Finding myself in Nepal due to the war—no clarity about the future (my own or anybody’s), no country to currently claim as my own—I am unwillingly contemplating the Medieval Christian concept of peregrinatio, “going forth into the unknown”.
Early pilgrims, traveling on their search for solitude, truth, and mystical glimpses into the great beyond, would leave their homes, sometimes in boats going out into the open sea, with no clear destination in sight. The hope, for many of them, was probably to find new places for contemplative practice. Some of them did: we know that from looking at the ruins on the Isle of Iona and other places originally inhabited by contemplatives.
For many, however, that search was simple a daring step into the unknown, beyond hope and fear: entrusting oneself to the higher force at play, or to the journey itself.
Thinking back to these early Celtic peregrinati going forth in their search for reality beyond “reality”, I am also thinking of my numerous friends from Ukraine, pushed out of the safety of their existence by a meaningless, horrifying war.
Even for those who did not leave their physical abodes, old reality no longer exists: it crushed and crumbled, like the planet of Alderaan touched by the deadly rays of the Death Star. Many had to take perilous journeys to the West (and in some cases, because of the threat of violence, to the East). Finding oneself in a temporary shelter and facing the challenges of being a refugee requires all the courage one can muster, and more. The question of “What am I?” is just as a real as “What would become of me?”
In different ways, that’s a question many of us Eastern Europeans face right, and will probably have to struggle with for decades in the future. A friend of mine described it as a total collapse of one’s identity, even the parts of it seemingly unrelated to the political events: those, too, get touched by the overall existential crisis. One then has to struggle with the perennial questions all over gain, even if some answers were previously available.
Being in Nepal is both a privilege and a blessing for those of the escapees (Ukrainian, Russian, and otherwise) who find themselves here: the bowl of the valley is so filled with anchors for the sacred that prayers for peace and searching for meaning are both easy to perform here.
Multiple monastic and lay communities here are still engaged in prayers for peace and harmony, and so are the individuals of different descent. Standing in front of the sacred images of Hindu and Buddhist origin, universally worshipped by local people, the refugee peregrinati pray: may the evil-doers be stopped. One day, when the conditions finally come together, may the hearts of those evil-doers be transformed; but for now, oh, may they be simply stopped.
I find myself amongst those doing these prayers, just like I did for months before leaving my home and my family. To them, I add my own more personal aspirations: may I always do what’s most beneficial. May I contribute to the healing of the world. May the things that I am good at, if they are of any benefit, be shared with the world without any obstacles.
Time flows in strange ways here in the valley: it is neither still, as the calendar months change and things get done, nor frenetic, like the dynamic flow of time in the West. Every bit of news seems to be a part of the broken record of saṃsāra, something that inevitably occurs again and again. War. Election. Virus. Mass shooting. Someone’s death. Someone’s wedding. Someone’s birth.
Neither aspect of time—its stillness or its movement—is in itself comforting or distressing. Comfort comes from knowing that the sparks of our compassionate wisdom, small as they might currently be, would one day contribute to something truly good—if not in this illusory reality, then in the next one, or in the great beyond that those on their peregrinatio journey were trying to find.
FURTHER LINKS TO EXPLORE:
Song: Sara Bareilles and John Legend – Safe Place to Land (Live)
Short Film: On the Road with Thomas Merton by Jeremy Seifert
An essay on peregrinatio: On the Road with Thomas Merton by Fred Bahnson