The things you find

 Moving furniture around the spare room, I came across a photo. It was probably taken ten years ago. 

I remember going to this place. It had been quite a drive, taking my hired Skoda from deepest, darkest Essex, round the M25 then having to do two laps of the Canterbury distributor before finding my bed and breakfast. 

I was on a pilgrimage, once again. Canterbury, England, not Canterbury, New Zealand, has always been a place of pilgrimage for me. I'd been there once when I was living in England - now I had to return - as I hope to return again when this pandemic business is finished with.

Anyway, I remember rising in the morning and making my way to the Cathedral, as millions of others have made their way to Canterbury Cathedral. For me, I needed to commune with Thomas. 

Thomas you ask. Yes, Thomas a Becket. 

It's a bit strange, this going on pilgrimages when I'm 1) not a Catholic and 2) not really walking anywhere around Britain. But Canterbury is a bit of a spiritual home for me, and it's where I go to commune with Thomas. 

The cathedral is amazing. Like most other British Cathedrals, it was ransacked by Henry VIII's thugs during the dissolution of the monasteries, and what was once a lauded shrine is now just a large candle on the floor, an eternal flame for of the cathedral's most loved sons. There's also a marker for the Venerable Bede, another mad monk who resided there. It's a peaceful place amongst the rabble of the streets of the city. 

But I came to sit with Thomas. There is a sculpture on the wall where he was struck down. It's a bit eerie, not something you would think you'd find in such a place. It seems there are lot of people who come to commune with Thomas. There are chairs where you can just sit and think in this little side chapel off from the main nave. There is an altar below the memorial. 

I've spent a bit if time communing with Thomas in the past. You can feel him there. He likes visitors, and I think he's a bit in awe of the fact that he's still venerated.

I looked at the dates - he died 850 years ago, almost to the day. 

Doing a bit of research, it appears in the crypt below this chapel, Antony Gormley has installed of his works, made of nails used to restore the building. In Gormley style, he uses his body as a model. The ethereal shape makes its way to the Lady Chapel in the crypt. It's haunting.

But all this thinking about Thomas, about a man who was killed for his principles, a man who stood by his vows, a man who appeared to have a sense of humour and a common touch, I don't know, he's always fascinated me. 

And my need to return to England, to feel at one with all of this continues.

But for now, I will continue looking at my photo hoping some peace comes to the world. 

Today's Song: