Michael Williams's story about Siddhartha

It was 1972, I was 20 years old, had dropped out of University two years earlier, gone to work in the mines in Northern Canada for a winter and was now back in my home town of Hamilton Ontario working in a factory making sewer pipes. The factory was a mind-numbing, soul-destroying place for me; it was a noisy, dirty, dangerous place where I stood all day pushing and pulling levers, pressurising the pipes with water, looking for cracks and hoping they wouldn't--as they sometimes did--explode. Further down the line from me worked a long-haired fellow who pretty much kept to himself. The older men simply referred to him as 'The Hippie'. I noticed, however, that he read books during his breaks and at lunchtime. One day, he approached me and handed me a dog-eared paperback. "Here," he said, "read this, you look like you could use it. It might save your life." Then he walked away. "Thanks!" I shouted after him. He simply raised his hand in acknowledgement, shouting "Keep it" and went back to work. I looked down at the book in my hand. 'Siddhartha' by Hermann Hesse. I had never heard of it or its author. But that night, I began to read. I couldn't put it down. By the time I finished it, I knew what I had to do. Three weeks later, I had quit my job and was headed for the highway, embarking on my own journey to enlightenment. That journey lasted two years as I travelled North America and later, Europe. That journey opened my mind to new ideas, introduced me to strange and wonderful places and people and taught me how to live by my wits. Somewhere along the way, I left that copy of 'Siddhartha' in a hostel with a hastily scrawled note on the inside cover instructing whoever found this book to read it and pass it on. More than 30 years later, I still think of that book and wonder how many hands and minds it might have passed through. 'Siddhartha' changed the course of my life. It launched me on a journey of self-discovery, which continues to this day. It sent me from that factory and down a road which has seen me become, among other things, a musician, a lover, a social worker, a salesman, an academic, a teacher, a peace activist, an education consultant, a husband, a father, a divorced father and a storyteller. Like Siddhartha, I have learned a great deal about life and love. Unlike Siddhartha, I have not yet fulfilled my destiny . . . perhaps now is the time to revisit my old dog-eared friend and get reacquainted. Books are like that; they always seem to come along just at the time when you need them most. Thank you Hermann Hesse . . . and thanks 'Hippie', wherever you may be, for ferrying me across river.