Me and Bobby McGee… and Brendan…
“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose…”
Few people, even amongst her most ardent fans, would consider Janis Joplin to be one of the world’s foremost philosophers. Yet in the song ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ she may just have hit on something important. And what is more, that statement above, which one might naturally see as something negative, should instead, perhaps, be viewed in quite the opposite way.[1]
When I first contemplated walking the Camino, fear was a massive factor. Indeed, that fear started years before I ever took my first step because, well, the truth is that, if you want one, you can always find a reason not to do something. For my Camino, it was an obvious one: walking the Camino de Santiago from St. Jean Pied-du-Port to Santiago takes around a month and, well, which employer was ever going to give me a month off work? So, I put it off, year after year, knowing that at some vague, unspecified time in the future, I would have a chunk of life without work long enough to dedicate to the endeavour.
And perhaps that would still have been the case today were it not for an unexpected incident. It was 2015 and I was in North Korea on a homestay wrestling with the locals (no, I am not making this up) when, suddenly, with an unimaginable stab of pain, my knee gave way beneath me, and I collapsed to the floor unable to stand. I had done my ligament in the one country of the world where, well… you really wouldn’t want to be needing medical services. And yet, even as I fell to the floor in agony, my first thought was, “Oh no, I’ll never be able to walk Camino now!” It was at that moment, due to that unexpected event, that I realised just how important this vague goal was to me.
Even so, I did not walk straightaway. First, I had to heal which took months and then, well, procrastination took over. But in 2018 there was another one of those moments that ram the truth home. I was travelling in Eritrea, and we were riding on a steam train. As readers of my work know, I have always loved trains, so I was excited to have the chance to climb up onto this working steam locomotive. But I had become so unhealthy, so unfit, that I struggled to do so. This was a jolt to the system. In my youth I had cleaned, fired and driven steam locomotives, climbed on top of them to mend them and fill them with water. Now I could hardly make it to the footplate. I knew that I needed Camino more than ever and so I booked my flights the moment I got back. In short, because at that moment my fear or not doing the walk became greater than my fear of doing it.
Even so, for several nights before, I was plagued by disturbing dreams. Dreams of failing to cross the Pyrenees, collapsing on the mountainside, and dying there like the Emilio Estevez character in the film ‘The Way’. And when I did start it, I found the climb from Hunto to Orisson so challenging that I almost turned back. Only a fellow pilgrim stopping and supporting me meant that I did not.
And even after that, the demons were not entirely banished. After reaching Roncesvalles I feared that I would seize up and be unable to walk any further and then, the following day the same and so on. It was only after walking for a full week that I truly believed I could do and when I did, the feeling was transformative.
So, what did I learn from this? Well, the following key lessons:
1). You can always find a reason not to do something; a reason based on a fear
2). Fears can be debilitating
3). Every so often something or someone unexpected comes along to help force a decision
4). Conquering a fear is the most truly liberating experience in the world
Reflecting on all of these lessons, I have come to realise that one thing all humans share is that fear is constantly there at the back of our minds. Not the same fears perhaps, but there is always a fear and, if we do not face those fears, they only multiply. I can think of countless examples away from Camino, but one that may suffice is that of going to work. We go to work daily and, although not always pleasant, it is not generally not something that scares us. But if we are away from work for a while, say through illness or being made redundant and having to start a new job, then the fear that accompanies merely walking in on that first day can be enormous. And I say that as a naturally confident person.
One key point though, is that our demons differ depending on who we are. For me, as I have already demonstrated, one of mine is physical exercise. For many people, this is not a demon at all, but for me it is huge. Other things that scare some people to death — public speaking, travel to places like North Korea — do not frighten me at all, instead I actually love the challenge and flourish with it. Our fears are unique and connected with our psyche and schema.
George Orwell understood this when he wrote his famous novel ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’. In the book there is Room 101, a place where the Party torturers take you to break you as it contains your worst fear, the one thing you cannot face. For the hero, Winston Smith, it is rats. There is a cage of rats which they affix to his face to eat into his flesh. Faced with this, he finally cracks and accepts Big Brother’s dominion over him. Notably, his fear, like so many of them, is rooted in childhood. As a small child, when his mother and sister disappeared, he sees rats consuming flesh, the inference being that they may have eaten his mother and sister.
Far less macabre, when I was very young, I was ill. The malady was cured with a cocktail of drugs which left me with appalling co-ordination. So, I was never very good at PE in school, resulting in me naturally avoiding all sorts of sports and exercise for fear of failure. Fast-forward into adult life and it is physical exercise that powers my demons.
Well, some of them.
But what has this to do with Camino. Well, pilgrimages are journeys, but they are not like normal journeys such as our daily commute or a relaxing holiday on the beach. On those trips we can avoid our fears or numb our minds. Pilgrimage, on the other hand, with its physical exercise, long hours of solitude, meditative nature and chance encounters with strangers, not to mention the higher purpose, is a place where we must confront our fears. On a pilgrimage we can become the warrior in a videogame, whilst the fear is the monster at the end of the level that we have to overcome to complete the game. There’s been a lot of debate about what constitutes a “real” peregriño or a mere touragriño. Perhaps one of the better answers is that the pilgrim is one who, like Christian in Bunyan’s ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’ or Frodo Baggins in ‘Lord of the Rings’, is the one who travels to face their darkest fears and overcome them.
But what are these fears that debilitate us so? Well, on the surface, as I already said, they are unique to us and all different. But on a deeper level, they are all identical. They are about losing something. That could be money, a lover, status, a friend, a challenge, a job, health, whatever, but having something that you wish to keep hold of is the key.
Let’s go back to Janis Joplin. ‘Me and Bobby McGee’ is a rather pilgrimesque song. It is about two young drifters who meet up and hitch-hike across America. They are close and happy, living in the moment, but it does not last. “One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away,” she laments. “He’s looking for that home and I hope he found it. But I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday, to be holding Bobby’s body next to mine.” I think many of us can relate to those emotions. The preciousness of being in the moment. It is so exquisite to be there in that moment.
And that is a valuable lesson because what is absent there is fear. When you are in the moment, truly alive, you are not scared. As Janis tells us, “Freedom” — i.e. an absence of fear — is when there is “nothing left to lose.” And her character in that song had nothing to lose. No other romantic entanglement, no status, no money, nothing. So, she could be there in that moment, truly liberated.
Think about the people we know who are not like Janis. Those staying in an unhappy marriage because of the effect on the kids or what their family or society might say, or perhaps a fear that they’ll never find another? Or what about someone who stays in a job that they hate because they are afraid of not being able to pay the mortgage, or perhaps someone who does not go on Camino because of fears around the effort, cost, loneliness, and so on (or those who keep going on them because they are scared of a life without Camino to escape to — it is better to run than face the demons). In all there is a constant: The demons can only have power over us when we have something to lose.
Now, I am not a Buddhist, but I lived in Buddhist countries for four years and I do have a lot of respect for some of the core teaching, in particular the doctrine of the Four Noble Truths.
These teach that life is suffering (i.e. we are all unhappy in some respect), and that those sufferings are caused by our desires (e.g. I may long for a nice new BMW that I cannot afford). All our desires are caused by attachments (in that example, I am attached to the idea of having the BMW), and it is only when we free ourselves of these attachments, that we can free ourselves of our desires and therefore our suffering.
Looking at this from the perspective of fear, then the things we have to lose are our attachments.
The way that we beat our demons is by facing them.
So, what about those people who don’t dare to face their demons and just go along with it all? Well, it is not that they are all desperately miserable and about to complete suicide (an act which, in itself requires a huge amount of courage). Conversely, they are not what you would call happy either. Instead, they are best described as people who cope with life, rather than live it.
I have talked before about my relationship with S, the young Muslim lady living in a conservative community with an abusive family. One of the aspects of our conversations that I struggle with the most is that when I ask about hopes and dreams, she doesn’t dare have any. The act of imagining a different future is not something she will engage in because she believes that she cannot have a better life, and she holds such beliefs because of the fear.
Her fears are twofold. Firstly, there is the (somewhat) rational fear of the potential consequences for her if she were to change her life as she wants to on a deep subconscious level. Family or community members might hunt her down and hurt or even kill her; loneliness at being isolated from her community; the awfulness of being shamed for not following the rules. However, deeper than this is a far more irrational yet (I suspect) more potent fear of the unknown. To leave her bubble would be to go to a place that she has never experienced, cannot imagine, or comprehend. And that can be petrifying even if everyone tells you it is the right thing for you.
Don’t get me wrong, S is no coward. Quite the opposite, she is one of the bravest people that I know, but when faced by fears of that magnitude, one can be almost paralysed for life.
Which brings me to what I think one of the key aspects of pilgrimage to be: Camino is an embracing of the unknown; be that the stranger we meet on the path, trying new foods, walking through alien places, or just facing the challenge that you have always managed to avoid in your everyday life. It is a call to risky living.
But I would argue that everybody, no matter their character or fears, has to embrace risky living to be fully liberated and happy. Chaotic or rule-bound, extrovert or introvert, passive or active, it matters not. If one doesn’t embrace risky living and face those fears — which are always unique to you — then those fears will only multiply and, ultimately, consume you, as they did to Winston Smith in Room 101, as they could have done with me had I not walked the Way, as I pray fervently they will not do to S.
And on that note, I wish to conclude this meditation. I started with Janis Joplin, a very modern pilgrim and philosopher. I shall end with a much older one: St. Brendan the Navigator.
Brendan (c. AD 484 — c. 577) was an Irish monk who heard about a mysterious holy land of God out across the western sea. Although no one had ever visited it, he constructed a small leather boat and set out to find it, despite the obvious dangers such an undertaking presented. According to the legends, after many adventures, he reached his goal, making landfall in what is today Canada, before then taking favourable winds back to Ireland. Modern historians, due largely to the experimental archaeology of Tim Severin who built a replica of Brendan’s boat and sailed to Newfoundland in 1976–7 believe that the legends tell a truth, that Brendan did actually sail to the Americas before both Columbus and Erik the Red. As a model of a pilgrim who faced his fears, conquered them and returned an enlightened man, we can find no finer example than Brendan.
And so, my advice to you is this. If about to set out on the Way, or if struggling whilst walking the Path, or if simply at home but facing one of your fears, a fear that causes your soul to be paralysed and your dreams to be compromised, then do as St. Brendan did before his great voyage: kneel down, look out to the sunset, and recite his call to risky living:
Shall I abandon the comforts and benefits of my home,
seeking the island of promise our fathers knew long ago,
sail on the face of the deep where no riches or fame
or weapons protect you, and nobody honours your name?
Shall I take leave of my friends
and my beautiful native land,
tears in my eyes
as my knees mark my final prayer in the sand?
King of the mysteries, will You set watch over me?
Christ of the mysteries, can I trust You on the sea?
Christ of the heavens,
and Christ of the ravenous ocean wave,
I will hold fast to my course
Through the dangers I must brave.
King of the mysteries, angels will watch over me,
Christ of the mysteries, when I trust You on the sea.[2]
Written 12–14/05/2023, Smallthorne, UK
Copyright © 2023, Matthew E. Pointon
[1] It should be noted that I am aware that the song was written by Kris Kristofferson and that credit should go to him. However, it was the Janis Joplin version that I first heard and which inspired me.
[2] Translation by the Northumbria Community, found in Brendan the Navigator (c.476–575) in Celtic Daily Prayer (New York: Harper Collins, 2002) p.178–179.