without speaking unless addressed directly. It’s not the most inclusive way to host guests, at least not by the customs of my country, but it seems to be a pervasive custom in France. When in France …
I occasionally break in, as I did last night, with a big question or two that I want to hear their thoughts about. So I asked what they thought about the political situation in the United States. Why not talk about the elephant in the room? I’ve already learned that I’m the only American people have seen in weeks (until I reached Moissac today), so there must be some baggage that comes with that citizenship.
The response was not surprising, because I think it’s a go-to response for Europeans whose ancestral collective unconscious still holds the scars of way too many wars, way too much hardship, and way too many lives lost. They fear for us; and they fear for the world. They are in complete disbelief that Americans actually seem to admire a thug like Trump. But that doesn’t make them fearful. Nor do they ever mention the possibility of civil unrest in the United States. That’s too removed from them. What is not removed from them is what will happen if Trump is elected (which they fear is likely), he dismantles NATO, and Putin marches across Europe. Their fears are human!
The second question that I’ve taken great interest in is the effects of climate change. The scarcity of birds, the absence of animals, nearly all rivers and streams polluted with chemicals, the disappearance of farmland, whether the organic food label should go away to encourage sustainability rather than rules, and even the folly of all-electric cars – for which there is currently no infrastructure. (Most believe that hybrid cars should become the norm as a household’s main car, then an electric car for taking errands only.) As it relates to walking the Chemin, it’s even more interesting. The summers have become so hot and unbearable that there are virtually no walkers during the summer anymore. The Springs have become more extreme in weather patterns which have also discouraged walkers. Apparently the most walkers are here in September and early October (a time which would not work for me, or anyone else involved in synagogue High Holy Days!). So, the whole phenomenon of Pilgrimage within an Eden landscape seems to be shifting before our eyes.
I arrived in Moissac quite excited to spend two days stationary. (I don’t leave here until Monday morning.) I ate a stupendous mid-afternoon Salade Niçoise in the shadow of the ancient Abbey, soaked up the extraordinary ambiance of the Abbey interior (more on that tomorrow), listened to a choral concert in the Abbey’s glorious acoustics, checked into my AirBnB, shopped for dinner at the corner supermarket, and settled in for a quiet evening of reading and relaxing.
Questions big and small circle abound. What do I do with my life? How do I turn on the hot water heater? But ultimately I’m drawn back to why I’m doing this. I’m here to spread light and love. I’m here to intercede in prayer. Every face becomes another opportunity.
©2024, Jonathan Dimmock