“Time is not money, time is life” – report by Robert Peters (pilgrim 3159)

“I put a small compass in the window frame of the Dijkhuisje near Beuningen. It was in the drawer with my deceased partner. Such a small compass the size of a beer bottle cap but made of plastic… I wanted to put it somewhere. She was not someone who had to “show everyone the way” if necessary, but if necessary, she did want to help others find the right direction. If anyone needs it, it can be taken with them. But it can also be left behind.”

Read the report of Robert Peters from Gees below.

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It’s not the first time the thought fills my head. Walking, walking is training in slowness. I mean, walking is the slowest way of moving for a human being. You are on the road for an hour and only about 5 kilometers further. And that will be too slow for many people now that you have to take time for it, especially for longer distances. And we don’t allow ourselves that anymore.

Taking time for things that at first glance seem like pointless trudging. A useless occupation in the view of many. Because before you get anywhere, you’re hours away. Hours in time. Four hours of walking is also mowing the lawn 8 times, getting rid of 4 laundry baskets with ironing. Three times all my windows and so I can “economize” the time even more. Some even say, “time is money.”

Well, time is not money at all. That time is money is nonsense. Time is not money. Time is life. And you can fill that in with whatever you want. Some do that by using time to make money. A lot of money. More than they need. I’m happy for them if it makes them happy. But time is just life. And if you want, you can “waste your time.” Or “wander.” As long as you live time and let it live… And I live time by walking. More connected to your environment. Feeling the wind, temperature, the sun’s rays and if things go wrong, well, not going your way. – a downpour that soaks your skin. Everything around you surrounds you for longer. Has been with you longer. To me, that’s walking. Training in slowness….

 

And with such a pilgrim-like journey, there is something more. You are alone. Not 44000 people swinging like a long ribbon over a dike. No euphoric cheering crowds that want you to believe that you never walk alone… Well, it is. You are alone. During my trip I often only heard my footsteps and in the rhythm of that the soft creaking sound of my backpack…

You also have no distractions. Yes of course. You move through beautiful landscapes that stay with you for a very long time, sometimes and quickly changing: a heathland, forest path, sand drifts, cornfield. Meadows and fields and often a church tower that stares at you for hours.
But they don’t distract from an almost endless stream of thoughts and deeply felt emotions in that being alone… You undergo them and they are deeply thought and felt.

People say to me, no matter how well-intentioned and sweet: “you have to find distraction; In your work, social life and in an equally social “media” (which I’m not very good at anyway), go out..”
Well….I don’t know.

If I want a distraction, I put on Netflix, similar to when you’re feeling bad, I aim two paracetamols into it. That’s distraction. Distraction is looking for something. Actively wanting to direct your stream of thoughts in a different direction, or even block it. But I don’t experience that during the trip. Just an endless stream of thoughts, emotions, deep and intense. Ranging from deeply philosophical thoughts to the equally deeply philosophical question: “Am I really lost…?”

And suddenly, somewhere, somewhere, I think during stage 5 or 6, somewhere between Alverna and Bergharen I think, my head was completely empty at one point. Just completely empty… Not a single thought, nothing, just being. Being part of, one with everything around me. So special…

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Special encounters such as with the skipper’s wife of the ferry at Ravenstein where I was able to pour my heart out in response to her question why I did the trip….. An encounter that lasted exactly as long as the Meuse is wide… Then a wave and on again.

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Church towers. Well, you’ll come across a few. There are quite a few. You haven’t left one behind you yet or the next one is already in sight. And not just that they stare at you. Sometimes they welcome you from afar. Sometimes they just pop up, as if almost out of nowhere. Other times they stand on the side and accompany you for almost hours. Each with its own look. They are like beacons, watchmen.

During my last stage on the Waaldijk, I see the contours of the St Stevens Church in the distance, which give me the illusion that I am almost there. It feels like a compass. That’s where I need to go. There I complete my journey after having started there as well. Many church towers back…

By the way, I’m not really into religion and dogma. I can relate more to what Kafka once said: “I don’t know if there is such a thing as a heavenly deliverance, but I want to be worth it every moment…”

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In the window frame of the Dijkhuisje near Beuningen I put a small compass. It was in the drawer with my deceased partner. Such a small compass the size of a beer bottle cap but made of plastic… I wanted to put it somewhere. She was not someone who had to “show everyone the way” if necessary, but if necessary, she did want to help others find the right direction. If anyone needs it, it can be taken with them. But it can also be left in place.

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Funny. I realize that apart from the use of the ferry, I have not used a “motorized” vehicle… Haven’t been in a car or anything like that. Extraordinary thought.. I also used the garbage bag to collect some litter. A few empty cans, an empty cigarette packet. However, then I didn’t find a waste bin anywhere to be able to deposit that bag somewhere…

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A few days later on the steps in front of St. Stevens’ Church. Completed the “walk of wisdom”. Feel a little empty, but at the same time full of wisdom. And if it’s not wisdom? Oh well, then it just comes with age I think…

And now? Am I purified now? No. The “Wisdom” on lease? Neither. Only a special experience richer. A very special experience and I cherish the memory of it.
In my mind, I go over the trip again. And the pin, which hangs in my living room next to the etching of the St. Steven’s Tower that even hung in my parental home….

In addition, I know that I have been in many thoughts as they have been in mine.

I’m back home.. And now it’s time to move on. Just move on, and just like that special week, step by step….

I cherish the memories of every step.
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Robert Peters, Gees (pilgrim 3159)