#4 Arrival and integration

Arrival and integration

 A slower pace

Our final day of the pilgrimage was joyful. We resisted the temptation to rush for the 4pm last entry at Canterbury Cathedral, choosing instead to honour the rhythm we’d built over 8 days, absorbed in the landscape, curious about the trees, crops, rivers and human monuments we encountered. Letting go of the timetable opened up the unexpected possibility of choral evensong. While I’m not religiously connected to the Church of England, I adore the music and the observances of this particular service, and it felt like a fitting conclusion to our walk. 

So, with a commitment to a slower pace, we were free to pop in to see where Saint Thomas More’s head is buried in St Dunstan’s church and meander along Canterbury High Street, taking in statues of Chaucer and Aphra Benn and the anticipation of how it might feel to finally have reached our destination.

A grand welcome

Clearly, we must have looked like pilgrims when we arrived, 4 middle-aged women with huge rucksacks and big smiles. The young people on the gate let us through (it was 4.45pm so past last entries) and ushered us towards the Pilgrimage Officer (who knew!) We were grateful for and buoyed by the enthusiastic and generous welcome.

At the start of our journey, in Southwark Cathedral, we each bought a Pilgrimage passport to document where we’d paused and rested along the way. It turned out to be a way to gather stamps from churches, cafes and pubs en route, and the collecting brought a childish amount of joy to us when we found one! We could have chosen a more substantial passport in Southwark, to take us all the way to Rome. At the time, we thought this ridiculous and far-fetched, but I think if you’d have asked any of us in this moment what we wanted to do next, we might just have carried on. 

I wasn’t expecting momentum and energy at this stage, but in the spirit of The Pilgrimage Trust’s definition of pilgrimage as a ‘transformational journey on foot to holy/wholesome/special places with trust and purpose but without expectations,’ I let it in! I did imagine we’d feel triumph and relief when we arrived. The triumph was definitely there. The distance, the navigation and the rucksack were enough for us to know we’d completed something challenging, and we felt proud of ourselves and of each other for getting there in better shape than when we started. Had we been counting down to Canterbury rather than living inside each day, maybe relief would have found us here. As it was, the more we travelled, greater became our awareness of purpose and trust. We were thriving on the rhythm and rituals of walking, the simplicity of it all, and as we put one foot in front of the other through fields, woodland, orchards, towns and riversides, we felt physically and wholeheartedly connected with our human ancestors, with the earth and with ourselves and in a strange sort of way, with the future.

Over a pint or two at the local hostelry, sharing stories with friends and family returning from their holidays in France, I started to sense how much the journey had already changed me. A Buddhist friend once told me that returning from retreat, you have to remember that the people you return to haven’t shared your experience. Their world may look the same or different, but you’ve shifted in ways you don’t yet understand. Within a few hours, I knew she was right.

Integration

It’s September now, and the autumn equinox is days away. Nature is signalling the transition; there’s a new coolness to the air and we awake to morning mist, dew-drenched lawns and the woody scent of the earth. The deep connection with nature we enjoyed in August while walking is rekindled in this shift, and rather than resisting the change, I am choosing to move with it.
My intention is to cherish what the pilgrimage has unearthed and what it has helped me remember: trust in myself and who I’m becoming, in friendship and in nature. I’ll do my best to allow space for what is still to emerge, which involves sticking with my new journaling ritual for now. I’ll seek out opportunities to walk with good friends when I can and to write more, sometimes to share and sometimes, just for myself.

And I’ll continue to visit my favourite tree by the river near my home, but with fresh understanding. It’s a steadfast beech, long-standing sentinel of the river, with a reach across almost to the other bank and a history stretching deep. I realise now it reminds me of my dad, sturdy and wise. I always give it a hug and the last few times I’ve visited, a kingfisher has darted against the river’s flow, gifting me a glimpse of its vibrant blue and raising in me a smile.

I’m so grateful to you for reading this and the other three pilgrimage reflections. It’s been a catharsis of sorts, and it means the purpose doesn’t stop with the pilgrimage. I’d love to hear your stories of walking and nature and your own reflections on any of the themes that have arisen here and anything that resonates from your reading. If you’d like to subscribe to Consciously Connected, my monthly newsletter, please go to www.clairembradshaw.co.uk/cccc. Thank you.