Dreams

Almost one and a half months have passed since I set out from Roiffieux.

 

No, it doesn't feel "as if it was yesterday". One phenomenon of this journey is that time seems to have slowed down.

The rush of the days has been stopped. It feels as if I began to walk a long time ago, as if I needed many weeks to cross the Vercors, and the same amount of time for walking through the valley of the Drôme.

Time is infinite, and the distances are huge.

I am not able any more to grasp what still lies before me. It is as it used to be in my childhood, when "in two months' time" was synonymous with "never".

This is certainly the case because, as in childhood, there is no daily routine. Every day is new, brings new experiences, and demands total openness towards the unknown.

This gift of slowed-down time, of a new eternity, is one of the most impressive aspects of this pilgrimage.

We have crossed the barren mountains between St Pierre, Majastres and Palude sur Verdon, the Vedon ravine, and finally the “Village perchés”. 

Bargemon, Seillans, Tanneron - these villages that have been built into the dizzyingly high slopes where every step leads either upwards, downwards - or straight into the abyss.

Every square metre of flat surface that has been wrestled from the steep slope by building terraces and using even the smallest protrusion is used, cared for and guarded. Olive trees and mimosas grow between small wooden stairs, rocks and walls.

A unique world between the mighty nature and the nearby posh Côte d’Azur.

I remember many things I see from very old dreams. Now they make sense. For example looking for a place to stay in these villages between heaven and earth, before the path continues into the mountains. I dreamt of it, more than 25 years ago. Later, I even wrote a comic about it, "North East Pass", which was published in an American anthology. It was so long ago! And now the dream has come true.

 

Anyway, dreams. I dream a lot, and very intensely, but I also forget more than usual. Which is due to the fact that waking up in a tent is not as cosy as waking up at home.

 

Gamin and I attract plenty of attention. This is not always pleasant. When cars slow down so that people can take photographs - without making any comment - and then speed up again, I feel as if I am an exhibit in the zoo.

 

I also find it tiring that so many people comment "oh, he carries a heavy burden". 

In Bargemon, a woman recoiled when I told her that I am on a pilgrimage. Before, she had pestered me with questions, now she disgustedly refused the flyer I tried to give her as a reply. 

But when I told her that I followed the footsteps of Aldo Moro, she was relieved and laughed again. "Oh well, a politician, that's ok then. I just don't want to hear about Marian apparitions and such things."

This is the first time that someone was glad to hear that I am on a pilgrimage for a politician ...

Soon afterwards I experienced the total opposite. A woman approached me. She seemed to lived in transcendent spheres. She asked me whether she was allowed to caress Gamin, because someone had prophesied that she would become lucky if she caressed a donkey on its way to Seillans. When I told her that we were indeed on the road to Seillans, she was touched and happy.

Nobody can be sure of the background to her experience. It was one of these mysteries of the south, with its alcoves in the stone, with its statues of saints and of the madonna, dreaming in the mid-day heat.

Which leads us back to dreams. Of course I dream a lot of Aldo, and also of John F.

I increasingly understand how much Aldo appreciates commitment, faithfulness and dedication. He detested - and still detests - superficiality, opportunism and arbitrariness. These vices explain how he was betrayed. If he was able at all to find an explanation for this betrayal, this is what it must have been.

But once he has realised that the dedication to him is honest, sincere, and, most of all, committed, he is also ready to commit himself strongly and permanently.