Currently, I have entries for the latter part of my travels and some for the beginning part. The others are still housed safely in the lodges of my mind waiting for the appropriate time to come forth.
I think several volumes may be the end result.
I do have a small taste that I would like to share.
I hope you enjoy...
London to Luton...
With the Olympics in full swing, the train into King's X was bursting to the brim. Each stop packed in more people and we looked like a fast running sardine can on a track. I was on my way to Luton Airport heading towards Lisbon, Portugal. For this part of my journey I started out in Bristol, UK where I had first taken the train, with a ride on the tube to get to King's X and another change of trains from King's X to Luton with the last stop by bus to the final destination: Luton Airport. Reflecting back, it sounds like a traveler's nightmare and schizophrenic's dream but when it's your only option (I guess I could have hitchhiked, used a broomstick which would have been really difficult with my luggage or utilized teleportation but…) booking the ticket was essential and it actually ended up being easy as pie since I had been through the train station and tube before. I really tried not to think about stairs though. I silently prayed to all Beings in the higher realms for escalators and elevators. These would become my best friends.
As I arrived into King's X, weaving in and out through the crowds, I stopped every so often looking at various monitors trying to figure out where my next train would be. With my cases trailing behind me like devoted pets on wheels, I eyed an escalator and followed my intuition looking for signs saying Midlands train for that was the next train which was indicated on my ticket. I followed the arrows with a bit of trepidation in my step. As I looked up, I saw a huge digital screen listing departures and platforms. I eyed a column and used it to lean on while I took a minute to catch my breath. I had not been to this part of the train station since my previous experience was having to board the international train to Paris so I was a bit nervous not knowing if I was in the right spot. I had hoped I was.
As I waited with a masked patience, I observed as a good writer should, grateful for my 'perch' and found the scene somewhat intriguing.
Directly in front of the entrance where arrivals and departures from the Midlands trains took place, various different people in bright colors held boxes in their arms as they gave free ice cream to happy and willing hands.
People from all over the world came through. The jackets of some were emblazoned with bright colors and their country of origin embossed in big letters. These particular individuals walked with a sense of pride and an air that could be mistaken for arrogance as they passed me by. I smiled as if knowing a secret. Families, couples, students, business men and women walked by with purposeful direction or with a similar lost wandering look that had recently vacated my own face prior to taking up my perch. This mass of cosmopolitan intrigue held my attention and I happily watched with one eye on the travelers, the other on the display of times and destinations.
As the number of travelers dwindled, I watched the clock as though my life depended upon it and waited with anticipation to board the train. As soon as the platform number was displayed for my train, people with arms, legs and suitcases trailing behind them bombarded the gates. I was included in this foray. I finally got through and time slowed down as the scene where Harry Potter teaches Arthur Weasley what to do when going through a train station came to mind and as I sent my ticket through the slot appearing seconds later above, the gates swaying open, I said a silent prayer of thanks for my intuition and grinned from ear to ear only wishing I was on my way to the Ministry of Magic. I collected myself rather quickly and eagerly approached my train looking for the correct section and opening. Looking to the right of each open door, I found the letter printed on my ticket and headed inside heaving my case in front of me. I turned another right and found a space available. As I set my huge human fitting luggage on the rack, I looked for my seat in cabin A. As I usually choose window seats whilst booking my tickets I looked towards each window stopping every so often to examine the number above. I found number 32 and noticed my seat was luckily with a table as well. I saw that the aisle seat next to mine was already occupied by someone. As he turned his head, I saw a horrible growth the size of a baseball right next to the side of his mouth. For a split second, I hoped my seat was not next to this man and that hideous lump. However, fate laughed at my millisecond distress and as usual pointed her invisible finger in his vicinity encouraging me to open myself up to whatever lesson this was to provide.
I turned my head quickly then and approached with a veiled caution. I did my best to not stare and looked at him directly in the eyes with a somewhat forced smile and a slight nod as I pointed to the seat next to him indicating that was mine. He had put his backpack there and moved it over to the seat across and proceeded to make room so that I can get settled in.
I watched him with slit eyes. Under my careful observations, I noted that this mysterious man had brown hair, looked to be in his late 40's and reminded me of my dear friend I had nicknamed the Rad Dad whom I had met at the Findhorn Foundation, a spiritual community in Scotland.
Questions plagued my mind about this man sitting next to me: What was that thing on his face? A tumor? Did it hurt? Why didn't he see a surgeon and receive surgery to have it removed? Was he married and loved or alone and unwanted?
Some answers came without having to ask. He started to chat with me and I found him quite friendly. Since I was sitting on the left of him, I couldn't see the other side of his face but from what I could see, I noticed that the growth was also inside his mouth affecting his speech a little. Every so often his hand would go to the side of his mouth as he wiped uncontrollable drool from his face and chin. My curiosity was almost at its peak and I stifled the urge to inquire about his particular condition, however, he did not bring it up and I daresay proper etiquette and manners prevailed over my usual impetuous need to interrogate.
We spoke of the Olympics and the festive air. He told me about his work, travels and past. I shared about my own current travels, perspective and where I was from.
Across the way sat his daughter whom had interrupted our conversation to address him so and hand over a cell phone which he then excused himself to take a call. Afterward when he mentioned his wife, I was happy to find that he was loved and not alone nor unwanted.
After a while, I no longer saw the lump nor did I pay much attention to what his face looked like but to what he generally exuded. His charm, sincerity, kindness, friendly nature and warm curiosity of others won me over and came forth throughout our conversation. As he spoke, I couldn't help but see that he resembled a kind of 'Arthur Weasley' as well and I began to feel more relaxed.
There were rare lulls in our conversation but it continued and we spoke of marathons, what we see and don't see in a cup and I realized how long it had been since I was engaged in a deep, meaningful and intellectual conversation.
As the sounds of the train became a welcome background soundtrack to our delightful discourse, the blue skies of the day and its scenery could not be more apropos for such an adventuresome display. And as I relished such a notion, I also knew it would not last for the ride from King's X to Luton wasn't very long and my stop rapidly approached. However, the anxiety I was feeling before boarding the train was long gone and a new sensation was put in its place.
It was a need and new desire to see beauty in everything and everyone, and to be prepared that it may come in the most unexpected places, in situations you would never suspect. I knew I still had far to go in realizing that valuable lesson but I also knew in my heart that unbeknownst to my friend, 'Arthur Weasley', I now had hope that beauty could be found anywhere. Sometimes in a face that is far from beauty's 'conventional' standards.
I knew that some could never get past the man's face and that lump…and I felt sorry for them. Not only would they be deprived of a very rewarding lesson, they would never know nor see the inner beauty within such a warm hearted individual.
I was grateful for that seat then
……….for more reasons than one.
