(For other essays, see <www.brightworks.com/quaker/midpas.html> and for general information about the Pilgrimage, see <www.interfaithpilgrimage.com> To reach me by email: skipschiel@gmail.com. Or by snail-mail: 9 Sacramento St, Cambridge MA 02138. Comments appreciated.)
"The ancestors have a saying, if you want to talk the talk, you have to walk the walk." So says Smitty, as he introduces a chant we offer at most stops. "What do they say? TALK THAT TALK! What's the best way? WALK THAT WALK!"
Meaning, in my view, if I am serious about an issue, have a conviction about a reality, to demonstrate that inner vision, to enact it, I must do something. I must enter the world-fully.
Perhaps on my feet. Otherwise, I whisper into the great cosmos another thought, intention, desire. Where's the evidence of my conviction? Am I ready to die for my belief? As Martin Luther King said, "Those with nothing to die for have nothing to live for."
I am part of a living prayer that carries the spirits of enslaved Africans back to their homeland. The ancestors-mine are white, part of the ruling class, as I am of the group benefited by slavery-rely on me for their redemption. I redeem their suffering-or their mistaken notions of property-by my own token suffering. I leave my home, can't yet find a resident to assume my rent payments. I offer up this modicum of suffering. I miss Louise, my partner, Kate and Josephine, my two daughters, Jon, my good friend and photographer colleague, Minga with her sons, Asa and Eli, all three walking much of the Boston section with us, Hector, joining us in Springfield for two days, giving me color film to use in his homeland of the Dominican Republic, Andy, my 88 year old mentor, Kai, dying one week after saying goodbye to me, Octo who came twice to meet me so we could establish a web site posting, and innumerable others I love and cherish. I offer up this small suffering.
My feet blister. I offer that up. I am in the company of up to 70 other pilgrims, sojourners, compatriots from Japan, Germany, Australia, the south of the US. I am not always delighted with their company. I offer up my impatience.
We learn of the hidden history of slavery, the monumental pain of the enslaved, the arrogance and greed of the traders and owners. I am shocked, saddened, hurt. I offer it up.
In our first ten days, we've walked from Leverett Massachusetts to Boston, residing in churches, community centers, private homes, arts centers. We've slept all in one space, sharing only several toilets, and we've slept separately, able to use Jacuzzi hot tubs. People join us for the morning, the day, the week, others leave, to resume their quotidian lives, others wishing not to bear the suffering of our 1998 Middle Passage journey.
I hope to continue to the end of our year-long journey, Cape Town, South Africa. I pray I'll soon rent my apartment. We'll eventually settle the irksome chaos of our nascent organization-where do we end the day's walk?, how do we shuttle the walkers?, what's the program in the next town? My feet will ease into the routine. My stomach will learn to accommodate the different cuisines. I'll find a way to appreciate forms of prayer other than my own.
When I'm asked, "how far are you going?" I reply, "My vision is to finish the pilgrimage." And to those familiar with our chant and drum-the power of this form of Buddhist prayer-I answer, "As far as the drum carries me."
We learn from the Christian gospel, "When you are young, you set your path, gird your loins, and set out. But when you are old, you will reach out your arms, your loins will be girded and you will be carried where you do not wish to go." I am carried, transported. And many of those reading this early account of mine have offered their arms of support. Let's stay together, step by step, strong and resolute, fully engaged in the world, each in our own manner, on our own pilgrimage for freedom and justice.