Shouting At The Universe...

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When does a journey begin and end?

There are many journeys within journeys. Recently I made a journey that was part of one, within another, that belonged to the longest of all.

Last Saturday, I was on my way somewhere far from the house, but close to the heart. After driving for many hours through a Christmas postcard, I had no option but to turn around. On the return trip, I had a puncture. I know it was not the most misfortunate thing that could of happened (I found out later, the hole in the tyre was the size of an old penny - the tyre blowing, especially in these conditions, could so easily of ended tragically... so misfortune as it turned out, it certainly was not) however, the sequence that followed would not of looked out of place in a sketch on Monty Python.

To cut a long tale short, everything that could of gone wrong with the simple task of changing a wheel did so and some. The jack that wouldn't bite, the frozen wheel nuts wouldn't budge, the endless slipping and sliding, and eventually stuck solid in the snow. These negatives are but minor inconveniences compared to the real horror that followed - being out in the freezing conditions arm wrestling with the wheel nuts for what seemed like an eternity, my ring of alchemy, and also close to the heart, must of slipped off my finger into the snow because my fingers had shrunk in the cold. The thing is, I didn't notice it was missing until I was almost back at the house... When I realised it was gone, the feeling was like a fever.

I began to think that losing the ring or it 'missing in action' under the present circumstances was possibly an inevitable synchronicity...

The universe was shouting - but shouting what?

Could it be a punishment for not completing my original journey?

Was losing the ring in the snow a symbolic burial?

In this state, is it a good time to think at all?

We don't listen enough when the universe is shouting.

We don't heed our own signs that's for sure. We don't have enough faith.

If we can't fit it into nice little logical box, or it's not something we understand, or are familiar with, then we often find it hard to believe. After all what is faith? It's believing in something we can't touch, taste, or smell, you just know it - that is faith.

Anyway, faith does have a purpose in this story of journeys because I have never lost mine, even when I was on the rack over losing the ring. Even though it is as thin as a weakened thread.

But the story, or the faith doesn't end there either...

Thursday, magic returned in abundance, even though I must confess I was of the opinion that this alchemy's powers were fading rapidly, if not already burned out completely.

Firstly, in the morning, I was moving some furniture for a good friend of my sons, and we got chatting and he's a searching for buried archaeological artifacts enthusiast and he offered to lend me his metal detector.

Gratefully and eagerly, I went back to the scene of the crime, and although it had been snowing on and off for the four days since I lost the ring and realised it was a long shot to say the least, somehow as I was driving again through the snow-clad countryside, I was full of enthusiasm, faith, and a surprising clarity and light that have been desperately absent during these many dark days.

So I arrived, and so did the magic - I took out the detector and amazingly there it was...

This precious ring had been buried in four days of snow and I had found it within four minutes.

When I started writing this on Wednesday, it was going to be about great loss.

Today, it turned out to be a different journey.

When does a journey begin and end?

All I know is for me, a journey can only end when all is done.

Into the mystic... the journey continues.

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A broken stone, shouting at the universe...