I had a dream.
(Sorry, Martin Luther King Jr…)
Okay, yes I'm jet lagged, having just arrived back in Australia from Spain. But in this dream, just now, I was standing alone in the Cathedral in Santiago.
I had a rifle.
I picked up the rifle and I aimed at the largest and most beautiful stained glass window in the Cathedral.
And I fired.
I watched with horror as the bullet hit one of the small glass panels, and made a tiny hole. And then the hole grew. And then the whole panel shattered and glass started falling to the floor.
And then another panel broke, and then another.
And as I stood there watching, stunned at what I'd done, stunned at the destruction I was causing, the entire huge stained glass window – the major centrepiece of the Cathedral – shattered and disappeared before my eyes.
I was left staring out into this void, into the sky, where the beautiful glass had just been.
I woke up from this nightmare, literally gasping with shock. Then I turned and looked at the time.
It was 3:33am
Anyone who's read my blog will know that a couple of times on the Camino, I'd woken up at 3:32am and had chastised the Universe for short-changing me a minute.
This morning, I got that minute.
So I did a Google search on the significance of 3:33. And here's the results: