1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
He did not, however, fit into the Regina scene. “What’s the matter with
them?” he’d say. “They’re such a bunch of snobs, these people who think they’re
artists, intellectuals and free-thinkers. Just a little clique of nobodies.”I agreed but
would not appreciate the reason until many years later.
Toward the end of the sixties, the counter-culture was much into eastern
mysticism. Most of the people I had come to know between returning from Europe
and going up north were also into tarot cards, Marx, acid rock, Ouija boards, the
Peace Movement, Edgar Casey, acid, astrology, filth, the Viet Cong, marijuana,
Chairman Mao, long hair, alcohol, free love, back to the earth, love, Fidel Castro
and peace. Love:they only hated the middle class.
I had done my own reading about Buddhism and Zen and had decided to
find out more about it — and about myself — from the source, rather than listening
to more third-hand stories supposedly told by some self-styled guru in Toronto.
Finding myself fitting neither into the culture, nor into the counter-culture,
nor into much else, like Randy I was leaving.
“Ladies and gentlemen, some minor adjustments will require us to divert
from our course and make an unscheduled stopover in Anchorage. We will be
landing in twenty minutes.”
“This is the last time I’ll ever fly Canadian Pacific. You can be sure of
that!”
I don’t quite know why everyone is so upset. Guess I’m not in a hurry. Is it
not more important for us to arrive safely than not to arrive? If we crash, they’d all
be late, very late, for whatever seems so important to them now.
Before long, we’re making our descent. Touchdown is a slight thud, thrust
reversers move into position and the engines roar again. After stopping, we taxi to
the terminal and are pulled up to the dock.
“Please remain seated for your safety and comfort. We should be ready to
resume our flight fairly soon.”
by Morley Evans