Pilgrimages

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.

-Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

A few thoughts on pilgrimages, in the wake of a holy journey to IKEA by train and tram.

I need sheets for the air mattress and a pillow; sleeping in a sleeping bag with my head on a pile of clothes has lost its charm. My grasp of Brooklyn geography is limited at best (though steadily expanding). The only vendor I know of of such things is the Manhattan K-Mart in the Astor Place Subway where I bought the tent and air mattress in the first place.

But lo! After finding common ground with new friend and fashion designer Ashley over Dieter Rams and the Bauhaus, Ashley mentions that she needs to run out to IKEA.

Sweet Jesus.

Sorry, K-Mart. You're no competitor for the high cathedral of affordable modern design. Even if it is just bedsheets.

I meet up with Ashley in Brooklyn Heights the following day after running the gauntlet of subway closures (2,3 and C not running, A only running in one direction and not making all stops, G spotty). We take a walk down to Borough Hall to catch the free shuttle that IKEA runs and stand in line dutifully with our fellow pilgrims. The Brooklyn IKEA, guarding the water's edge, also runs a water taxi to Manhattan. Aesthetes city-wide flock to its cavernous warehouse bearing little more than their hopes, dreams, and credit cards and leave with the finest in Swedish-engineered modular furniture to bring the cult of beauty into the slouching world one primary-colored end table at a time.

There is a mechanical bustle of pure efficiency. People circle through the cafeteria lines with clockwork hum. Ideal homes are presented every 20 feet. Every product on the showroom floor has a number corresponding to a berth in the neat aisles a floor below. Everything is consistently designed, from directional signs to lampshades to throw rugs to bookshelves to batteries to stuffed animals to even, yes, bedsheets. IKEA is what a universe brought about by Intelligent Design might actually look like.

Which, I think, it why it takes on the element of religion for me. IKEA creates a universe within its walls that is idealized and sells that ideal to everyone who walks through its doors. It's not about trendy furniture or paper globe lights, really. It's about stepping into a store for an hour and imagining a more beautiful world of peace and harmony.

One may not live in this IKEAn world of beauty forever, though. (Seriously. They'll kick you out by 8:45, the beckoning bedroom displays notwithstanding.) Now we must take what we have seen and felt and known and make the world a better place.

This is the value of a pilgrimage in general, whether to IKEA or Brooklyn or Canterbury. There's always value in exploring the aesthetic possibilities of a more beautiful world.