Moving house is like a pilgrimage. Travelling from one space to another, carrying as little as possible, although a lot doesn’t want to be left behind. Or maybe the pilgrimage is like moving house. What to take, what to remain? Can the ancestors travel with you? (When, if ever, do your ancestors even leave you?) The past may manifest as a procession of ghosts, yet remnants of old are alive in your genes.
Your mentality moves with you. You can’t leave it behind: your opinions have you. To behold the holy relic once meant to change you; after so much travel, traversing so many risks and dangers: facing a transformation, becoming anew. A renewed individual in another place. Not the last place; moving is continual (look at the stars).
Maybe you learn to move less. Have you, like Atlas, seemed to carry the world? The weight, heavy responsibilities, accountability: is not this a kind of grandiosity? So important you could have altered fate? (Peace, ghosts!) Consider the words of Jesus: “My burden is light”. Light because shared; shared in the company of others; guides and followers, lovers and worshippers. Led by the light, moving from house to house in pilgrimage.
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