Interviewed by Thea Prothero

This is the fifth in a series of interviews with people who are inspired by my book, A Guide to Pilgrimage, published at the end of last year in the Pagan Portals series by Moon Books. These interviews are a way of digging deeper into the various aspects of pilgrimage and a way of highlighting what it means to different people.

The idea is to inspire you, dear reader, to consider pilgrimage as an act of devotion, or a way of connecting to the world around you, now or in the future.

Pilgrimage is an ancient form of devotion, one which is as relevant to the modern seeker as it was to ancient Greeks over 2000 years ago. One of my missions as a modern advocate is to bring pilgrimage out of the medieval church and firmly into the twenty-first century.

Today I interview the wonderful Barbara Meiklejohn-Free, known as the Highland Seer and author of over 25 books and oracle decks, including four with Moon Books, including some of my favourites about Shamanism: ‘The Shamanic Book of Sacred Tools and Ceremonies.’ And “The Shaman Within”

Barbara was kind enough to talk to me about her pilgrimages.

Firstly, as an introduction, could you tell us how you define a pilgrimage and what it means to you?

“For me, a pilgrimage is not simply a journey to a physical place — it is a soul’s summoning, a call that rises from deep within and demands that you leave behind the ordinary noise of life to step into something sacred, raw and honest. A true pilgrimage asks you to strip back everything false until only the essence of who you truly are remains — so that when you stand on that sacred threshold, you meet yourself as much as you meet the land, genius loci or the spirits that called you.”

Could you please tell the readers where you went on pilgrimage and why this place is significant to you?

“My pilgrimage took me to Konya, Turkey, to the resting place of Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, the mystic, poet, and Sufi master whose words have lit my inner path for decades. Rumi’s tomb is more than stone and dust — it is a living portal of devotion, ecstatic truth, and surrender. I knew, in my bones, that I had to stand there. To stand before him was to stand before my own longing for union with the divine mystery.”

How long had you been planning to go on pilgrimage to Konya? Has it always been a dream of yours to go there, or was it a more recent calling?

“I would say that Rumi called me long before I ever planned for it. When I was young, my father inspired me with books of Rumi’s poetry, and from childhood, I felt a connection to his words, as if they were whispering through my life, carrying a truth I somehow already knew.

I struggled with dyslexia and ADHD. I always longed to write, but the words tangled on the page while they flowed freely in my heart. So I turned to Rumi—I called to him. I asked him to help, guide, and translate the words burning inside me into something I could give the world.

The true summons didn’t come softly — it rose suddenly and fiercely, as if his spirit knew when I was ready. It wasn’t a dream I carried for decades; it was an insistent pull that one day said: You must go now.

And so I did.”

How important was the journey to your significant place as a way of disconnecting from your everyday life and becoming a pilgrim?

“The journey itself — the physical act of leaving behind my daily life — was as sacred as standing at Rumi’s tomb. I drove for ten hours straight from Bodrum to Konya. Those hours on the road stripped away all the chatter in my mind. With every mile I shed a layer of my everyday self, so that by the time I arrived, I was not just Barbara — I was a seeker, bare and ready to kneel in the presence of something greater than myself.”

Could you tell the readers a little about the practical aspects of organising your pilgrimage?

“It wasn’t planned in the meticulous way one might imagine. There was no grand itinerary. I simply knew I needed to get there. I trusted the spirits to guide me. I chose to drive because I needed that solitary space — the hum of the road beneath me, the vastness of the land around me. It was a moving meditation in itself. Once I arrived, I booked a simple place to stay — no luxury, just what was needed. The road was my preparation.”

Did you do any meditation, visualisation, or journeying to guide you to specific places at your destination?

“Before I set foot in Konya, I quietly meditated on Rumi’s words. I asked for guidance—where do I need to stand? What do I need to hear? What do I need to surrender? The answers came not as visions but as a deep knowing: Go. Stand at his threshold. Leave your pride. Ask to be taught. When I arrived, I trusted that spirit would show me where to walk, where to sit, and what prayers to whisper.”

How did you keep a record of your visit? Did you write in a journal or use another format? How did this help you after you returned?

“I kept a simple notebook with me, scribbling down fragments—sensations, thoughts, and lines of poetry that came to me as I stood at his tomb. These were not tidy diary entries but raw spells of remembrance. When I returned, these words anchored me back to the sacred moment. They remind me still that I carry the pilgrimage within me, wherever I go.”

When you returned and reintegrated into your everyday life, how did it feel? Did you find it difficult to reconnect to your everyday life?

“Returning was not easy. Moving from sacred space back into ordinary noise is always a shock. But the beauty of a true pilgrimage is that it changes you at a cellular level. The everyday life I returned to was not the same, because I was not the same. It took time, gentleness and patience to let that shift settle. Part of me never really came back; she still kneels at Rumi’s tomb.”

How has going on your pilgrimage changed you? What is the most significant memory you have that will stay with you?

“Rumi asked for my surrender. That is the gift I carry. I remember standing there, my forehead pressed so close to the cold stone that I could feel the heartbeat of something ancient beneath it. Without shame, I whispered, “Please be my master. Teach me to be empty enough to be filled.” In that single moment, something deep and hidden in me knew it had come home. I carry that flame still — and it burns brighter with each word I write.

This pilgrimage changed me in ways I still struggle to name, because it was not just a journey of miles but of soul. When you listen to the call of Spirit, you know when it is time, and you trust it completely. I have walked many pilgrimages in my life — across Native American lands, deep in the jungles of South America, through Australia’s sacred sites — but standing at Rumi’s resting place was different. The feeling was so tangible you could taste it in the air, feel it brush your skin, press against your chest like an unseen hand.

That moment of surrender changed my life because you cannot return unchanged once you have touched such a current. When you carry that living energy within you, it becomes part of your breath, words, waking, and sleep. It becomes the heartbeat beneath your craft, your prayer, your writing.

That is what stays with me — the knowledge that true surrender is not weakness but the deepest kind of power: to be empty enough to be filled, again and again, by something far greater than yourself.”

Has any element of your specific pilgrimage transpired into any of your writing?

“Absolutely. Much of my work—my books, teachings, talks—echoes that threshold where I stood, forehead against stone, asking to be emptied so I could be filled. Every time I put pen to paper, Rumi reminds me that we must seek the hidden chamber within ourselves first, for all true wisdom flows from there.

His presence moves through every line I write about self-surrender, truth, devotion, and the unending dance between lover and Beloved. His influence didn’t just inspire me — it utterly transformed me. My first book, The Heart of All Knowing, was born from that flame. Everything I write, when I sit to weave word and spirit together, carries the heartbeat of his love, wild longing, and fierce tenderness for life.

When I write poetry, it is as if Rumi’s breath finds mine — the words pour through, and I become, for a moment, empty enough to hold him. His essence reminds me that all of life is poetry — that every heartbreak, every joy, every silence is a verse waiting to be remembered.

So yes — the essence of that pilgrimage lives in every page, every prayer, every whisper of my work. I carry him with me, not just in words but in the way I live, love, and surrender — again and again — to the mystery that calls us home.”

Do you have any advice you could offer readers who are considering going on pilgrimage in the future?

“Listen for the call—and trust it the first time it stirs inside you. A true pilgrimage is not planned the way a holiday is. It is not a packaged trip or a tourist checklist. It is a holy demand that you step outside the life you think you know and walk, raw and open, into the mystery of who you really are.

My greatest advice is this: trust your feelings. I have trusted mine since I was a young girl, but one of my clearest memories is when I was just eighteen years old. I felt the call to travel alone to America — and I listened. That one act of trust led me to my Native American teacher and opened a door I could never have imagined.

A pilgrimage is not always to a shrine or a temple. It may be a sudden pull to stand barefoot on an ancient hill, to sit beside a forgotten well, to return to a land you once walked in another lifetime.

It might come out of nowhere — a dream, a sign, a whisper that says, “Go.” When it comes, don’t silence it with doubt. If you do, you’ll always be left with the ache of “What if I had gone?”

Travel simply. Take little with you — but bring an open heart. Be prepared to lose parts of yourself that no longer serve you, and to find treasures within that have waited lifetimes to be remembered. Pilgrimage will break you open in the best way — if you let it.

So my advice is this: trust the call, trust the knowing, trust the feeling.

Spirit does not summon you for no reason. Your soul remembers where it needs to stand.”

 Are you planning more pilgrimages? Would you do anything differently next time?

“Yes. Pilgrimage is woven into my bones now — there will always be another threshold to cross. One day, I shall return to Rumi, to bow my head again. Perhaps I will stand at other sacred tombs, caves, or groves. Would I do anything differently? No. Spirit leads. I follow.”

Finally, is there anything else you would like to share about your pilgrimage journey or any other pilgrimage aspect?

“If there is one truth I would offer, it is this: the real pilgrimage is not the miles you travel — it is the shedding of your old self along the way.

May we all be pilgrims of the inner road, again and again.”

“I truly believe your book, A Guide to Pilgrimage,  will help so many because not everyone initially trusts that quiet inner knowing. For many, having a guidebook in their hands can awaken that dormant voice within and give them the courage to follow it. I know your book will be a blessing for those who need that gentle nudge to remember what their soul already knows.

May it reach many seekers who stand at the threshold, waiting for the sign to begin.”

Thank you to Barbara Meiklejohn-Free for her insights and the fascinating story of her pilgrimage. Please check out Barbara’s author page on the Moon Books, Collective Ink website here:

https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/authors/barbara-meiklejohn-free

Thea is a Heathen and a pilgrim. She likes to think of herself as a Nemophilist, which means a ‘haunter of woods’. She spends most of her free time walking in the wildest remotest lands, places that still make the gods tremble, and she loves the challenge of finding connection through nature to the divine. She writes prolifically, read equally, has a passion for learning, taking photos, grow things, and spend time with her family. she works in education and lives in the south of the UK.

For more details: https://www.collectiveinkbooks.com/moon-books/authors/thea-prothero