Travels with Christ: On the Road to Enlightenment

After graduating high school, I was determined to become a writer and moved to San Francisco to attend college and immerse myself in The City’s rich literary history. I’d frequent the haunts of past scribes, hoping their intercession with the poetry gods would bring me success and recognition. (Ahh, the folly of youth!)

There is a societal expectation to obtain a degree, but I often felt like an outsider in lecture halls. An inner protest began to simmer within me as the semester progressed. I questioned the purpose of this institution and the value of my education.

My day always began with a joint. I religiously turned to the herb as an Athonite monk does the Jesus prayer. This morning ritual momentarily silenced the inner critic just in time for morning classes.

During a philosophy lecture on Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, it dawned on me that I was one of the souls chained to the cave wall, willfully submitting to the dark. The shadows that once gave me comfort and solace no longer sufficed. I longed for the light, but fear acted as a sedative, preventing me from mustering the courage to leave the safety of the cave and venture into the unknown.

*After confiding in a friend about my existential crisis, he suggested that I explore the philosophy of Alan Watts. Watts believed that truth is an inherent part of our being and that our perception of reality is a reflection of our consciousness. He deconstructed religion, conventional education, and social norms, emphasizing that there is no separation between “I” and “Thou.” Everything is divine, and we must “awaken” to the realization that we are the universe.

Watts’ way of thinking challenged my [cultural] Catholic upbringing. Through his teachings, I became interested in new-age practices and experimented with psychedelics. Consuming psychedelics is common in some new-age communities, as trips are said to expand consciousness and deepen self-awareness.

It’s no surprise that psychedelics are experiencing a revival, as they offer what many seekers crave: the “signs and wonders” often missing from the static environment of the Western church. It didn’t take long for me to become a devotee of shrooms and worship at the altar of the self.

I used to skip class to wander around the Mission District. My go-to spot was Alioto Park, where I indulged in stoned Socratic discussions. Despite the park being just a tiny patch of grass with a dilapidated playground in the corner, it still has an undeniable charm. The benches are arranged in a way that resembles the pews of a cathedral, all facing towards a gazebo that doubles as a pigeon coop.

Our congregation was one of Mission natives, homeless folk, and outcasts of conventional society. Here, we partook in the litany of the lost, sharing blunts and booze as the early church did bread and wine.

Our powwows were a source of laughter and prompted unfiltered stories. During my time here, I learned about the complexities of human nature and the art of dialogue. Most people would have avoided this park at all costs, but I found a warmth and camaraderie I had never known. The congregation fondly referred to me as “The Poet.” Whenever there was a need to break up the monotony, they would say,”Yo, Shakespeare, read us what you wrote today.”

One afternoon, I left Alioto Park feeling disoriented and ended up in Dog Eared Books. I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, as if the other patrons were scrutinizing my appearance. As I pivoted towards the exit, I bumped into a bookshelf, causing Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” to fall into my lap. Reading it felt like destiny, and without thinking twice, I decided to sell my car, quit college, and hit the road.

The ship acquired to navigate the paved waves of the United States was a 1999 Dodge cargo van named Scarlet. (Later, I learned that Scarlet is the color of church vestments that signify the blood of Christ.)

Despite my efforts to listen to YouTube gurus and see the material universe as a meaningful illusion, the road made it clear that we are triune. The soul, spirit, and body are interconnected – one cannot exist without the other. As the miles accumulated, the idols I held dear began to crumble. My persona ran out of masks, forcing me to confront the reality of my fragmented soul.

For a long time, I had felt disconnected from my inner self because I was constantly distracted by hypnotic screens, social media, drugs, and a constant need for stimuli. Reacquaintance occurred through multiple cross-country trips, getting lost on the backroads until I pulled into Nazareth. The real journey was from the head to the heart.

Discovering Jesus on the road seems fitting, given his love for traveling on foot and his remarkable ability to connect with people exactly where they are. He has a unique way of naming our needs and mending the loose sinews of our hearts. Jesus is the physician of the soul, healing the entire person and freeing us to serve as medics for our fellow wounded.

One of the earliest names for Christianity is “the Way,” according to Bishop Kallistos Ware,

“To be a Christian is to be a traveler. We are on a journey through the inward space of the heart, a journey not measured by the hours of our watch or the days of the calendar, for it is a journey out of time into eternity. Christianity is more than a theory about the universe, more than teachings written down on paper; it is a path along which we journey- in the deepest and riches sense, a way of life.”

The early church believed that humans are biologically related to the animal kingdom and spiritually connected to the angelic realm. Therefore, humans are ontologically linked to both the material and the spiritual worlds, and according to the Fathers, they are the imago mundi, or a little universe: microcosmos. Similarly, a pilgrimage is a microcosm of our life’s journey from birth to death and resurrection.

Pilgrimages hold a unique place in the human experience. This mode of travel is non-dualistic. There’s no divorcing the spiritual and physical aspects. To be a pilgrim is to be intentional. Revelation tends to come with blisters and bloody feet. Throughout history, people from different cultures and faiths have embarked on pilgrimages to seek a deeper connection with the divine.

The ancient Egyptians made their way to Abydos to worship Osiris, the god of the afterlife. Medieval Christians journeyed to Santiago de Compostela, a city in northwestern Spain, to pay homage to the apostle James. Whether it’s a journey to a distant land or a spiritual destination within, the act of pilgrimage can transform us in profound and unexpected ways, revealing the sacramental nature of our existence.

Join me as I explore the depths of the pilgrimage and share field notes from the Way. We will delve into the idea of a road trip as a means of enlightenment.

May these stories encourage you to venture onward and embrace the mystery of the Search.