8th August 2025

The pilgrimage continues, not in a distant land, but here in Harrogate. I caught the bus, a new kind of path, and set out to find a different kind of truth. My feet led me on a search for the town's oldest church, a quest for a foundation, much like my own search for the start of my journey. The path eventually brought me to The Stray, to a place of an old chantry chapel and, finally, to the very source of it all: St. John's Well.

I found it, a beautiful gritstone pavilion standing quiet and dignified. But there was a pity to the discovery—the well itself was dry. Yet, in that moment, a deeper truth revealed itself. The water is gone not because the source is gone, but because its function has changed. It is probably still feeding the town's water supply, no longer a public spectacle but a quiet, unseen sustenance. It is a perfect metaphor for my own pilgrimage. The source of my peace is no longer in the public, frantic motion of walking to France, but in the quiet, unseen stream of consciousness that I've been cultivating since May 23rd, 2013, the day I left Le Puy en Velay.

The journey continues, not with a frantic search, but with a quiet understanding that the path is everywhere, and the source of all things is within.