All DVDs of the Song of Bernadette were on loan at the library. That’s interesting, most of the time they are sitting on the shelf. It must be due to the season of Lent. That’s good then that people are soaking up this beautiful story of Bernadette Soubirous. I think I’ll just settle with the book since I am really interested on the author. The computer categorized the book Adult Fiction by Franz Werfel. Fiction? How can that be? It’s a true story. Never mind. Still I checked the book out. Franz Werfel is the author of The Song of Bernadette. He made a vow to write about Bernadette should he escape from the Nazi. Franz was a Jew. And this book is the product of his gratitude to Bernadette Soubirous. The three days I stayed in Lourdes was a negative experience for me. Physically, my chest was heavy and constricted; pilgrims were testy towards one another, migraine to boot. I cannot wait to leave Lourdes. The story I’ve heard about Bernadette painted a poor image in my mind. The misery she endured dampened the joy in me. This can’t be happening to me; I want joy on this pilgrimage. In my mind, I told Bernadette, I don’t like you at all. For most of the time, I kept to myself because of the foul mood I was in. It was due to human folly. Not my folly but other pilgrim’s behaviour. I just shake my head and not say a word. Sometimes, it was better to be alone for I know what I can be when I cannot handle the irrational behaviour of other people. This is the second time I’ve been to Lourdes hoping for a miracle cure for my ailing back. The water of Lourdes has healing properties. The believers from all over the world come here hoping for a miracle cure. I have taken the “bath”, joined the evening vigil, prayed the Hail Mary countless times, and drank gallons of water from the miraculous spring. Nothing, no change, no cure; the back is beyond repair. Ce la vie. It’s not meant for me. The morning we left Lourdes, I was standing outside the hotel, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. The sun hasn’t risen yet and there I stood at the corner waiting for the first glimmer of light. The sky gradually shows its radiant colour of blue, orange, yellow. And I thought to myself, the rest of the journey will be all right. And I solemnly whispered goodbye to Bernadette. And I added: I’m sorry and thanks for having me. To date, I am still perplexed about this brief sojourn at Lourdes and still yet to understand the experience. Normally, I can easily find out the situation. Further reflection is required and hoping the face of Bernadette as my gravatar will give me a revelation. P.S. What came to mind as I am reflecting on this post was how I blamed others as If I am hard done by. The focus on my writing is not about spirituality at all. I am just as miserable as Bernadette less her piousness. As for the spiritual side of this pilgrimage, it is still unknown to me.