A pilgrimage to nowhere My sister walked 1,200 km around an island in Japan. Walked. In a (very large) circle. I went with her for 800 km. Isn’t that the opposite of sensible? Almost anything you can think of that could be obtained on such a trek, can be obtained far more easily in other ways. What was the damn point? Is being sensible always sensible? It was a pilgrimage. 88 temples dotted in cities, mountains, valleys and fields around the island of Shikoku. So, what happened, on this apparently un-sane adventure? We got lost every day. We got blisters on our blisters. We walked hours, lost, in fading light through unimaginable, apocalyptic rain. We hauled ourselves up and tumbled down mountains. We trudged endless highways. It is inconceivable how hard the last 500,…300,…150,…100, …80,…70m,…were at the end of some days. And there was incredible beauty. A sunset – through the tail of a typhoon – pouring impossible colours from a sacred dimension across the sky. Ancient forests and rivers luring us into a forgotten humility. Temples that paid tribute to life with a palpable reverence. And people so kind, we felt honoured to be members of the same species. But so what? There was good and bad. Sublime to ridiculous. That’s life. Minimise the unpleasant, maximise the pleasant, and we’re ahead of the game, right? So, sensibly, many people drove around the island. They went on bus tours and collected their souvenirs from each temple. They saw the sights. Got the t-shirt. And yet, when my sister and I regarded these more efficient pilgrims, we wondered about them - “What’s the point?” Living in 3D Our experience on that walk was, almost literally, magical. Mildly miraculous encounters occurred every day. But independent of those encounters, it was as if the island itself was enchanted. We were through the looking glass, in a grace-filled realm. What produced this state? That’s also a mystery to me. But it had something to do with Simplicity. There was nothing to be gained, won, achieved or experienced. Our to-do list would have read: “Walk”. That was it. In the simplicity of that pared back way of living, things that had seemed to matter, didn’t matter. Achievements sought, worries worried, judgements made and defended,…all so unnecessary. Giving up all that seems to matter sounds like a recipe for boredom - to be avoided at all costs. But that’s not what we found there. Just as an addict coming off cigarettes discovers long forgotten tastes and smells, in the simplicity of walking around Shikoku, every experience – the pleasant and the unpleasant – came to life. We went nowhere, but life blossomed around us - from 2D to 3D. It was so unexpected. We never could have anticipated it. We had to go into that simplicity to discover it.