July 31, 2015
Today is the Feast of St Ignatius of Loyola ... who is well known for his writings about spiritual exercises and particularly his notion of "examen of conscience".
Several days ago I listened to some of Steve Job's Commencement address to the graduates of Stanford University in June 2005. Seems some of what Steve Job said that day is relevant to today's thoughts:
1) His comments on the notion of 'connect the dots'. "Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backward 10 years later. Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."
Steve Job is obviously talking about the "Examen of Conscience" ... not on a daily basis ... yet ... on a regular basis. Seems to me he is doing what Socrates recommended 2,500 years ago ... "the unexamined life is not worth living". Socrates obviously believed it was so important to regularly look back and examine the experiences of our life ... where we would find the thread that weaves through and thus connects each of them ... a thread that connects the dots ... the seemingly unrelated experiences of our life.
2) His comments on the notion of predestination ... although he didn't use this particular term. He was referring to his decision to go to college as having been made before he was born. "It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
Steve Job is saying that he was predestined to go to college ... not necessarily predestined to graduate from college. :-) Writing this reminds me how ironic it is that "education" has been pushed so hard in the past 50 years ... as the cornerstone to a good life. Yet ... here today ... we have 2 of the most iconic corporations in the world ...Microsoft and Apple ... being founded by college dropouts ... Bill Gates and Steve Job ... even with Job as a member of the working class. Hmmm!
3) Steve Job's comments pointing to a quote from St Augustine "Lord, you provide the pricks to move us in the direction you want us to go." Steve Job said ... "I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life."
Steve Job's legacy will likely live on for centuries ... making the above anecdote from his life worthy of serious consideration. It's difficult to imagine being the founder and leader of a very successful company ... and being fired! In mainstream society, being fired is considered a traumatic experience ... one we work very hard to avoid.
Yet, Steve Job says it was the best thing that could have happened to him at that time. "Lord, you provide the pricks that move us in the direction you want us to go" Steve Job's experience seems to confirm St Augustine's claim.
For me, another significant point in Steve's story is his comment ..."The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again" ... a beginner again!! Seems we carry "baggage" that has accumulated inside of our consciousness around with us every day ... and this ever growing baggage gets heavier and heavier ... making starting any 'new beginning' difficult, if not impossible. Seems erasing the baggage in our consciousness is a necessary first step in any material change or transformation of consciousness. Like the teacher in a classroom, who erases the blackboard between classes. This process is referred to as "purgation" in spiritual conversion.
RECAP
First a quote from Thomas Kempis ... from his well known book "Imitation of Christ"
"Do not be influenced by the importance of the writer, and whether his learning be great or small; but let the love of pure truth draw you to read. Do not enquire, “Who said this?” but pay attention to what is said”
Thomas Kempis 1380-1471
1) 2,500 years ago Socrates recommended that we conduct an "Examen of Conscience" regularly ... with his words "The unexamined life is not worth living". While the alleged quote from Socrates is well know in academic circles, we really don't know if Socrates is an historical person. He certainly didn't leave us any real life evidence to support his claim.
2) About 500 years ago St Ignatius recommended a daily "Examen of Conscience" however, I don't know that he connected this daily habit with the notion of a life worth living or a life of "connected dots" ... life experiences that are connected to each other. Certainly, if one reads a biography of the life of St Ignatius one can see a connection between some of the milestones in his life ... his war wound leading to a spiritual life versus his previous 'worldly' life ... his conversion at Montserrat ... his meeting St Francis Xavier et al in Paris ... the founding of the Jesuits.
3) 10 years ago Steve Job shared his personal opinion that events in his life were all connected somehow ... providing a few examples.
4) I only realized today that St Ignatius has not been included in my writings on my "Spiritual Family". Hmmm! I wonder why? In examining my memory he certainly was "high profile" in my life a number of times. He was there in Guelph in the early years ... 1995 to 2000. He was there in 1999 when I unexpectedly visited his birthplace in Loyola Spain and a few days later acquired my walking stick which led to walking more than 4,000 kilometres.He was there in 2001 when I was trapped at the hotel in Montserrat for 3 days. Seems he was there in 2013 when I wrote about "Eventually Conscience will Trump Money." Finally, seems he is here today as I attempt to connect all these experiences.
Here are some notes I wrote about 10 years ago ...
For more than a thousand years people have walked across Europe to Santiago Compostella in the northeastern corner of Spain, making it one of the top three pilgrimage destinations of Christianity. Pilgrims from antiquity carried a walking stick, making it a defining characteristic of a pilgrim. Perhaps a spin-off of a shepherds staff.
My first visit to this holy place was more as a tourist than a pilgrim. Seeing the many people wandering around the city centre with a walking stick prompted me to purchase one as a souvenir.
This stick of wood would accompany me along more than 4,000 kilometers of walking the Camino Santiago, the Ruta de la Plata and Le Chemin St Jacques. The most recent pilgrimage started in Vezelay France … in May 2004 … along the historic Voie de Vezelay, south through France, up and over the Pyrenees and ending in Los Arcos Spain. This story tells how this particular walking stick came into my possession, a tale full of mystery and intrigue, twists and turns.
In June 1999 my sister Judy and I were sitting in a sports bar in Guelph. While sipping on my beer I was lamenting about how boring my life was at the time. I suppose I stirred my sisters compassion because soon after she suggested I go with her to London England for the weekend. Judy was working an Air Canada flight to London on weekends at that time and she could arrange my flight for a token of the normal cost.
Despite the negligible expense, traveling all the way to London for a coffee wasn’t very appealing. A beer or two later Judy improved her offer, suggesting I go over to London with her one weekend ... stay in London for the week ... and come back with her the following weekend. Maybe it was the additional beer, suddenly I found her offer quite tempting.
The next day I called my friend Donna who lives a bit north of London was a volunteer on Kibbutz Erez, Israel at the same time as me … a year or so earlier. A letter form Donna after she had returned home prompted my first visit to Mount Sinai in Egypt. A very exciting experience, especially sleeping in the same cave Moses used to hide his face from God. Donna seemed enthusiastic about getting together and asked me to call her when we arrived in London. Now my excitement about the trip is in high gear.
Nothing about this trip would turn out as planned. The journey was full of mystery and suspense; twists and turns. The walking stick purchased in Santiago Compostella Spain would eventually help me unravel the meaning of the Israelites experience with the serpents during there exodus in the Sinai desert. How did I end up in Spain? Read on.
We arrived in London and as it turned out my sister Joyce (Judy’s identical twin sister) would also be in London that weekend (working another Air Canada flight).
That evening at a local bar the three of us drank a few beers together and shared some pleasant conversation. The next day I went looking for Donna’s telephone number ... oops! ... no telephone number in my backpack. Not being able to remember Donna’s family name , there was no way of finding her telephone number or address. Feeling guilty and sad my attention turned to figuring out what to do for a week.
While in Israel, Donna had told me about these last minute dirt cheap vacation holidays from London. I spent the next 24 hours reading papers, listening to these specials on the television and making telephone enquiries about the ones that appeared interesting.
The next day, feeling exasperated, with no where to go and my sisters heading back to Canada … leaving me all alone in this very expensive mega city. France suddenly appeared on my radar screen, perhaps triggered by the prospect of visiting my friend Monique in France. We had met several years earlier under difficult circumstances ... I unexpectedly arrived at her family home near Lille France the day after her brother Jean Francois had committed suicide.
Finding my way to the train station and buying a train ticket to Portsmouth was uneventful enough. The train was scheduled to depart in about 30 minutes or so. Thinking to myself ... this must be an example of destiny ... the timing is so perfect, what could happen in half an hour? As it turned out, a lot!!
Wandering around the train station waiting for the departure time my eyes caught the word Paris on a small piece of paper on a Kiosk bulletin board. The notice advertised return fare to Paris for 44 pounds. Being on a tight budget and concerned about paying 18 pounds just to get to Portsmouth, I decided to check out this special offer.
The lady at the Kiosk was quite pleasant and confirmed the price and the fact that the bus would leave later on that afternoon. Now what about the train ticket in my pocket. Without a refund I would be forced to engage in another round of cost benefit analysis.
The gentleman at the train ticket wicket, the same one who had just sold me the ticket a few minutes earlier, gave me a scornful look as he heard my gentle plea for a refund. Albeit reluctantly; he refunded my 18 pounds.
Back to the lady at the kiosk, the smile on her face clearly indicated she recognized me. She started filling out some paperwork and made a telephone call. While she was talking on the telephone her expression changed, suggesting there was some sort of problem. After hanging up the telephone she informed me that the bus was full, no available seats. Oh poop! ... What now! Feeling too embarrassed to face the gentleman at the train station again, there didn’t seem to be any other alternatives in front of me. So much for destiny!
Now it seems the expression on my face aroused some empathy from the kiosk lady. She informed me that she was an agent and suggested a seat on the bus to Paris may still be available at the bus station. Apparently some seats are reserved for walk on passengers.
Remembering that finding my car in a parking lot is often quite a challenge, how on earth would I find a bus station in this mega city!! The kiosk lady was very encouraging ... just walk straight this way and then that way etc ... Yikes!!
Off to search for the bus station. I found it! What an achievement, surely my reward will be a seat on the bus to Paris!!
After entering the building my mind quickly sized up the situation. There was a very long line of people and an information booth with nobody in line. The information desk seemed the better alternative, waiting in that long line may result in missing the bus.
After explaining my situation to the gentleman at the information desk he handed me a book and instructed me to go and stand in line. Oh poop again! So much for short cuts, by now several more people had joined the ticket line. Despite feeling disappointed with my waste of time, this small book … that I acquired as a result of my detour … would trigger a significant twist in my expected journey to Paris.
Standing in line, wondering why this book is my hand, curiosity prompts me to open the book and scan the pages. The book contained numbers, numbers and more numbers. While neatly arranged in tabular form, my brain did not have the capacity to try and understand them. I closed the book.
A few minutes later, still in line ... bored to tears ... seems the book opened itself to the last page. Suddenly something inside me lights up and excitement returns. The title of the last pages was Ferry Schedule ... sitting on a ferry was much more appealing than sitting on a bus. The list included a ferry to Spain for 60-70 pounds. Wow! … even within my budget. Enthusiasm building as I recalled this place in Spain my friend Michelle had told me about several months before ... something about an ancient pilgrimage and Santiago Spain.
When my turn at the wicket finally arrived I excitedly asked about the ferries to Spain. The man asked when and I replied today. You can imagine ... being around 4:00 PM here is this vagabond asking about a ferry leaving for Spain today! You can imagine the look he gave me ... I still remember it. The look clearly said …Are you nuts!!
Nonetheless, I repeated my request and he started looking through his books. After several minutes and the ticket agent whining about how disorganized his books were he found a fare to San Sebastian Spain leaving at 5:30PM. Wow! ... now the only thing left is the whether San Sebastian is east of Santiago. I had this fantasy about walking into Santiago. I enquired of the ticket agent and he had no idea about the location of San Sebastian within Spain.
So here I am standing at this wicket with a decision to make. Should I buy this ticket to San Sebastian Spain? I know nothing of the geography of Spain. With a particular destination in mind ... east of this place called Santiago ... and I have no idea where in Spain is this place called Santiago or San Sebastian!!
Being a free spirit, following the wind despite its direction or destination, I bought the ticket. Yikes! What am I doing here? Where am I going? Why am I going to wherever I am going? Unknowingly, this seemingly innocuous decision to buy this particular ticket would chart the next 5 years of my life.
I want to pause here for a moment. The memory of this particular experience is as fresh in my mind as though it happened yesterday. I see the long line up at the ticket window … I see the information desk with one or two people hanging around it. My impatience prompts me to head over to the information desk … even though the logical thing to do would be to stand in line for a ticket. Because I go to the information desk I acquire this fare book. Why did the man give me the fare book? … I had asked specifically about a bus to Paris that afternoon …hmmm.
Afterwards, because I was forced to stand in line for a rather long time, my boredom prompted me to open the book and have a look at its contents. Glancing aimlessly at the pages of the book brought me to the Ferry Schedule and in particular to the Ferry trip to Spain.
Talk about living like a ‘cork floating on the sea’. I walk into this bus station looking for a bus ticket to Paris and I walk out with what I believe to be a ferry ticket to Spain. I say “what I believe to be” because what I had purchased was not in fact a ferry ticket to Spain!
Instructions included being at a bus station to board a certain bus at 5:50PM. At the time, these instructions seemed a bit unusual. With a ferry ticket in hand I am going to a bus station? Then it occurred to me ... the bus would likely take us to the dock where the ferry was waiting to take us to Spain. OK ... my mind settled down.
Found the bus and jumped on board, sleeping most of the way to the dock Woke up as we were pulling into Dover, remembered seeing the cliffs of Dover and somehow my memory recalled these cliffs of Dover ... maybe from a poem in school or something ... who knows eh!. Sitting up in my seat an alarm bell went off inside me again ... yikes ... what now?
While being unable to navigate a parking lot, my mind was trying to figure out why we were heading west(London to Dover). We are supposed to be going to Spain which certainly must be south and maybe even East of London. This thought bothered me for a few minutes, but my mind was simply too tired or too weak to give it any further serious consideration.
The bus pulled into a large parking lot and the ship was there waiting for us in the harbor. Thinking to myself ... wow! ... this is real ... there is the ship that will take me to Spain.
Figuring we would be asked to leave the bus and walk onto the ship … nope! Puzzled again when the bus drove onto the ship ... now this is weird. Oh well ... again too tired to worry about it.
Walking up onto one of the decks where there were several seating areas with seating big enough to lie down. Since the area was not too crowded, felt this trip would be a treat after all. I could sleep most of the way to Spain ... and I love to sleep!
Nope ... something was still bothering me, something wasn’t right. Finally decided to ask one of the porters where this ferry was headed; hopefully confirm the destination was San Sebastian Spain. The porter gave me one of those priceless looks ... Are you nuts!!
He smiled and gently explained that the ferry was headed for Calais and back to Dover. Yikes!! Double yikes!! What did my ticket indicate? Where is my ticket? Pulling it out of my pocket, there, to my surprise, was a picture of a bus on the cover. Ding! ... Ding! ... Ding! Bells went off in my head and I sobered up in a hurry. It was now obvious that I had purchased a bus ticket from London to San Sebastian !!!
Who in their right mind would want to spend a week riding the bus to Spain and back to London ... there would be no time for anything else! Seems I was under some kind of trance in London.
Oh well ... I’m on the ship and the water is both too cold and too deep to swim back. Now I am really starting to wonder what this trip is all about. How did I get into that dazed state of mind? Stay in it for so long ... to this day ... I still don’t know.
The bus trip to San Sebastian went by so quickly, hardly even remember any of the trip. I remember the stop in San Sebastian. Thinking it was a piddle break stop, I was happy to get off and smoke a cigarette. When I tried to confirm with the bus driver that I had enough time to have a cigarette ... he tried to explain to me in Spanish, somehow the language of the day had changed somewhere along the way, and of course I don’t know a single word in Spanish. The driver kicked me off the bus, I had arrived in San Sebastian
So here I am in San Sebastian Spain … don’t know a word of Spanish … don’t know a thing about San Sebastian … don’t know where I will sleep … don’t have much money … yet I am not at all anxious or scared …in fact … feeling quite peaceful. I am comforted by the fact that San Sebastian is apparently East of this place called Santiago … and at the moment that’s all I care about.
I find someplace to eat and afterwards start wandering the streets enquiring here and there about this ‘pilgrim route’ to Santiago. No one seems to know anything about it … yikes! Somehow a middle aged lady overhears one of my pleas … spoken mostly with international body language … and she approaches me and asks me … in English … if she can help. Wow! Someone who speaks English finds me … yes she found me … I didn’t find her.
She was a very kind Basque woman … I would lean later that I was in Basque country … Basque people have a very interesting history … some say they fished off the coast of Newfoundland long before Columbus … hmmm … and St Ignatius is Basque. In the past Basque people took their family name from the name of the house they were born in … thus St Ignatius of Loyola.
This kind lady drove me to the local Youth Hostel … a place with cheap accommodation … suitable for my budget. Along the way she mentioned Loyola and St Ignatius … telling me it was very near. Immediately my interest was peaked … I decided I would visit Loyola. I had heard about St Ignatius while living in Guelph … there’s a Jesuit retreat centre in Guelph with apparently an international reputation.
At the hostel I learned a bit about the pilgrim route and that in fact many pilgrims followed a trail that passed right beside the hostel. The next morning I’m walking this trail. I walk about ten kilometres up this mountain … and down again. It was a terribly hot day. When I got back down to the base of this mountain … of course, I was in a different place then where I started … I was lost … and badly sun burned. As it turned out my walking pilgrimage was over … I couldn’t bear standing in the sunlight … I had to hide from the sun for several days.
Seems this experience … the fatigue and the sun burn … prepared me perfectly for a visit to Loyola … the visit being a chance to recuperate. The actual visit to Loyola was quite uneventful … they refused to give me shelter at the monastery … eventually I found shelter in a private home.
My plan to walk into Santiago … the idea that gave me so much comfort for the past several days … was shattered … there was no way I could walk anymore. I took the train. Some pilgrim eh! Little did I know that while I would take the train to Santiago on this trip I would walk more than 4,000 kilometres in the next five years on my way to Santiago. If someone had told me this would happen I would never have believed them.
Let me pause for a moment again … and digress from this anecdote. Seems St Ignatius wants me to set the record straight … so to speak … for those readers who may be confused. I first heard of St Ignatius and the Jesuits in 1995. I was in Medugorje … Bosnia Herzegovina. A priest I met while visiting Medugorje told me about the Jesuit spiritual retreat house in Guelph … which I visited on my return to Guelph and I have had many important experiences connected to my visits to the Ignatius centre there.
So I hear about St Ignatius in 1995 and I find myself unexpectedly in Loyola Spain where he was born four or five years later … not such a big deal eh! To add to the mystery … a few years later I found myself imprisoned for three days in a hotel in Montserrat … near Barcelona Spain … the place where St Ignatius had his conversion experience … where he laid down his sword at the feet of the Black Madonna. At the time, I arrived in Montserrat penniless … and there was a problem with my credit card. Fortunately the hotel reception didn’t ask for my credit card when I was checking in … this in itself seems quite unusual. I slept in the hotel and ate at the hotel restaurant for three days while I straightened out the problems with my credit card.
St Ignatius had six followers when he started the Jesuits … one of whom was St Francis Xavier. In June 2000 I found myself unexpectedly at the Javier castle in Spain … the birthplace of St Francis … hmmm. St Francis is the Patron Saint of missionaries … along with St Therese of Lisieux. St Francis died while on his way to China … very near Hong Kong.
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Some more details concerning my 'walking stick'
As I was wandering around the city … Santiago de Compostella … I saw all these people with walking sticks … I learned later that the walking stick was a defining characteristic of a pilgrim. ... some looked new … all varnished and polished ... no mileage ... some were simple tree trunks… small trees :-)
These walking sticks appealed to me ... I decided to buy one at one of the tourist stores ... I must have looked pretty funny ... walking around town with my backpack and this shiny new walking stick
Seems the next day serious anxiety set in ... I found myself very restless and frustrated with this very strong feeling that I had to get out of town ... get back to London ... weird given the round about journey into town. I spent the next day trying to find a way out of town ... no trains ... no buses ... and the plane was much too expensive. I had no choice but to wait for the next train ... leaving Saturday morning at 9:00 AM. This train should get me to Paris with barely enough time to get back to London and meet up with my sister Judy.
As I was approaching the train station Saturday morning I remember staring at this clock tower that was in the train station parking lot. I stared because the clock read 9:30 and I knew my train would be leaving at 9:00. I had this uneasy feeling in my stomach and as I approached the train station another side of the same clock tower became visible ... the clock read the same time ...9:30 ... I thought to myself ... no way ... it can not be!!
Yup ... I had missed my train ... I didn’t sleep much the night before ... serious pain in my knee which disappeared by early morning
OK ... now what? ... no more trains or buses today ... my sister will be waiting for me in London ... oh shit!!
Reluctantly I decided to take to the air ... bought an expensive airplane ticket ... so much for my budget!
While wandering around the airport I did some shopping ... quite unusual for me ... I rarely buy any gifts ... yet today I was in the mood to buy some trinkets for my sister Sherry and Kevin..
I got on the plane and was sitting comfortably ... relishing the thought that I would be in London in a couple of hours and I didn’t have to sit on some pokey train for 2 days!
I heard some noise and when I looked up ... here was the clerk from the store where I had just purchased my trinkets waiving this stick in the air and walking down the aisle. I quickly realized she was waiving my stick ... I got up ... retrieved my walking stick and thanked this wonderful lady copiously. This walking stick was all I had to remind of the wonderful ordeal I had just been through.
I met up with my sister Judy at her hotel ... She got me on the bus that takes the Air Canada employees to the airport. She had to leave me on arrival at the airport ... her only instructions were ... leave yourself enough time to find the gate ... we had arrived several hours before the flight was scheduled to leave.
A few hours later ... I am wandering around this mega airport ‘Heathrow’ and I decide it is time to find out which gate the Air Canada flight would be boarding ... I find the appropriate monitor and as my eyes fix on the information I was looking for ... the bells go off inside me yet again ... oh no!! ... the boarding light is flashing for the Air Canada flight to Toronto
You can imagine ... this is the Heathrow airport ... I get lost in a parking lot ... in yet another dopey daze I have lost track of time ... now somehow I have to find this gate
I start running ... and running ... and running ... sweating like a pig ... turning this way and that way ... trying to follow the idiot proof directions to this gate
I arrive at the gate ... a colleague of my sister is standing there all alone ... turns out they have been holding the plane for me ... whew!!
All of a sudden my excitement quickly waned ... that sick feeling in my stomach came back for another visit ... what now!
I realized that I had left my walking stick on the belt at one of the security check points ... oh poop again!
I explained the sad look on my face to my sisters colleague ... he said don’t worry ... go back and get it ... I said to him ... no ... you have already delayed the flight long enough for me ... it’s only a stick.
This kind man would not take no for an answer and he insisted I go back and get it ... I turn and start running ... and running ..... and running ... sweat poring down into my eyes and onto my cheeks ... my shirt is drenched in sweat
I nervously look at each security check as I am running ... there must be a zillion of them at Heathrow ... you guessed it ... I couldn’t find which security clearance I had come through ... I turn around and start running back in the direction of the Air Canada gate ... I run and ... run ... and run ... sweating even more profusely
I make it to the gate ... no stick in hand ... now Judy’s colleague has a sad look on his face ... he tells me to get on the plane and not worry about my stick ... again I try to reassure him ... it is only a piece of wood .... No big deal!
My sister Judy meets me at the doorway to the plane ... you can imagine the look she has for me ... here she is trying to do me a favour and I have put her in an awkward position ... holding up a plane load of increasingly restless people waiting for this wayward brother of hers.
She hasn’t lost her ‘cool’ though ... she even asks me if I would like to sit up in the cockpit with the pilots for the duration of the flight
In my mind, I quickly ... no way ... I just want to crawl into an obscure location somewhere on this plane and go to sleep and try to imagine that none of this trip really happened
Yet ... not to disappoint my sister or shun her generosity I tried to show some excitement about sitting in the cockpit
I settled into my seat behind the pilot ... the word seat is generous here ... this particular seat may have enjoyed a picturesque view ... absolutely no comfort
I am listening to the pilot and co-pilot go through there checking routines ... trying to stop myself from sweating ...
Whew ... seems its’ done ... all body movements from the pilot and co-pilot suggest we are about to start rolling back ... nope!
The pilot says out loud to the co-pilot ... what’s that all about ... some of the gadgetry was blinking that should not have been blinking ... seems they had to go back through this rather tedious checking procedure ... again!
A minute or so later the pilot receives a call ... from somewhere ... who knows where ... I could hear the voice coming through on his ear phones
Someone is trying to tell the pilot that they have a walking stick and ask him if he is willing to open the door and bring it on ... can you believe it ... this walking stick of mine found its’ way into the airplane ... its’ like the stick has a life of its own
My sister Judy quickly claimed the stick and informed me that she would be custodian of the stick until we got home :-)
Left it behind again at the Ottawa airport (same trip)
When I was sharing this story with a friend of mine in Spain a couple of years later ... his response was ... Bruce ... you should not have this stick ... to which I replied ... Maybe I didn’t want to have the stick and I am trying to run away from it (and whatever work comes along with having it). Little did I know that this stick would accompany me on 4,000 kilometres of walking … no wonder I wanted to run away from it.
Over the next eight years I would lose this stick countless times … leaving it behind at a restaurant … leaving it behind at various places so many times and yet it was always there waiting for me when I went to retrieve it. After my last pilgrimage … the walk across France in 2004 … my walking stick didn’t make it back to Guelph with me. At that time I was not allowed to take the stick on the airplane with me … I had to check it in. When I got to Guelph … no walking stick. Several days later I gave up trying to find it … about 3-4 weeks later there was a knock on the door where I was living in Guelph … yup … my walking stick and I were together again, Where is this walking stick today? Don’t know … I lost it about six years ago in Suzhou China … when I was on my way back to Canada. Hmmm
Today is the Feast of St Ignatius of Loyola ... who is well known for his writings about spiritual exercises and particularly his notion of "examen of conscience".
Several days ago I listened to some of Steve Job's Commencement address to the graduates of Stanford University in June 2005. Seems some of what Steve Job said that day is relevant to today's thoughts:
1) His comments on the notion of 'connect the dots'. "Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backward 10 years later. Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."
Steve Job is obviously talking about the "Examen of Conscience" ... not on a daily basis ... yet ... on a regular basis. Seems to me he is doing what Socrates recommended 2,500 years ago ... "the unexamined life is not worth living". Socrates obviously believed it was so important to regularly look back and examine the experiences of our life ... where we would find the thread that weaves through and thus connects each of them ... a thread that connects the dots ... the seemingly unrelated experiences of our life.
2) His comments on the notion of predestination ... although he didn't use this particular term. He was referring to his decision to go to college as having been made before he was born. "It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
Steve Job is saying that he was predestined to go to college ... not necessarily predestined to graduate from college. :-) Writing this reminds me how ironic it is that "education" has been pushed so hard in the past 50 years ... as the cornerstone to a good life. Yet ... here today ... we have 2 of the most iconic corporations in the world ...Microsoft and Apple ... being founded by college dropouts ... Bill Gates and Steve Job ... even with Job as a member of the working class. Hmmm!
3) Steve Job's comments pointing to a quote from St Augustine "Lord, you provide the pricks to move us in the direction you want us to go." Steve Job said ... "I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life."
Steve Job's legacy will likely live on for centuries ... making the above anecdote from his life worthy of serious consideration. It's difficult to imagine being the founder and leader of a very successful company ... and being fired! In mainstream society, being fired is considered a traumatic experience ... one we work very hard to avoid.
Yet, Steve Job says it was the best thing that could have happened to him at that time. "Lord, you provide the pricks that move us in the direction you want us to go" Steve Job's experience seems to confirm St Augustine's claim.
For me, another significant point in Steve's story is his comment ..."The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again" ... a beginner again!! Seems we carry "baggage" that has accumulated inside of our consciousness around with us every day ... and this ever growing baggage gets heavier and heavier ... making starting any 'new beginning' difficult, if not impossible. Seems erasing the baggage in our consciousness is a necessary first step in any material change or transformation of consciousness. Like the teacher in a classroom, who erases the blackboard between classes. This process is referred to as "purgation" in spiritual conversion.
RECAP
First a quote from Thomas Kempis ... from his well known book "Imitation of Christ"
"Do not be influenced by the importance of the writer, and whether his learning be great or small; but let the love of pure truth draw you to read. Do not enquire, “Who said this?” but pay attention to what is said”
Thomas Kempis 1380-1471
1) 2,500 years ago Socrates recommended that we conduct an "Examen of Conscience" regularly ... with his words "The unexamined life is not worth living". While the alleged quote from Socrates is well know in academic circles, we really don't know if Socrates is an historical person. He certainly didn't leave us any real life evidence to support his claim.
2) About 500 years ago St Ignatius recommended a daily "Examen of Conscience" however, I don't know that he connected this daily habit with the notion of a life worth living or a life of "connected dots" ... life experiences that are connected to each other. Certainly, if one reads a biography of the life of St Ignatius one can see a connection between some of the milestones in his life ... his war wound leading to a spiritual life versus his previous 'worldly' life ... his conversion at Montserrat ... his meeting St Francis Xavier et al in Paris ... the founding of the Jesuits.
3) 10 years ago Steve Job shared his personal opinion that events in his life were all connected somehow ... providing a few examples.
4) I only realized today that St Ignatius has not been included in my writings on my "Spiritual Family". Hmmm! I wonder why? In examining my memory he certainly was "high profile" in my life a number of times. He was there in Guelph in the early years ... 1995 to 2000. He was there in 1999 when I unexpectedly visited his birthplace in Loyola Spain and a few days later acquired my walking stick which led to walking more than 4,000 kilometres.He was there in 2001 when I was trapped at the hotel in Montserrat for 3 days. Seems he was there in 2013 when I wrote about "Eventually Conscience will Trump Money." Finally, seems he is here today as I attempt to connect all these experiences.
Here are some notes I wrote about 10 years ago ...
For more than a thousand years people have walked across Europe to Santiago Compostella in the northeastern corner of Spain, making it one of the top three pilgrimage destinations of Christianity. Pilgrims from antiquity carried a walking stick, making it a defining characteristic of a pilgrim. Perhaps a spin-off of a shepherds staff.
My first visit to this holy place was more as a tourist than a pilgrim. Seeing the many people wandering around the city centre with a walking stick prompted me to purchase one as a souvenir.
This stick of wood would accompany me along more than 4,000 kilometers of walking the Camino Santiago, the Ruta de la Plata and Le Chemin St Jacques. The most recent pilgrimage started in Vezelay France … in May 2004 … along the historic Voie de Vezelay, south through France, up and over the Pyrenees and ending in Los Arcos Spain. This story tells how this particular walking stick came into my possession, a tale full of mystery and intrigue, twists and turns.
In June 1999 my sister Judy and I were sitting in a sports bar in Guelph. While sipping on my beer I was lamenting about how boring my life was at the time. I suppose I stirred my sisters compassion because soon after she suggested I go with her to London England for the weekend. Judy was working an Air Canada flight to London on weekends at that time and she could arrange my flight for a token of the normal cost.
Despite the negligible expense, traveling all the way to London for a coffee wasn’t very appealing. A beer or two later Judy improved her offer, suggesting I go over to London with her one weekend ... stay in London for the week ... and come back with her the following weekend. Maybe it was the additional beer, suddenly I found her offer quite tempting.
The next day I called my friend Donna who lives a bit north of London was a volunteer on Kibbutz Erez, Israel at the same time as me … a year or so earlier. A letter form Donna after she had returned home prompted my first visit to Mount Sinai in Egypt. A very exciting experience, especially sleeping in the same cave Moses used to hide his face from God. Donna seemed enthusiastic about getting together and asked me to call her when we arrived in London. Now my excitement about the trip is in high gear.
Nothing about this trip would turn out as planned. The journey was full of mystery and suspense; twists and turns. The walking stick purchased in Santiago Compostella Spain would eventually help me unravel the meaning of the Israelites experience with the serpents during there exodus in the Sinai desert. How did I end up in Spain? Read on.
We arrived in London and as it turned out my sister Joyce (Judy’s identical twin sister) would also be in London that weekend (working another Air Canada flight).
That evening at a local bar the three of us drank a few beers together and shared some pleasant conversation. The next day I went looking for Donna’s telephone number ... oops! ... no telephone number in my backpack. Not being able to remember Donna’s family name , there was no way of finding her telephone number or address. Feeling guilty and sad my attention turned to figuring out what to do for a week.
While in Israel, Donna had told me about these last minute dirt cheap vacation holidays from London. I spent the next 24 hours reading papers, listening to these specials on the television and making telephone enquiries about the ones that appeared interesting.
The next day, feeling exasperated, with no where to go and my sisters heading back to Canada … leaving me all alone in this very expensive mega city. France suddenly appeared on my radar screen, perhaps triggered by the prospect of visiting my friend Monique in France. We had met several years earlier under difficult circumstances ... I unexpectedly arrived at her family home near Lille France the day after her brother Jean Francois had committed suicide.
Finding my way to the train station and buying a train ticket to Portsmouth was uneventful enough. The train was scheduled to depart in about 30 minutes or so. Thinking to myself ... this must be an example of destiny ... the timing is so perfect, what could happen in half an hour? As it turned out, a lot!!
Wandering around the train station waiting for the departure time my eyes caught the word Paris on a small piece of paper on a Kiosk bulletin board. The notice advertised return fare to Paris for 44 pounds. Being on a tight budget and concerned about paying 18 pounds just to get to Portsmouth, I decided to check out this special offer.
The lady at the Kiosk was quite pleasant and confirmed the price and the fact that the bus would leave later on that afternoon. Now what about the train ticket in my pocket. Without a refund I would be forced to engage in another round of cost benefit analysis.
The gentleman at the train ticket wicket, the same one who had just sold me the ticket a few minutes earlier, gave me a scornful look as he heard my gentle plea for a refund. Albeit reluctantly; he refunded my 18 pounds.
Back to the lady at the kiosk, the smile on her face clearly indicated she recognized me. She started filling out some paperwork and made a telephone call. While she was talking on the telephone her expression changed, suggesting there was some sort of problem. After hanging up the telephone she informed me that the bus was full, no available seats. Oh poop! ... What now! Feeling too embarrassed to face the gentleman at the train station again, there didn’t seem to be any other alternatives in front of me. So much for destiny!
Now it seems the expression on my face aroused some empathy from the kiosk lady. She informed me that she was an agent and suggested a seat on the bus to Paris may still be available at the bus station. Apparently some seats are reserved for walk on passengers.
Remembering that finding my car in a parking lot is often quite a challenge, how on earth would I find a bus station in this mega city!! The kiosk lady was very encouraging ... just walk straight this way and then that way etc ... Yikes!!
Off to search for the bus station. I found it! What an achievement, surely my reward will be a seat on the bus to Paris!!
After entering the building my mind quickly sized up the situation. There was a very long line of people and an information booth with nobody in line. The information desk seemed the better alternative, waiting in that long line may result in missing the bus.
After explaining my situation to the gentleman at the information desk he handed me a book and instructed me to go and stand in line. Oh poop again! So much for short cuts, by now several more people had joined the ticket line. Despite feeling disappointed with my waste of time, this small book … that I acquired as a result of my detour … would trigger a significant twist in my expected journey to Paris.
Standing in line, wondering why this book is my hand, curiosity prompts me to open the book and scan the pages. The book contained numbers, numbers and more numbers. While neatly arranged in tabular form, my brain did not have the capacity to try and understand them. I closed the book.
A few minutes later, still in line ... bored to tears ... seems the book opened itself to the last page. Suddenly something inside me lights up and excitement returns. The title of the last pages was Ferry Schedule ... sitting on a ferry was much more appealing than sitting on a bus. The list included a ferry to Spain for 60-70 pounds. Wow! … even within my budget. Enthusiasm building as I recalled this place in Spain my friend Michelle had told me about several months before ... something about an ancient pilgrimage and Santiago Spain.
When my turn at the wicket finally arrived I excitedly asked about the ferries to Spain. The man asked when and I replied today. You can imagine ... being around 4:00 PM here is this vagabond asking about a ferry leaving for Spain today! You can imagine the look he gave me ... I still remember it. The look clearly said …Are you nuts!!
Nonetheless, I repeated my request and he started looking through his books. After several minutes and the ticket agent whining about how disorganized his books were he found a fare to San Sebastian Spain leaving at 5:30PM. Wow! ... now the only thing left is the whether San Sebastian is east of Santiago. I had this fantasy about walking into Santiago. I enquired of the ticket agent and he had no idea about the location of San Sebastian within Spain.
So here I am standing at this wicket with a decision to make. Should I buy this ticket to San Sebastian Spain? I know nothing of the geography of Spain. With a particular destination in mind ... east of this place called Santiago ... and I have no idea where in Spain is this place called Santiago or San Sebastian!!
Being a free spirit, following the wind despite its direction or destination, I bought the ticket. Yikes! What am I doing here? Where am I going? Why am I going to wherever I am going? Unknowingly, this seemingly innocuous decision to buy this particular ticket would chart the next 5 years of my life.
I want to pause here for a moment. The memory of this particular experience is as fresh in my mind as though it happened yesterday. I see the long line up at the ticket window … I see the information desk with one or two people hanging around it. My impatience prompts me to head over to the information desk … even though the logical thing to do would be to stand in line for a ticket. Because I go to the information desk I acquire this fare book. Why did the man give me the fare book? … I had asked specifically about a bus to Paris that afternoon …hmmm.
Afterwards, because I was forced to stand in line for a rather long time, my boredom prompted me to open the book and have a look at its contents. Glancing aimlessly at the pages of the book brought me to the Ferry Schedule and in particular to the Ferry trip to Spain.
Talk about living like a ‘cork floating on the sea’. I walk into this bus station looking for a bus ticket to Paris and I walk out with what I believe to be a ferry ticket to Spain. I say “what I believe to be” because what I had purchased was not in fact a ferry ticket to Spain!
Instructions included being at a bus station to board a certain bus at 5:50PM. At the time, these instructions seemed a bit unusual. With a ferry ticket in hand I am going to a bus station? Then it occurred to me ... the bus would likely take us to the dock where the ferry was waiting to take us to Spain. OK ... my mind settled down.
Found the bus and jumped on board, sleeping most of the way to the dock Woke up as we were pulling into Dover, remembered seeing the cliffs of Dover and somehow my memory recalled these cliffs of Dover ... maybe from a poem in school or something ... who knows eh!. Sitting up in my seat an alarm bell went off inside me again ... yikes ... what now?
While being unable to navigate a parking lot, my mind was trying to figure out why we were heading west(London to Dover). We are supposed to be going to Spain which certainly must be south and maybe even East of London. This thought bothered me for a few minutes, but my mind was simply too tired or too weak to give it any further serious consideration.
The bus pulled into a large parking lot and the ship was there waiting for us in the harbor. Thinking to myself ... wow! ... this is real ... there is the ship that will take me to Spain.
Figuring we would be asked to leave the bus and walk onto the ship … nope! Puzzled again when the bus drove onto the ship ... now this is weird. Oh well ... again too tired to worry about it.
Walking up onto one of the decks where there were several seating areas with seating big enough to lie down. Since the area was not too crowded, felt this trip would be a treat after all. I could sleep most of the way to Spain ... and I love to sleep!
Nope ... something was still bothering me, something wasn’t right. Finally decided to ask one of the porters where this ferry was headed; hopefully confirm the destination was San Sebastian Spain. The porter gave me one of those priceless looks ... Are you nuts!!
He smiled and gently explained that the ferry was headed for Calais and back to Dover. Yikes!! Double yikes!! What did my ticket indicate? Where is my ticket? Pulling it out of my pocket, there, to my surprise, was a picture of a bus on the cover. Ding! ... Ding! ... Ding! Bells went off in my head and I sobered up in a hurry. It was now obvious that I had purchased a bus ticket from London to San Sebastian !!!
Who in their right mind would want to spend a week riding the bus to Spain and back to London ... there would be no time for anything else! Seems I was under some kind of trance in London.
Oh well ... I’m on the ship and the water is both too cold and too deep to swim back. Now I am really starting to wonder what this trip is all about. How did I get into that dazed state of mind? Stay in it for so long ... to this day ... I still don’t know.
The bus trip to San Sebastian went by so quickly, hardly even remember any of the trip. I remember the stop in San Sebastian. Thinking it was a piddle break stop, I was happy to get off and smoke a cigarette. When I tried to confirm with the bus driver that I had enough time to have a cigarette ... he tried to explain to me in Spanish, somehow the language of the day had changed somewhere along the way, and of course I don’t know a single word in Spanish. The driver kicked me off the bus, I had arrived in San Sebastian
So here I am in San Sebastian Spain … don’t know a word of Spanish … don’t know a thing about San Sebastian … don’t know where I will sleep … don’t have much money … yet I am not at all anxious or scared …in fact … feeling quite peaceful. I am comforted by the fact that San Sebastian is apparently East of this place called Santiago … and at the moment that’s all I care about.
I find someplace to eat and afterwards start wandering the streets enquiring here and there about this ‘pilgrim route’ to Santiago. No one seems to know anything about it … yikes! Somehow a middle aged lady overhears one of my pleas … spoken mostly with international body language … and she approaches me and asks me … in English … if she can help. Wow! Someone who speaks English finds me … yes she found me … I didn’t find her.
She was a very kind Basque woman … I would lean later that I was in Basque country … Basque people have a very interesting history … some say they fished off the coast of Newfoundland long before Columbus … hmmm … and St Ignatius is Basque. In the past Basque people took their family name from the name of the house they were born in … thus St Ignatius of Loyola.
This kind lady drove me to the local Youth Hostel … a place with cheap accommodation … suitable for my budget. Along the way she mentioned Loyola and St Ignatius … telling me it was very near. Immediately my interest was peaked … I decided I would visit Loyola. I had heard about St Ignatius while living in Guelph … there’s a Jesuit retreat centre in Guelph with apparently an international reputation.
At the hostel I learned a bit about the pilgrim route and that in fact many pilgrims followed a trail that passed right beside the hostel. The next morning I’m walking this trail. I walk about ten kilometres up this mountain … and down again. It was a terribly hot day. When I got back down to the base of this mountain … of course, I was in a different place then where I started … I was lost … and badly sun burned. As it turned out my walking pilgrimage was over … I couldn’t bear standing in the sunlight … I had to hide from the sun for several days.
Seems this experience … the fatigue and the sun burn … prepared me perfectly for a visit to Loyola … the visit being a chance to recuperate. The actual visit to Loyola was quite uneventful … they refused to give me shelter at the monastery … eventually I found shelter in a private home.
My plan to walk into Santiago … the idea that gave me so much comfort for the past several days … was shattered … there was no way I could walk anymore. I took the train. Some pilgrim eh! Little did I know that while I would take the train to Santiago on this trip I would walk more than 4,000 kilometres in the next five years on my way to Santiago. If someone had told me this would happen I would never have believed them.
Let me pause for a moment again … and digress from this anecdote. Seems St Ignatius wants me to set the record straight … so to speak … for those readers who may be confused. I first heard of St Ignatius and the Jesuits in 1995. I was in Medugorje … Bosnia Herzegovina. A priest I met while visiting Medugorje told me about the Jesuit spiritual retreat house in Guelph … which I visited on my return to Guelph and I have had many important experiences connected to my visits to the Ignatius centre there.
So I hear about St Ignatius in 1995 and I find myself unexpectedly in Loyola Spain where he was born four or five years later … not such a big deal eh! To add to the mystery … a few years later I found myself imprisoned for three days in a hotel in Montserrat … near Barcelona Spain … the place where St Ignatius had his conversion experience … where he laid down his sword at the feet of the Black Madonna. At the time, I arrived in Montserrat penniless … and there was a problem with my credit card. Fortunately the hotel reception didn’t ask for my credit card when I was checking in … this in itself seems quite unusual. I slept in the hotel and ate at the hotel restaurant for three days while I straightened out the problems with my credit card.
St Ignatius had six followers when he started the Jesuits … one of whom was St Francis Xavier. In June 2000 I found myself unexpectedly at the Javier castle in Spain … the birthplace of St Francis … hmmm. St Francis is the Patron Saint of missionaries … along with St Therese of Lisieux. St Francis died while on his way to China … very near Hong Kong.
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Some more details concerning my 'walking stick'
As I was wandering around the city … Santiago de Compostella … I saw all these people with walking sticks … I learned later that the walking stick was a defining characteristic of a pilgrim. ... some looked new … all varnished and polished ... no mileage ... some were simple tree trunks… small trees :-)
These walking sticks appealed to me ... I decided to buy one at one of the tourist stores ... I must have looked pretty funny ... walking around town with my backpack and this shiny new walking stick
Seems the next day serious anxiety set in ... I found myself very restless and frustrated with this very strong feeling that I had to get out of town ... get back to London ... weird given the round about journey into town. I spent the next day trying to find a way out of town ... no trains ... no buses ... and the plane was much too expensive. I had no choice but to wait for the next train ... leaving Saturday morning at 9:00 AM. This train should get me to Paris with barely enough time to get back to London and meet up with my sister Judy.
As I was approaching the train station Saturday morning I remember staring at this clock tower that was in the train station parking lot. I stared because the clock read 9:30 and I knew my train would be leaving at 9:00. I had this uneasy feeling in my stomach and as I approached the train station another side of the same clock tower became visible ... the clock read the same time ...9:30 ... I thought to myself ... no way ... it can not be!!
Yup ... I had missed my train ... I didn’t sleep much the night before ... serious pain in my knee which disappeared by early morning
OK ... now what? ... no more trains or buses today ... my sister will be waiting for me in London ... oh shit!!
Reluctantly I decided to take to the air ... bought an expensive airplane ticket ... so much for my budget!
While wandering around the airport I did some shopping ... quite unusual for me ... I rarely buy any gifts ... yet today I was in the mood to buy some trinkets for my sister Sherry and Kevin..
I got on the plane and was sitting comfortably ... relishing the thought that I would be in London in a couple of hours and I didn’t have to sit on some pokey train for 2 days!
I heard some noise and when I looked up ... here was the clerk from the store where I had just purchased my trinkets waiving this stick in the air and walking down the aisle. I quickly realized she was waiving my stick ... I got up ... retrieved my walking stick and thanked this wonderful lady copiously. This walking stick was all I had to remind of the wonderful ordeal I had just been through.
I met up with my sister Judy at her hotel ... She got me on the bus that takes the Air Canada employees to the airport. She had to leave me on arrival at the airport ... her only instructions were ... leave yourself enough time to find the gate ... we had arrived several hours before the flight was scheduled to leave.
A few hours later ... I am wandering around this mega airport ‘Heathrow’ and I decide it is time to find out which gate the Air Canada flight would be boarding ... I find the appropriate monitor and as my eyes fix on the information I was looking for ... the bells go off inside me yet again ... oh no!! ... the boarding light is flashing for the Air Canada flight to Toronto
You can imagine ... this is the Heathrow airport ... I get lost in a parking lot ... in yet another dopey daze I have lost track of time ... now somehow I have to find this gate
I start running ... and running ... and running ... sweating like a pig ... turning this way and that way ... trying to follow the idiot proof directions to this gate
I arrive at the gate ... a colleague of my sister is standing there all alone ... turns out they have been holding the plane for me ... whew!!
All of a sudden my excitement quickly waned ... that sick feeling in my stomach came back for another visit ... what now!
I realized that I had left my walking stick on the belt at one of the security check points ... oh poop again!
I explained the sad look on my face to my sisters colleague ... he said don’t worry ... go back and get it ... I said to him ... no ... you have already delayed the flight long enough for me ... it’s only a stick.
This kind man would not take no for an answer and he insisted I go back and get it ... I turn and start running ... and running ..... and running ... sweat poring down into my eyes and onto my cheeks ... my shirt is drenched in sweat
I nervously look at each security check as I am running ... there must be a zillion of them at Heathrow ... you guessed it ... I couldn’t find which security clearance I had come through ... I turn around and start running back in the direction of the Air Canada gate ... I run and ... run ... and run ... sweating even more profusely
I make it to the gate ... no stick in hand ... now Judy’s colleague has a sad look on his face ... he tells me to get on the plane and not worry about my stick ... again I try to reassure him ... it is only a piece of wood .... No big deal!
My sister Judy meets me at the doorway to the plane ... you can imagine the look she has for me ... here she is trying to do me a favour and I have put her in an awkward position ... holding up a plane load of increasingly restless people waiting for this wayward brother of hers.
She hasn’t lost her ‘cool’ though ... she even asks me if I would like to sit up in the cockpit with the pilots for the duration of the flight
In my mind, I quickly ... no way ... I just want to crawl into an obscure location somewhere on this plane and go to sleep and try to imagine that none of this trip really happened
Yet ... not to disappoint my sister or shun her generosity I tried to show some excitement about sitting in the cockpit
I settled into my seat behind the pilot ... the word seat is generous here ... this particular seat may have enjoyed a picturesque view ... absolutely no comfort
I am listening to the pilot and co-pilot go through there checking routines ... trying to stop myself from sweating ...
Whew ... seems its’ done ... all body movements from the pilot and co-pilot suggest we are about to start rolling back ... nope!
The pilot says out loud to the co-pilot ... what’s that all about ... some of the gadgetry was blinking that should not have been blinking ... seems they had to go back through this rather tedious checking procedure ... again!
A minute or so later the pilot receives a call ... from somewhere ... who knows where ... I could hear the voice coming through on his ear phones
Someone is trying to tell the pilot that they have a walking stick and ask him if he is willing to open the door and bring it on ... can you believe it ... this walking stick of mine found its’ way into the airplane ... its’ like the stick has a life of its own
My sister Judy quickly claimed the stick and informed me that she would be custodian of the stick until we got home :-)
Left it behind again at the Ottawa airport (same trip)
When I was sharing this story with a friend of mine in Spain a couple of years later ... his response was ... Bruce ... you should not have this stick ... to which I replied ... Maybe I didn’t want to have the stick and I am trying to run away from it (and whatever work comes along with having it). Little did I know that this stick would accompany me on 4,000 kilometres of walking … no wonder I wanted to run away from it.
Over the next eight years I would lose this stick countless times … leaving it behind at a restaurant … leaving it behind at various places so many times and yet it was always there waiting for me when I went to retrieve it. After my last pilgrimage … the walk across France in 2004 … my walking stick didn’t make it back to Guelph with me. At that time I was not allowed to take the stick on the airplane with me … I had to check it in. When I got to Guelph … no walking stick. Several days later I gave up trying to find it … about 3-4 weeks later there was a knock on the door where I was living in Guelph … yup … my walking stick and I were together again, Where is this walking stick today? Don’t know … I lost it about six years ago in Suzhou China … when I was on my way back to Canada. Hmmm