look after me God

the bolt of lightning struck very close - Gery assures us that it was just outside his kitchen window - "you actaully saw the bolt strike the ground?" i asked him, "well just a big white flash outside the window" he replied.  that is what we saw outside our window: a big white flash in the night, then a loud cracking thrumbling rumble and my barefeet could feel the trembling of the ground.

that is when Laurent covered his ears with his hands and cowered in fright and my feelings suddenly changed towards Laurent.  instead of saying to him "take your hand out of your mouth, Lau-lau", "calm down", "stop being so excitable" i suddenly saw him as a poor frightened creature in need of comfort.

while he was brushing his teeth, Marie-Astrid leaned close to me and said "give him some comforting words when you put him to bed tonight, tell him that everything will be alright and reassure him that i will be sleeping downstairs tonight"

"everything will be alright"   where does comes our sense of security come from? the absolute truth is that "it is possible that everything will not be alright", who can say for sure?  in fact, everything does not always turn out alright for all people.



a couple of days later i was in Taizé listening to about 4000 german voices  gathered in the church singing "Behute mich Gott, ich vertraue dir"
look after me God, i trust in you.
on the way there Julien had given me a long lift from Paris and i had tried to explain to him what Taizé was and how their songs had appeal to people who were not necessarily christians, but merely seekers, even through the words were grounded in the christian context.

as i listened to the words - look after me God, i trust in You - sopranos, altos, tenors, basses, all united into one sweet voice of sincerity - i realised that you would have to have faith in something, whether you call it Life or whether you call it God, you would have to want to have faith in something in order to sing lyrics like that.

that is what unites all the people who come to Taizé: they are all seekers of something strong, they are all multilingual faith-seekers.

get me away from here i'm dying

my hands are tingling.
they are covered with little scratches and there are little thorns still stuck in the skin.
there is also a thorn in my foot, causing me to walk with a little limp.

i am kneeling by Agnes-Marie's rambunctious rose garden, digging in the soil and pulling out all the nascent green weeds.
it feels so good to have my hands in the soil, to be handling the recently sprouted brimming-with-life roots.

Caline, Agnes-Marie's obstreperous dog, will only leave me alone after stern reprimands.  pant pant, lick lick, paws all over my body.
un calin in french means a hug.  caline is the feminine adjective.  it is like "huggy"  cuddly.   affectionate.
i learned that dog's name and that word at the same time. 

when i wrote to Marie and told her i had been in Agnes-Marie's rose garden, she wrote back and described her memory of Agnes-Marie, full of malice.
that puzzled me because in my experience Agnes-Marie is so full of goodness and her presence an elderly charm.  then i dug further and found out that the french word malice and the english word malice do not mean the same thing.  malice in french means innocent mischievousness.



life is so short



ahhhhh



you can only really say "life is short" retrospectively once life is over.   in the meantime there is the present moment, which sometimes seems quite long. 

at present my present moment consists of counting down the days before i leave.  one more week to go.   seven days.  till i begin travelling again. 
it surprises me how i have come to rest here these past three months.   the water must also be surprised when on its headlong course down the hill it comes to a tranquil spot and stops moving fast - does not move at all - actually does flowly but only very slowly.  rest is a restrictive word because not moving through space does not mean not internally voyaging.   that is what i talked about with Veronique the first night i arrived.    i said:  i have done a lot of travelling across the land recently but now i would like to voyage in relationships.

it was quite a poetic thing to say.

i remember when i first arrived i really did want to set aside any personal projects and to align my goals with those of the community.  i wanted it to be an exercise in discipline and self-sacrifice.    it was mattias who inspired me.  i saw mattias and i liked mattias and i saw that he had gone through the experience of living at a l'arche community and i thought: maybe if i do the same i will become a little bit like mattias.  now i want to be travelling again so much; the self is so difficult to sacrifice.     the self is wriggly and exciteable.  it wants to move.  the self wants, it wants.   wanting is a principal action of its.

when the weather warmed up and i got outside into the garden, i realised how terribly i had missed contact with nature, during this domestic relationship-rich community experience.
also the open road, i yearn for a winding open road, for spontaneous hitchhiking encounters, for a future which is unknown.
also speaking italian, i have terribly missed speaking italian.
 
it has been a grounding experience for me to live in l'Arche community.  a discovery of the limitations of the self, through encountering others.  i would say that before i had an idealised vision of my capacity to communicate with others.  i thought: it is pretty easy to communicate with others, i just have to be open and listen to them.  now i realise that there are plenty of different people, and plenty of them that i somehow don't click with.  it is made palpable by living in the same house day after day with someone and never really having anything to talk about.  theoretically there are things we could share, but not really share, more merely a superficial question and answer session.  it makes me feel limited, partial, biased, irremediably locked inside myself.  i feel like a limited little piece of jigsaw that cannot join with many other jigsaw pieces.  it is so easy to beam with interest and friendliness while hitchhiking and during other brief travelling encounters.


Gary - who once lived in this house for around twenty years - came to have a meal with us one day.  it was amazing to behold his expansive free way of discoursing with our handicapped guests.  Gerard Marin in particular suffers from great crises of anguish; he feels mostly insecure around other people; often i don't know what to say to him; how to approach dialogue.  suddenly Gary was there cracking jokes, saying absolutely anything at all, but at the same time he always said just the right thing, and Gerard was laughing away, responding with glee to Gary's extrovert presence.  part of me suddenly felt:  i would like to be as confident and creative and cheery as you Gary. 
when he first met me he said:  wow, Scotland;  I love Scotland;  the castles, the hills, the lochs, the mist hanging in the air.  he said it in french even though he is Canadian and we could have spoken in english.  he said it with such enthusiasm he got me feeling really good about coming from Scotland.  however, the best thing about Scotland, he continued, the best thing about Scotland is the hospitality of the people.   the scottish hospitality rivals that of the indians. and he went on to say that he had spent a year wandering around india in his youth, with only a few possessions slung over his back. 

if i let Francine get close to me and take hold of my hand, she will pull me towards her and will not let go.   although her body movements are restricted to writhing in her wheel chair she has an incredible force in her grasp and an avidity of desire.  when i am accompanying her at mealtimes she is more interested in pulling me towards her than in eating her food and it often turns into an amicable wrestling match.   i say amicable because of the look in her eyes, which desires communication so avidly.  maybe it is not really communication, maybe beholding my separate being and wanting to say things and listen to me is not what she is searching for.  it is more wanting to be me, or for me to be her - she is searching what her psychologist calls fusion.   "francine, francinette, your craziness and your wildness know no bounds", i whisper in her ear.

the handicapped people in this house are not concerned at all with the rules of social convention - that is what produces a feeling of freedom when being with them.  Laurent makes all the noises which it enters his head to make.   physical closeness does not phase him one bit.  you could say that he lacks the respectful question:  how will the other person feel about my behaviour? but there is something about his spontaneity and honestly-being-himself-regardless-of-anybody-else which i love.


i find the rules of the community quite restrictive, like always having to wear shoes in the kitchen.  it is because l'arche in france has begun to be funded by the government, and along with lots of money, there comes lots of rules concerning hygiene to comply with.  i was walking along the pavement between the houses when Ben - the head of the whole community - cycled past and stopped and turned around and told me; with some feeling, Carson, you really have to wear shoes.  he said it like that, with a lot of stress on the word have.   he said it in english because he is english and as often as not we speak in english.
a few evenings later there was the funny situation of me standing on top of the roof with my feet bare leaning out to trim the branches of the tree while the sun was glowing and sinking.    i think ben was surprised to see me up there when he came cycling past because all he said was bon soir! 
i was very conscious then of my bare feet, of the glowing sinking sun.

barefeet.  apparently it is a hygiene issue - Ben says there is a risk of hepatitus B.  other people say "you know, it is for your own safety"

barefeet are important.  i really feel that it is important to wear barefeet. 

reflections in community

xavier was driving along the motorway out of paris, on his way to begin a new job in le harvre.  we had spent the weekend together; it had been a sleep-deprived melange of cold streets, warm cafés, a friend's birthday party, a visit to a cinema, a loud sound drum and bass nightclub till four in the morning then driving around looking for a place to sleep by the canal.   it felt good to be leaving paris, to return to the open fields and the trees, to look at the luminous blue sky and see the white fluffy clouds spreading out in all directions.  after days of grey and brrrr button-your-coat-up cold a memory of summer suddenly came.  a feeling of summer.  a luminous blue sky and all the possibilities that offered.   you could walk for twenty miles and it would still be warm.


when we arrived at the community, Xavier sat in the living room and watched the coming and going of Laurent.  it was suddenly interesting for me to see this house through the eyes of somebody who was seeing it for the first time.  Laurent was entering and leaving the room, his eyes open wide, sharply intaking his breath, giving low suspicious growls, continually internally voyaging.    there was Gégé, lying on the sofa - having a very sleepy day - listlessly dangling a cuddly toy.  Xavier looked at them with eyes that were troubled.  what is the point? was the question he tried to form, what are they living for?   it is a question that has entered my mind on occasion.  it is true that with our handicapped guests there is not a mutual listening-to-one-another which might be considered a necessary part of a good relationship.  Laurent is dependant on me helping him with the daily tasks in this house.   he is full of curiosity and wonder.  i often find his presence a joy.   i tried to say to Xavier that we do have a relationship, even if it is not that of two equally free agents.  sometimes Laurent looks me in the eyes and there is something about the innocence and sincerity of his being which touches me.


i found myself irritated with Gégé the other day.   it was because Gégé was not moving and i had to finish the bath quickly to attend the morning meeting.  why don't you help me a little bit Gégé?  i know that you can help me if you want to.  it is a simple case of lifting your foot up so i can put your trousers on.  it is really very simple.  please help me a little bit Gégé...
other times Gégé fixes me with his eyes and there is a slow inscrutable smile curling round his lips.  Gégé belongs to another place another rhythm of life how can we expect him to fit into our societal rhythms so graciously?


xavier thinks - he is turning the question over in his mind - and says "but then what is the purpose of any of our lives? a quoi sert la vie de chaqu'un de nous?"
all i have to do is to make the comparison between a person and a stone to realise that a person is a very special thing indeed. 




each person is a sacred story says Jean Vanier but it is not always easy to live in community.  a community is an ideal.  each person comes to the community desiring the ideal and then comes face to face with a real concrete person and,
how does it happen?
how does one get on well with one person? but not have much in common with another?
it requires continuous calm-minded resolve and good intentions but life is a spontaneous thing.
people are crazy centres of spinning energy.  people are curious things.   is each person a sacred story?

i would advise myself often to not even embark on that question on that level of reflection because the reality is probably a lot deeper that any of us could ever suspect and in the end what is most important will per force have taken place and we may realise that we were in fact barking up the wrong tree.


all Gégé wants to do is move slowly.  when i cajoole him to put on his socks he gives me an underimpressed questioning look and i think:  he is right, why does he need to wear socks?


when Sabine tries to eat with her hands, somebody sometimes says "use your cutlery sabine; we are in france, not in india!"


we are in france, not india.


when Laurence is filled with disquiet, when he cannot stay still and must look at everyone and every direction with wide eyes, i think: he feels our existential anguish more keenly than those who remain untouched, those who say: everything will be okay.

when somebody has given themselves clear-cut conclusions, this is the way things are done, full stop.

(no questions asked)

that is when living with them becomes....

it is so important to be connected to people.  to have a deep rich flowing exchange of energy with someone that you like.  if it wasn't for marie and mattias, who have been placed in another house, who i first met at taize.  the three of us decided to come here.  soon all that happens is our eyes cross in a room full of busy people, and the connection is there, solid and happy and speaking without words.  it could be just looks, or it could be sitting round a candle drinking tea till late, pondering the question: how long does the present moment last? drifting slowly to sleep with one person plucking some sleepy guitar strings, happy just to be, together, or standing on top of the thick frozen pond, spending night hours sliding and singing and giving big animal hurls to the full moon, discovering that the ice makes a funny high-pitched curvy sound when tapped, only perceptible to a person standing at the opposite side of the pond; then afterwards walking through the deeply cold frosty nightwoods, looking for the abandoned chapel, a night after which mattias said, simply, it was nice to be crazy with you.

i said:  i find it difficult to write fiction.  i find it much more meaningful and ultimately more interesting to recount real stories.  when i said that marie said: but when somebody writes about themself, do they not always present themself in a good light?  

marie could be right.   in any case wanting to be good is the important first step of being good, for if one did not want to present oneself in a good light how could one become a light?

be a light? become light-footed and alight at the next station.




after somebody has recounted some event from real life, Marie often follows it with a fictional tale, giving more or less the same message, or presenting more or less the same moral dilemma but in story form. i realise the power of stories.  they are powerful.  they are unattached to the personal real feelings of real life situations. 
jesus knew how powerful stories were.


Marie says that during mass she is often too distracted by puzzling out the meaning of the words the symbols the images the story, too puzzled there to be with God.    when encountering people or there when walking through the woods, being with God is easier.


i met up with Pere Stephane here to talk about how i could participate in the community mass.  somebody had seen me taking communion and told me: actually, that is only for Catholics.  i told Pere Stephane that i wanted to share in the community's faith expression, and i knew that Jesus had said: do this in remembrance of me.  Pere Stephane thought for a while and said, unhurridly: it is a pity that the Church separated.  c'est domage que l'eglise s'est séparé.  when he said that he meant: the communion is only for Catholics.  in place of receiving the communion i receive a blessing.  the father draws a cross on my forehead and says: i bless you in the name of the Son. 
the community mass has a great air of welcome and acceptance.  there are wheelchairs, low grunts and inadvertant mumbles.  sometimes when Laurant makes distracting noises, i have to leave with him midmass to take a little walk.  at one point the father wishes that the Peace of Christ be with us, and then everyone exchanges the same wish among those round about, saying "la paix du Christ" while looking each other in the eyes and shaking hands and smiling warmly.   sometimes there are those who walk around the whole hall, making sure they have shaken hands with and wished the peace of christ upon everybody. 



c'est un beau moment.

L'Arche de Cuise

Mattias:  what will you do after leaving Taizé?



me:  i have a plan to cycle to india.



mattias:  india, wow,  do you know what you will do there?



me:  i am not sure. . .  maybe just cycle around
       and meet people



mattias:  mm.  
               it might be a good idea to have someone from the country to stay with, at least initially.

               i spent a year living in india, living with a community l'arche - which looks after handicapped people - and it was only by living with those people and sharing their everyday lives that i really got to know them.  the indian way of looking at the world is so different from the european way.  they totally accept the caste system.  most of the people in the villages in the south of india have very simple lives - their houses are materially empty (apart from the television set, and the mobile phones everybody has), but they do not resent the people who are rich; they are not even interested in them.  their acceptance of their place in the caste system is part of their acceptance of whatever happens to them in life.     it took me a long time to get used to their gestures.  they wiggle their heads from side to side to say yes.....

the more mattias spoke and recounted his discovery of the indian way of looking at the world, the more i realised that i wanted to travel in that way; that is to say, not to remain an outsider, cycling my bike, wrapped up in my own world view, but to share the lives of others somehow, to be involved in their everyday.   the voluntary work maettias spoke of sounded interesting, and so when i heard from the sisters at Taizé that volunteers were needed at a l'arche community north of Paris, i decided to go there.
i wanted to be with the people.


there are twelve of us in our house: six young assistants and six personnes acueillis, which means guests, which means persons with a handicap.

Laurent's eyes widen with curiosity and wonder.  he points to himself and then thrusts his arm outward, pointing to some indeterminate place, unknown to everybody but Laurent.   "petit, badi"  - his own language, which he speaks with a tone of urgency.  his voice lowers "oooooh", there is alarm in his eyes,    then a sharp intake of breath, and renewed curiosity and surprise in his eyes.  sometimes his whole face creases into a huge benevolent smile, and he regards one of his companions with great tenderness.  at all moments of the day there is drool which dribbles slowly from his mouth to his chin and is caught by a hankerchief tied round his neck.

before mealtimes everybody holds hands and sings a little song of thanksgiving. 
after the evening meal it is the time to light the candle and sit around singing songs.  there is a time of prayer, which Marie-Astrid adroitly conducts, going round each guest asking them who they can pray for and encouraging them to be thankful for the day. 

the response from the guests is normally to pucker their lips, or let out low grunts, or point insistently to some unknown place, but sometimes an attitude of listening can be discerned.  there is an air of reverence round the candle. 

Sabine puckers her lips and makes a sound by making her lips vibrate.  that is her favourite sound to make.   she mostly wears a sleepy, unhurried look, but sometimes she throws her head back and lets out a shrill sound.   her mouth is open very very wide at that moment. Sabine loves to sit cross-legged on the floor.  if someone has put shoes on her she will try and take them off.  if someone has tied her hair with a little band she will try and take it off.   the only time her movements are unhurried are when it comes to eating, and that is why at the table there must be a buffer zone the length of her outstretched arm between her and anything edible. 

the guests have been alive for around 30 or 40, or in one case 58 years. 
however, looking after them is just like looking after young children.

if i ever wonder about the usefulness of my life activities, i do not wonder here.
it would be impossible for any of the guests to live independently.
they need the help of the assistants.

Marie-Astrid has been alive for 24 years. she has been in charge of the house for two and a half years.  her age is unindicative of how motherly mature she is or how she knows what needs to be done in every situation.   she is a veritable mother to the six guests, distributing care and concern and caresses or stern reprimands when they are necessary.  the household lives and respires under her watchful gaze.

life is a feeling.

what does it feel like to be alive?

Francine has so much energy.  she does not possess very much control over her arm movements.  when another person is near her, she writhes excitedly in her wheelchair.   she wants to touch you, make contact.  her eyes are wide and blue and full of feeling.   she makes a lot of different sounds, expressing a lot of different emotions, without ever forming any of our words.   i realise that Francine would love to dance if she could. 

life is a feeling.

what does it feel like to be with this person?

Gerard has a wide peering distrusting look in eyes.  he slumps in his wheelchair and he cannot help shaking his head from side to side.  he communicates by finger gestures or by answering yes no questions.  when he makes an eager breathy exhalation, it means 'yes'.   when he makes a less eager, lower breathy exhalation, it means 'no'.  
nobody can tell when the moment will come.  the moment comes sooner or later and Gerard breaks into a loud gleeful laugh.   his is always a contagious glee.  it comes as a relief after his reticence.

some mornings, wandering cries can be heard from the bedrooms down the stairs.  it means that soon it will be time to get the guests out of bed, give them a bath, dress them, have breakfast with them, brush their teeth and begin the activities of the day.

Jean-Claude meanders into the sitting room with his wheelchair.  he is the grandfather of the house.  his capacity to communicate with words is the greatest, but he often keeps his choice of words to a minimum. often he surveys the situation and murmurs, "bon, bon", and then, louder but shielding his mouth with the back of his palm, "Merde"
Jean-Claude's use of the word merde is different from that of other people's.   mostly he means hello, he draws attention to himself, he extends himself in an act of convivial communication.
he comments on the weather every morning.   "il fait beau"   :it is a fine day.
when he mumbles "brouillard", it means that the weather is overcast.

Jean Vanier, who founded the first l'arche community in france in 1964 says, i believe that each person, in his or her unique beauty or worth, lives out a sacred story.

each person is a sacred story, whether handicapped or not.

Gégé loves most of all to sit holding an object between his fingers and watch it swing back and forth.  any object will do.  it is usually a little cuddly toy, but it could be somebody's slipper, a piece of straw left over from the christmas nativity scene, or a paper serviette from the mealtime.
he penetrates with his gaze.  when it alights on you, you know that he has intellectually beheld you.    Gégé never speaks, but in moments of contentment he emits a low growling purr, a large smile on his lips.


each person is a sacred story.
it is good precept on which to found a community, with which to approach any human encounter.

have a monastic time

Joost laughed and said:  meeting up with a girl is not the best reason for going to a monestary.






after a pause i said:  meeting up with you was the main reason i came to this monestary.

the monestary was an orthodox one, Saint Antoine le Grand, hidden at the end of a wooded valley ringed by towering cliffs in the Vercors region of France.  i would have felt a little daunted, i think, by the orthodox way if it were not for Joost and his words before i went into the church on the first night i arrived.  he said:  there are certain ritual gestures to observe; you'll pick them up; just copy what everyone else does; that is what everybody does all through life anyway.

the gestures were bowing low to touch the ground in front of icons of Mary and Jesus at the front of the church.   and then making the sign of the cross, and then bowing again, making the sign of the cross again, then kissing the icons, and making the sign of the cross again, and touching the ground again, and making the sign of the cross again.   the church had a dome in the centre from which hung an enormous glittering chandelier, studded with candles, which was made to swing round and round by one of the monks with a long pole half way through the service.  the gestures were to bow low and make the sign of the cross when the monk came near who walked solemly round the church shaking the bells and at the same time releasing sweet-smelling incense.  Joost said the purpose of the incense was to purify the sins of those congregated.  the reason for the bowing was to show that one has come humbly before God; one even bowed before the oldest monk with the big white beard and kissed his soft white hand - that was also to show one's humbleness.  one older woman wore a skirt and a shawl and was particularly devout she spent the whole time bowing and touching the ground and making the sign of the cross.   the few permanent monks who remain at St Antoine le Grand have long beards which are silhouetted against the few candles distributed around the church.  the candles are periodically put out and relit.  the light conditions inside the church are nothing other than dimness.  every interior wall or roof or dome is covered in icons - large paintings depicting scenes from the bible.  i read that in total St Antoine has 600 square metres of icons - the largest quantity in Western Europe.  the monks gather round a lectern and sing and chant for hours.  sometimes call and response liturgy, sometimes one monk does a solo, his voice warbles, oscillates, he is not afraid to go off-key, his voice is joined by the others and a plaintive harmony fills the whole church.  the refrain from the liturgy which i most often heard was:  "Gloire au Pere et au Fils et au Saint Esprit maintenant et toujours pour les siecles des siecles Amen".   they pronounced amen ameen.  they often raced through the words as if they wanted to pronounce them as fast as possible.  it made me understand how the phrase religious mumbo-jumbo came about.   the first night i arrived it was an unusually long service - something over four hours, i think - although i lost my habit of keeping track of the passage of time, and let my sleepy tending-towards-subconscious-way-of-thinking merge with unusual sensory experience of being in that church.  the plaintive harmony of those words along with the dimness, the candles, the incense, the silhouettes of the long beards, the great solemnity of all their movements, the bowing and the making the sign of the cross in the dimness filled me with fascination.  my question was:  Why have these monks decided to dedicate their lives to chanting in the dimness in the church like this?

the first sentence of the laminated sheet of paper in the room they gave me read (in other words):  a monastery is a place where men get together to look for God.

i was interested in the word choice
chercher Dieu
they were searching for God - the candles, the incense, their low quavering chants - were focussed on the God element of life, the part nobody can put their finger on but which they feel compelled to glorify nonetheless.

i wondered why they had chosen to cloister their lives in that secluded valley like that, instead of looking for God in the streets and paths of the world; in human encounters.  they were very welcoming towards me with my desire to witness their church liturgies and also sit with them at mealtimes and eat in silence.   one monk in particular had eyes which twinkled with friendliness.  he had an engaging presence, mixed with a somewhat timid reverence.   he reminded me of mister tumnus the fawn.  although i realised that their monkish ways would only fill me with fascination for a certain limited period of time, i saw the goodness of such a relentlessly God-focussed establishment, where they welcome visitors from the world who wish to refocus on the Essential of life without the distractions of the world.

human relationships are the essential element of life, people have been telling me, i have been thinking

i would never have discovered the orthodox monastery if it were not for wanting to meet up with Joost.   meeting Joost was a little bit like meeting myself in another body - we are so similar in our gestures and ways of talking and then letting the words subside and then only saying things with the eyes.   in the kitchen the coffee filterer became blocked and when it spilled over and made a mess on the floor we both stood there wondering what to do. we both regarded the mess on the floor for a while, wondering what to do.

one afternoon we decided to go for a walk and climb up to the top of the cliff which was the only part of the valley which was sunlit.  we followed the tumbling crashing burn for a while stopping often to say things like "we are like water molecules whose river journey will be over when we reach the sea".  we picked our way over fallen logs through trees draped with luxuriant green moss and began to ascend a large loose scree slope which led to the top.   at the top we sat still on a big rock with our eyes closed for a long time and then i began to hum the Taizé song

de noche iremos, de noche, que para encontrar la fuente
solo la sed nos alumbra, solo la sed nos alumbra

(by night, we will go by night, to find the source
 only our thirst lights our way, solo la sed nos alumbra)

first of all i found that song overly sombre, but then i realised that thirst was an essential motif for that which drives us in life, that which gives our actions motivation and sense.

first of all i met joost's mother when she walked into the kitchen at Taizé.   as i was showing her how to make tea she was giving me a look of profundity and as we talked and she told me that she was Dutch and that she used to be a teacher before her illness, she continued to give me a certain look of profundity and then at one point she said:  you remind me so much of my son.
he is nineteen.  he is tall and has a thick black beard and little dreadlocks.  he is on a big walk from Holland to Spain, staying at lots of monasteries en route.  maybe he will arrive at Santiago de Compostela one day.   as she was telling me these things about her son i realised that i would like to meet him.  she also described him as 'lost' but after i had met him my only thoughts were that he was truly seeking and that in fact it was nothing but good not to get distracted by the ways of the world, and instead to go searching for something that you know you have to search for.

i was also glad to have some more monastery time after finding out that Taizé closes down for the christmas period.  before leaving Taizé my friend Xavier came to see me there and it was freshening to see the Taizé chants and sitting in silence as i imagined they were seen through the eyes of someone with has had no contact with religion whatsoever.  it was the last night before everyone left and so we got together for a big dance session to the music of Marie on the accordion and Fiona with her balkan folk inspired clarinet improvisation, everyone enchanted to learn the steps of the good fun dance which is maybe called the grand old duke of york.  other people taught the steps to other traditional group dances, and it was only at the end of the night that i could remember how the gay gordons went but by then everyone was too tired to learn another new dance those still with energy went jigging round the room anyway, Maria always on the accordion.



it was lovely to be part of Xavier's family christmas meal at his grandparents' place.
it was also strange, to be the observer of a family gathering.  i was reminded of how unique family relationships are.   i could feel all the connections which linked everyone, everyone sharing a common upbringing many moments spent together so many things that do not need to be said because everybody understands everybody so well.  brimming communication in between all the words.  when it came to the jokes and the puns i was lost because all my efforts are still geared towards how to speak french correctly, nevermind playing with the language.   everyone wanted to know a scottish joke but all i could think of was the bear that walked into the bar, and when the barman asked what he wanted he said:














a pint of beer, please


and the barman replied:
why the big paws.




that joke didn't work in french, however.



then i remembered the man who walked into a fish and chip shop and said:
fish and chips, please.

and when he was asked if he wanted salt and vinegar he replied:

no, its okay; i've got my bike.



is the point the fact that there is no point?
mmm, it makes you think though.
(the search for causal relationships)
the point is there is no point
maybe it is the scottish humour...


when i decided to leave saint antoine le grand monestary i really did want to return north to the monastery in Saint Jodard and meet up with Katie la canadienne.  i had met Katie in Taizé and she had told me with enthusiasm about the six months she spent studying philosophy at the monastery in Saint Jodard.  her blue eyes are the brightest and most engaging eyes that i have ever had the fascination of looking into.
but when i arrived she had already left, and it was only a few days later in paris after about a nine hour lift in the old car of Clement who loved only to roll slowly stopping in villages en route for a coffee he did not understand the modern fast cars and their urge to arrive as fast as possible on the motorway it was only after such a lift that i reached paris late at night and was able to meet Katie for a coffee the following morning before she flew back to canada.

i was glad anyway that she had brought me to la communauté de saint jean where they teach philosophy to the student monks in the little village of Saint Jodard.   apart from the shelter while the rain fell for a whole day, there was meeting Philip-Thomas, a young english trainee monk who loves scotland and bike trips and with whom i could speak candidly about all things.  one afternoon we went for a big exploratory ramble across the other side of the river Loire.  he told me that he had observed me receiving the eucharist during mass.  i had told him about all my doubts and he said that in fact the eucharist was a special ceremony, full of significance, only for those who Believe.   during the eucharist the Catholic priest evokes powers which transform the bread into the body of Christ, so that Christ's actual body is made present.     here and now.    and the catholic eats it, and it becomes part of his own body.
and for me the mystery of the Christ thickened.

i stayed up by candlelight till late reading the book Les Trois Sagesses which the dominican founder Pere Phillipe wrote.  the fascinating thing is that his mind remains ever full of curiosity (questions-as-yet-unanwered) in considering the philosophical question of being - the question that philosophical thinking is - while at the same time being fully committed to a life of faith in accordance with the ways of the catholic church.

fascinating.

father phillipe says that a lot of modern philosophy and question-posing is more focussed on answering the question how instead of the more fundamental why?

a lot of concerns in life are focussed on the process of doing things, instead of asking the question:

what is the point?

to be the sun

a woomba womba woomba womba woomba womba woomba womba we were singing while we were cleaning the toilets and then matthieu was walking around the kitchen strumming the four stringed guitar with a beatific smile on his face and juliette and i began to dance and that is when the feeling of joy came.
and after a shower i ran to the park i don't mind if i have barefeet and only a t-shirt and it is cold i have the green grass beneath my feet and the joy of running the joy of a beating heart
la joie de vivre
la joie de la joie
la joie de quoi
la joie du paix
the joy of being
the joy of being simple
the joy of simplicity
the simplicity of joy
Beauty in simplicity
the joy of language
the joy of creating
the joy of colours
the joy of music
the joy of fyuzik
the joy of invented words

the joy of the grass beneath one's feet


"You have the most beautiful eyes i have seen"

"no, Your eyes are the most beautiful"

mmm     Beauty


i said:  sensorial pleasures are like the icing on the cake of existential joy
rachel said:  i have to write that down



the woman who stopped and gave me a lift when i was hitchhiking to Taizé radiated happiness and warmth   she made me think of the woman of african way-back origin called papa in the novel The Shack.   when her companion said:  today is a grey day.  there is no sun  she, always smiling and radiating, said: moi je suis le soleil.





and it was true

ben rinnes