Well, finally after all these years I was about to see what France
was like. It was a gray day in Paris and the view from the plane
reminded me of Minnesota, flat and agricultural. When Grad school
started in 95 I was shown a large group of the press with lights
and microphones. Then he said, "and do think you can deal with it",
and I would shake like a leaf and cringe a little at the thought
of it. I wanted to come in the back door and just show up and let
it start from Salon de Provence. One thing was for sure I was
coming in by the back door and the only question now is which door
would I leave by and when.
After renting a car I set out for Domremy to see where Joan of
Arc was born and raised. I could relate to her since she was
spoken to and told to do some pretty incredible things. Imagine
a poor peasant teenage girl going to the leadership and basically
telling them to get some backbone and deal with the problems, as
in fight the British, She even goes on to help the men fight and
is wounded in one of the battles. When she is captured she is
burned at the stake. What a brave girl she was, and what a bunch
of gut less, back stabbing, self serving fools were in charge of
things back then, well I guess some things haven't changed much.
I got as far as Nancy the first night and walked into a bar to
find out where a cheap hotel was. Someone bought me a beer and
took me to a nice place on the edge of the old part of the city.
I walked around looking at the architecture which was ornate.
All the sidewalk cafe's looked romantic but that will have to
wait for another day if ever. So I went back to the hotel and
wrote the rough draft for the flight over.
The next day I went to Domremy and walked around the house Joan
was born in and lit a couple of candles and said a few prayers to
our Father, Mary and the Master our Lord Jesus Christ and asked
Them and her (Joan) for help, in the chapel next to her house
where she used to pray as a child almost 600 years ago. There is
a huge Cathedral just down the road a few miles but I didn't stop
on this trip, I was headed for Salon. While I was in Domremy two
empty army transports came by and the meaning wasn't lost even
without the cold chill They sent down my spine. That is to make
all military transports empty.
Then it was off to Salon de Provence for my birthday and to go
to Mass at St. Laurent and to find the house of Nostradamus.
Well with the speed limits or lack of them I made it to Salon
late in the afternoon. So I went to the old part of the city
and found the church and went in and found Nostradamus's tomb
and lit a couple candles and prayed, not to him but to the
Master, Our Lord Jesus Christ and our Father. Then I went in
search of his house. I found it, but it was now a museum that
I walked around and it was quite large especially for his day
I had roughed out a Quatrain in Nancy about an earthquake in
Seattle. So I wrote it up, and the next day I gave it to the
gals running the museum and briefly said I was so and so and
this and that in the Quatrains. They looked at me like I was
nuts as I said I'd be back next week after the quake, if there
was one. So I strolled around town for a few days and went to
the church every day to say my prayers and light a couple
candles. Met a nice guy at the Cyber Cafe where I did a little
work. I also got very sick for a couple of days, on my birthday,
wasn't surprised by that at all. On my birthday the sweat was
dripping off me as I said the Rosary in St Laurent.
Well my birthday came and went and I left for Paris and a flight
home, another bluff as they like to call it. I got upset in Paris
but there is nothing you can do to the wind except call it names
which really doesn't do much good and I suppose may even make the
situation worse. As a matter of fact I called him a lying sack of
shit as in Bullshit. Then you've got to pull it back together and
get on with it, of course not really knowing what it is, though one
thing was very clear I was flat broke and the limit on the card
wasn't to far away, plus all the bills I rung up over the last
couple years weren't going away so one thing was clear I needed to
do something with a positive cash flow. So I guess I'm not done
being a carpenter and I'm out of here. I never learned French but
I did learn one word while I was there, sorte, which means exit,
which was exactly what I was looking for, the way out of here and
But I don't know, this whole thing is crazy, I sometimes just want
to scream. I did spend my last afternoon in Paris at the Louvre
and saw some of the works of Michelangelo and Leonardo. The
Venus del Milo looks pretty good for a piece of marble. You also
get an understanding that there were some pompous folks in the
Royal classes of Europe.
It cost too much to fly out of Paris, so I went up to London to
catch a flight and try to put this behind me. Instead of renting
a hotel room, I decided to wander the streets of London and then
go to the train station for the last couple of hours. I had a
really good beer at one pub and a lot of come ons from the pimps
in Soho. While hanging around listening to a young black street
musician, around Swiss Court, he had his electric guitar plugged
into a small amp outside the Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet. He
just kept playing one song over and over, an old Led Zeppelin
tune, Stairway to Heaven.
The evening was surreal as I was also hearing and "look out at
all these people, if I was to come and only leave the righteous
this place would be virtually empty. Most of these people never
talk to me so I don't know them anymore. It is your job to bring
them to me again, as many as you can". I'm thinking and what
should I do go out in the street and start preaching or
something. I need your HELP, you know better than I how hard
this is going to be.
I just want to go home and get on with my life that is in the toilet,
but with some work could be resurrected. I got to the train station
around 3:00 AM and no benches or open toilets, even the storage
lockers were closed so I couldn't get my stuff and head out to the
airport. The floor is rather hard and after a couple hours of that I
bought a round trip ticket on the train out to the airport and found
some benches to crash on for an hour or so. The taxicab driver's
of London, were excellent though.
Finally I'm on the plane and I'm out of here and washing my
hands of this whole deal and getting back to reality. I landed
in Newark only to get put right back into this story, when I heard
the bad news that JFK Jr was missing. I had heard he may not be
long for this world about a month before. Then when I got to
Seattle some friends who I hadn't seen since 95 came and picked
me up and told me of their dreams. Everyone is a part of this
story but she is special and is one of two others who should
have been with me, also the Pope should have been involved,
but he hides behind the walls of the Vatican. They will all have to
pay a price for there actions or lack of them. I didn't say
anything as I had known what they meant for a couple of years.
We decided not to talk about it and just spent the next day
on light conversation and barbecuing up some Salmon. Then it
was on a bus for the final leg of the journey home.
One final thought, while in Seattle the Sunday paper had a large
editorial about the message of Fatima and Nostradamus's
Quatrain 10.72 about the King of Terror coming through the air in
July of 1999. The part of the prophecy I had just fulfilled, they were
going on and on about how it was all about nothing, then I would
look at the front page with the story about JFK Jr. and it was sad.
To put me down is one thing, to put down Nostradamus is just
ignorance, but to put down the Virgin Mary and the story of Fatima
is shear stupidity. For the story of Fatima will be remembered for
ever and the arrogance and the blindness of our leaders in the
20th century will be paid for in blood in the 21st century.