My journey, this time, began in Paris. The year was one of great importance to all those around: 2000. Was the answer here? I didn't know. Was this the right place, the right time? It wasn't. And so now I must move on, to continue my quest. As always, as is my wont when I travel on, I will take the nighttrain . Others of my kind are there. I can relax, feel less hunted.
Blending with the crowd and trying to melt into the shadows I make my way to the station and arrange the necessities to guarantee my comfort for the evening. As I leave the ticket office, I push my way into the tideof people just released from an incoming train. Fighting the current,I slip into my usual routine, searching their faces, looking for something. What? Sometimes I wonder if I even know. The faces are closed, telling me little. Most carry the same look, that of hurried concentration, intent on their evening meal, perhaps a pipe of good tobacco, and a few moments of relaxation. Scanning the visages before me, my eyes are caught, stoppedin their tracks, by another pair of eyes that boldly, almost confrontationally, meet mine. A flash (is itof recognition?) passes between us, and then the eyes swing away and become lost in the anonymity of the crowd again. But the answer is not here, and so I continue on...
The loud speakers intrude on my thoughts: a woman's voice stiffly announcing
the arrival of my train. A moment later, my bag is securely stowed
andI sink, both literally and figuratively, into my seat, and into the world
of my thoughts. I am a searcher and these are my dreams.
"Ist hier noch frei?" The words
gradually sink into my consciousness, but it is too late to object, as the
woman is adjusting her packages over my head, her shoulder bag looming alarmingly
close as she leans further -- and still further. Shrugging the sleep
from my thoughts, I glance at my watch and then out the window. Itis
late, rather too late for such a young woman to be traveling alone.
What urgent happening has brought her out to this word, the society of the
lost souls who wander without thought, without purpose, all like me, all
searching? She looks at me oddly, her thoughts perhaps reflecting my
own, but then sitsback and we are both left to our private worlds.
My personal spaceinvaded, sleep seems far away and I keep my eyes open, watching
the otherboarders struggle down the aisle, searching also --if only for a
space fortheir bags and themselves.
On the night train, time must of necessity stand still, and one can always
tell those who don't belong to this society. But gradually the disquiet
of the newcomers is absorbed and the cloud of dark solitude again falls
over each traveler.
These are my last thoughts as the fog of sleep clouds my mind.