Love has pitched his mansion...

Tonight is our last evening in Montreal (until at least December) and it is filled with sorrow. Please don't misunderstand: Montreal has been a taste of heaven for both Dianne and myself. But now this extended time of quiet reflection, play, practice and solitude must end. As we walked Lucie in Parc Baldwin for the last night in a long time I was overwhelmed with tears...
Two quick thoughts before I get back to other packing and cleaning - and then a treat of Bailey's with Fair Trade chocolate:

+ First, as Di said to me while we were sipping red wine and sharing bread and cheese: "It is ok to feel so sad... this is the first time in your whole life - and your whole ministry - that was a time just set aside for... you! Think about about that: in 63 years, you were able to claim four months." Let's just say more tears erupted, yes?

+ Second, this sabbatical has been very earthy and grounding in ways that are honest and humbling. Tonight, as we took Lucie on a farewell tour of duty and I found myself surprised by grief, she proceeded to poop. Now it was my job to pick up said offering but I couldn't find the damn shit both because it was dark and because my eyes were filled with tears!  It made me think of this poem by Yeats:

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'

'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.

'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.' 

Tomorrow we pack and head off to the Eastern Townships of Quebec for a week of solitude in the country and then back to our home on September 8th.


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