"I have a question. When we were on the train to Poland, how did we keep those big bottles of beer cold?"
It started when we were in the Czech Republic train station and I was staring at a map on the wall. Bill was on the telephone. He had an appointment and I was waiting on him when I noticed Poland and made a spontaneous decision to buy a ticket to Krakow. I pointed and waved my arms at him until finally he put his hands over the receiver to see what I wanted.
"I'm going to Poland. I have to go to Auschwitz."
Bill looked an me, shook his head and resumed talking on the phone. When he finally hung up he said, "OK, lets go."
So we purchased two tickets on a 1930s train, a bunch of Pilsner Urquell beer and started on my spiritual journey.
"How can I not go?" Bill explained.
My I-phone buzzes and it's him. "I think we tied ropes around the bottles and hung them out the window to stay cold :-) Just kidding. I really don't remember but I suspect we drank the beer warm like some Europeans tend to do. When in Rome ... What conversation are you having that sparked that question?"
Actually I'm not having a conversation but am reading a book while working on my tan on the Beloved back deck.
I send him another text.
"No conversation. Reading "The Book of Love" about Mary Magdalene's daughter with Jesus and naturally it made me remember the beers we had on that train."
Though I liked his explanation of hanging the bottles out of the window, it was February after all, he's probably right and we drank them warm. We had a tiny sleeper car with three bunk beds on top of each other. We'd unscrewed the top two from the wall and threw them in the hall leaving us a comfortable sofa where we sat and drank the beer while we made our way.
My phone buzzed and he responded, "Naturally."
"Jesus always makes me thirsty," I write, "and Mary Magdalene is hot."
The next morning we were in Krakow, sidestepping Gypsies and hitching a ride on a British tour bus for the concentration camp. The bus left and we remained alone in the middle of hell.
At the end, we walked the railroad tracks out of the camp for several miles until we stumbled into a village with a train station and, in silence, made our way back to Prague. In my pocket was a pair of broken children's scissors I'd found on the ground outside of one of the Crematoria.
I'm at a place on my life's pilgrimage when I have a large collection of adventures, spiritual quests, battles with others and myself too. They're more than stories to tell. They're major moments in me becoming me and I'm lucky or blessed enough to have a tiny collection of fellow travelers on the roads less traveled.Sarah and I are on one now.
Defying conventional wisdom, we're making our way in our way. While we're pretty clear about where we're going to end up we have no idea whatsoever how we're getting there. She's a planner so it can drive her crazy while I know that unplanned excursions and unconventional choices often lead you to places where God resides.
Also at this place in my life, I've reunited with friends also on their journey. They've lived long enough to get to now, and while it's been full of pleasure and plain, good times and bad, frightening and invigorating ... each confesses there is more.
And the journeys continue.
