May 4: I had been in Verdun where hundreds of thousands of soldiers were killed due to war. I had spent two intensive days searching for the unknown soldiers and found myself acknowledging the impact of war’s devastation and death. I had walked where life had been extinguished over and over again. I had drifted into the underworld. If there were ghosts, or souls doomed to walk through battlegrounds because their bodies lacked a proper burial, or unsettled spirits caught between realms of life and death, my guess was that they would be here in Verdun.
I awoke at 5 o’clock to the creaking of hardwood floors. It was a consistent creak and sounded like someone was standing on my floor, watching me. I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness. I listened intently to the creak. It was coming from the floor, or near the chair, by the windows in my hotel room. It was unsettling because I knew the noise wasn’t coming from the room above. On Saturday night, I heard the sound of people walking on that floor. This was a different creak. It was coming from my room and sounded like someone was shifting weight from one foot to the other foot. There was a presence in my room that wasn’t me.
Although I was not Catholic, I had carried a sacred heart rosary as my constant companion on the trip to the battlefields of Verdun. I took the prayer beads in my hands and flashed the cross in the direction of the noise, and spoke the command, “Evil spirits go away!” I wanted to cover the superstition bases of protection. With the prayer beads in my hand, I began praying the mercy prayer quietly in my mind. (For the sake of his sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.) The creak continued and my anxiety increased. Maybe the ghost needed to hear the words. I began to say the words aloud. As I was speaking the mercy prayer, Marc’s suggestion, “You should visit the Center for Peace” entered my mind. I remembered the prayer for peace. I began saying a prayer for peace using the prayer beads – praying for peace within oneself, within the family, within the community, within the country, and within the world. (Being in Verdun, France, “within the community, within the country, and within the world” drew in more places and people.) That night my prayer wasn’t centered on the United States, it encompassed France, Germany, and America. I continued to repeat the prayer. With each round, I was aware of the increasing depth and expansiveness of my prayer in Verdun. It included the German soldiers, the French soldiers, the American soldiers, the British soldiers, soldiers from all wars, and all the unknown soldiers.
As I was praying, I realized the prayer for peace was the unknown soldier’s call. It is peace. That was my answer at Verdun. I was aware of a most amazing sense of peace. It flowed over me, wrapped around me, and warmed me. Peace infused me and stood watch in pure quietude. It was a moment of truth and certainty. I continued praying with my eyes closed. I knew that all would be well if I could maintain my own peace until 6 o’clock. As if a sentinel tapped me on my shoulder, at 6 o’clock, I opened my eyes to light filtering into my room. I awoke knowing a peace that I had never experienced before. It begins within me. I traveled to the most devastated battleground of World War I to remember the unknown soldiers, and I received peace.
Return to Paris
I got up at 7 o’clock and parted the curtains to see sun streaming through the clouds. What a gift after so many foggy days.
With the sun shining, I climbed the stairs to the Verdun Victory monument and looked out from observation platforms to see the battlegrounds and red zones rising up in the distance. The groves of Australian pines are never hard to spot. I returned to the Bishops Palace to visit the Center for Peace. One exhibit was orchestrated with slides flashing on a white screen. Situated behind the screen was a marble fireplace with an ornate gilded mirror above it. Scenes of a battlefield flashed on the screen, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. Because it was sunny outside, the mirror was casting my image onto the slides shown on the screen. I don’t know if that was the intent, but it was a powerful moment: I was in the war.
After lunch, I headed over by the Meuse River and took a picture of Le Monument aux Enfants de Verdun, memorializing five WWI soldiers in different uniforms. It was peaceful by the river so I sat on a bench and watched the rapid current of the river. I was ready to leave Verdun. The train station was empty when I got there, but as time moved closer to the arrival of the train, people began filtering in. The two-car train arrived, passengers disembarked, and then the train moved away and turned around. I time-punched my ticket from Verdun to Chalon Champagne at the composteur machine. I followed a guy in his early twenties onto the train.
I asked him, “Parlez-vous Anglais?”
He smiled, “Yes, I speak English.”
“Should I time-punch my ticket from Chalon Champagne to Paris here in Verdun?”
“Yes, it makes it easier. I’m going to Gare L’Est. When we get to Chalon Champagne train station, do you want to follow me to the correct train?”
“Yes. That would be nice. I was worried about finding the right track. Thank you.”
I time-punched my other ticket at the composteur machine. My worry about changing trains subsided and I rested easy. Out of all the situations during the trip, I found it hard to interpret the French announcements over the loud speaker at the train stations. With only eight minutes between trains at Chalon Champagne I didn’t want to have to dash into the station so I could look at the departure board.
As the small train departed, I was well aware that the body of the Unknown Soldier left from the Verdun train station and traveled to Paris. I was so happy to leave Verdun. Once in Chalons Champagne, I followed my “guide” to the correct train platform and thanked him. The clickety- clack of the two-car train from Verdun was replaced with a smooth, quiet ride to Paris. In Epernay, the Orient Express was on the track next to ours. It was a beautiful train with its polished wood Pullman cars and big picture windows. I liked the irony of seeing the gleaming carriages of luxury as I was returning from war torn Verdun.
After arriving in Paris, I took a taxi to the hotel. I felt like I had returned to familiar faces when I checked in. They gave me a junior suit. I called William to confirm plans to meet him tomorrow for lunch. The prospect of speaking English to an American delighted me. I planned to walk to the Arc de Triomphe that night but I was exhausted. My emotions were waves crashing into the shore. I was excited to be in Paris; I was filled with sorrow from all the destruction I saw in Verdun; I was joyful that I had completed the trip; and yet I wanted to cry from the experience. But most importantly, I completed the circuit. I had faced my own shadow, and I remembered the unknown soldiers.
creative meander 
Leave a comment