Beautiful Cynicism III

The hostel is an interesting place. So many different people, all ages and cultures and races, from all corners of the world. Just now there’s an elderly French gentleman who keeps coming round every few minutes. He sits on one of the benches, and works on a crossword puzzle. He then gets up and leaves, all the while muttering under his breath something about “c’est une catastrophe!” and repeating over and over “il faut aller chez soi, chez soi!” Then a few minutes later, he returns, and completes another puzzle, and repeats the whole process over. I’ve roomed with a Chinese girl, been chatted up by a Frenchman, and conversed with Italians, Australians, and fellow Canadians, and had an interesting encounter with an older Spaniard this morning over how to operate the luggage lockers and access the wireless internet (it took several tries of him saying “weee-feee” over and over until it clicked he meant the wireless – which many Anglos pronounce “why-fye”, of course ). Between his total lack of English and French, and my total lack of Spanish, we managed to sort everything out (mostly through extensive miming ).

I arrived yesterday under the cover of anonymity. Aside from bonding with my fellow foreigners, I’ve spent most of my time either sleeping, writing, reading, or playing games. I went out to buy a sandwich at a sidewalk bakery a few blocks away, and took the long way back to the hostel. Other than that, I’ve stayed indoors – I’m too exhausted and sore from yesterday’s travel to do anything. I haven’t called anyone, except for loved ones back home. Home; such an abstract concept. I’ve known for a long time that “home is where the heart is”, and isn’t really tied to geographical location (although certainly the essence of feeling “at home” can be tied to geographical features). Maybe that’s what’s missing after all: I have fond memories of France, I love Paris, and several French people are very dear to me; and I applied for this job, and put much time and effort and expense into the application process. And now here I am… but my heart just isn’t in it.

Quand l’amour vous fait signe, suivez-le.
Bien que ses voies soient dures et rudes.
Et quand ses ailes vous enveloppent, cédez-lui.
Bien que la lame cachée parmi ses plumes puisse vous blesser.
Et quand il vous parle, croyez en lui.
Bien que sa voix puisse briser vos rêves comme le vent du nord dévaste vos jardins.
Car de même que l’amour vous couronne, il doit vous crucifier.
De même qu’il vous fait croître, il vous élague.
De même qu’il s’élève à votre hauteur et caresse vos branches les plus délicates qui frémissent au soleil,
Ainsi il descendra jusqu’à vos racines et secouera leur emprise à la terre.
Comme des gerbes de blé, il vous rassemble en lui.
Il vous bat pour vous mettre à nu.
Il vous tamise pour vous libérer de votre écorce.
Il vous broie jusqu’à la blancheur.
Il vous pétrit jusqu’à vous rendre souple.
Toutes ces choses, l’amour l’accomplira sur vous afin que vous puissiez connaître les secrets de votre cœur, et par cette connaissance devenir une parcelle du cœur de la Vie.
Mais si, dans votre appréhension, vous ne cherchez que la paix de l’amour et le plaisir de l’amour,
Alors il vaut mieux couvrir votre nudité et quitter le champ où l’amour vous moissonne,
Pour le monde sans saisons où vous rirez, mais point de tous vos rires, et vous pleurerez, mais point de toutes vos larmes.
L’amour ne donne que de lui-même, et ne prend que de lui-même.
L’amour ne possède pas, ni ne veut être possédé.
Car l’amour suffit à l’amour.

Let’s review the campaign so far!

September 9:
-Stephen Harper was forced to apologise for a sophomoric Tory website ad showing a puffin defecating on Liberal Party leader Stéphane Dion.

September 10:
-After threatening to pull out of the leader’s debate if Green Party leader Elizabeth May was allowed to participate, Stephen Harper flip-flopped amid public outrage.

September 11:
-Communications director Ryan Sparrow was suspended for suggesting that criticism of the party by a dead soldier’s father was politically motivated.

September 18:
-Agriculture Minister Gerry Ritz was forced to apologise after it was revealed that he made jokes about the recent listeriosis outbreak that has killed at least 18 Canadians.

Well, to say it was “open” may be a bit of an understatement. The door was open a crack, mere millimeters, just enough for me to spy an eye looking me up and down. Then, a commanding voice bellowed from the crack:

“Yes?”

“Hello, I have an appointment for…” (I didn’t get to finish my sentence)

“What time?”

“Well, my appointment is for noon,” I quickly replied, sensing that this lady wasn’t in the mood for time-wasting conversation. Since I had no idea what time it actually was, I added apologetically, “I came straight from the airport so I’m not sure how early I am…” But the security guard had already lost interest.

“What’s your name?” (Ooh, I thought to myself: I got a complete sentence out of her!)

I told her my name, which caused her to flip through a small stack of papers she had been holding. A few seconds later, the door finally opened. I saw a rather bland waiting room, with industrial carpeting and large windows. There were two other people in the room, both women, each sitting primly in her chair, with a neat folders laid across her lap. I stepped into the room.

The guard pointed to the chairs and said, “Turn off your cell phone and sit down.” Then walked away wordlessly, and resumed her post behind the front desk. Phew.

I sat down, exchanging nervous smiles with my fellow applicants. It was then I got a good look at the rest of the office. There were two workers, sitting side by side behind a large glass window – or at least, what I thought was a large glass window. In fact, they were contained in a humongous glass booth – floor-to-ceiling soundproof glass. To communicate, one had to either gesticulate wildly, or make use of a tiny microphone set into the counter (kind of tricky, since one had to bend over to get close to it). Adding to the décor was a large wall, set a few feet back from the workers’ soundproof cage; signs posted all over the office implored everyone to “stay behind the wall” to ensure the privacy of those being served at the counter. (Which was rather amusing, since the microphone/speaker system was incredibly loud, so that whenever a worker would speak to the applicant, everyone within a 10km radius could hear all the applicant’s personal details.) There was a large-screen television by the door; the security guard was watching The Price Is Right.

As I sat, I couldn’t help but overhear (see above) the misadventures of the lone male in the room: a young man trying to get his hands on a student visa so he could spend the next year studying in France. He was sent away at least three times, for various reasons – transferring money to a different account, obtaining a missing signature, etc. Apparently, when one intends to study in France, one must have an enormous amount of money in one’s bank account. The gentleman had already set aside a substantial amount, but was just shy of the required minimum. He tried valiantly to convince the woman behind the counter that the remainder of the money would indeed be in his bank account by the time he would be leaving Canada in a few weeks; but she would have none of it. In an almost robotic tone, she just kept repeating the minimum required amount, over and over. He finally gave in, asking if he could come back later in the day if he found someone to lend him the money within a few hours. (She said yes.) He proceeded to walk out of the office for a third time, looking rather defeated. Everyone in that waiting room gave him a sympathetic smile. The guard just sneered.

Worker A called my name. I dutifully trundled up to the window, where I was greeted with a polite but distant “Bonjour.” A small drawer suddenly popped out of the wall beside me, and I carefully placed all my precious documents, photographs, photocopies and passport inside. The drawer shut automatically, and I was told (in English) to have a seat. About a half hour later, Worker B called me up to her window. It was at that point that I received the only smile on offer in that office all morning: when this woman asked – as she did all of us – if I spoke French, I answered “oui”. (Everyone else had said either “non” or “petit peu”. Upon hearing my answer, the slightest trace of a smile appeared on Worker B’s face. She then spoke French to me for the remainder of our brief meeting, and I walked out of that office 5 minutes later, visa in hand.

I’ve never taken off in the dark. As we leave the city behind, it’s not pitch black – the sky is a deep, dark navy, just showing the very first signs of life – but it’s still very dark. It’s a cool, fairly clear morning in Winnipeg, and all the city’s lights are perfectly visible as we climb into the clouds. I’m always amazed at how spread-out Winnipeg is; it’s not a very built-up city, but its tentacles reach far and wide. From the sky, the streetlights trace a spider’s web across a wide swath of prairie. Then it’s gone, and I see nothing but clouds.

A few minutes later, I notice a light catches my eye: my first thought is of lava pouring out of a volcano. In reality, it’s just the first light of the sun, breaking through the lower cloud layer. That light is impossibly bright, intense. It glows like hot metal, a small pool of orange in the middle of a thick blanket of ondulating white cloud. Within seconds the sun makes its appearance. I can honestly say I’ve never seen such a beautiful sunrise in my entire life. In the space of about 30 seconds, the entire sky ahead of us was bathed in orange light, with the sun taking centre stage. A thin cloud enveloped its perfectly circular shape, making it possible to look directly at it. The gentle ripples of the lower cloud layer were visually transformed into waves of hot lava lapping at the sky. And the more dense cloud layer above us simply reflected all the light back downwards. We were lost in a sea of warm light, with oranges and reds and yellows bouncing off the plane’s surface in a kind of complicated dance. It was breathtaking.

About a minute later, the colour cooled as the sun, continuing its relentless climb, disappeared into the upper layer of cloud. Our plane seemed to follow it, heading into that same cloud, from which we both emerged at the same time. The orange and red gave way to pale yellow and white, and with no more cloud restricting its light, the sun was free to shine across the entire sky, which was already a clear, pale blue. From this new vantage point above all the clouds, it was like watching a second sunrise. Warmth flooded into the aircraft, and shades were drawn to keep out the blinding white light. Of all the things that could possibly go wrong today, at least the weather appeared to be cooperating…

Ce qui ne peut pas être éviter, il faut l’embrasser. (Shakespeare)

Ce peut être aussi cela l’existence! Des miracles parfois, de l’or et des rires, et de nouveau l’espoir quand on croit que tout autour de soi n’est que saccage et silence! (Philippe Claudel)

Tu n’es ni un monstre ni une victime. Trouve dans tes remords de quoi apaiser tes rancunes, dans tes rancunes de quoi amoindrir tes remords. (Jean Rostand)

Toute souffrance est lâche: elle recule devant la puissance du vouloir-vivre qui est ancré plus fortement dans notre chair que toute la passion de la mort n’est dans notre esprit. (Stefan Zweig)

L’essentiel, nous ne savons pas le prévoir. Chacun de nous a connu les joies les plus chaudes là où rien ne les promettait. (Saint-Exupéry)

Quand l’idéal se déplace, il faut bien qu’on s’oriente différemment. Le tournesol reste fidèle au soleil. (Jean Rostand)

Il nous faut naître deux fois pour vivre un peu, ne serait-ce qu’un peu. Il nous faut naître par la chair et ensuite par l’âme. Les deux naissances sont comme un arrachement. La première jette le corps dans le monde, la seconde balance l’âme jusqu’au ciel. (Christian Bobin)

Il ne faut pas lier un navire à une seule ancre, ni une vie à un seul espoir. (Epicète)

Puisque tout passe, faisons
la mélodie passagère;
celle qui nous désaltère,
aura de nous raison.