montréal reflections: day six

NOTE: We are on holiday for rest and reflection in Montréal before a new year of engagement, teaching and creativity begins. This is the sixth in a series.

Last night we were tired - and the walkway in front of our loft was buzzing with a sea of young college students filled with life. It was a fascinating paradox. We like to saunter and explore. Yet for the past few days our neighborhood has been saturated with hundreds of newly arrived frosh students at the Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM) whose energy cannot be contained. With nearly 35K undergrads living less than a mile away - all of whom want to know the best places to hang, drink, dance, eat and perhaps hook up - Rue Prince Arthur (our street) has been transformed into a moving, pulsating festival of excited young bodies all dressed to kill. Over Labor Day weekend the street takes on the groove of Mardi Gras.

Consequently, it made sense for us old folk just to walk up and down Blvd St. Laurent for a spell in the cool air and then sneak over to the fountain at parc du carré Saint-Louis. It was virtually deserted given the buzz of the street fair and the crush of frosh orientation. The hibiscus surrounding the perimeter of the fountain were huge. The sound of gentle, running water was soothing. And the familiar scent of Montréal's uniquely pungent ganga omnipresent. When we were here during our sabbatical four years ago, we joked that the reason our very nervous dog, Lucie, would chill out while walking through the park at night had something to do with all the ganga and her getting a contact high. Some evenings, it is a distinct possibility. In time, we headed back to the flat to read and head to bed early even as Party Central was in full tilt boogie til the wee hours all around us.

That's when another paradox showed up as I read these words from Cynthia Bourgeault's The Wisdom Way of Knowing and the festival raged on below:

In the psychological climate of our times, our emotions are almost always considered to be virtually identical with our personal authenticity - and the more freely they flow - the more we are seen to be honest and 'in touch.' A person who gravitates to a mental mode of operation is criticized for being 'in his head'; when feelings dominate, we proclaim approval that such a person is 'in his heart.' (But) in the Wisdom tradition, this would be a serious misuse of the term heart. Far from revealing the heart, Wisdom teaches that the emotions are in fact the primary culprits that obscure and confuse it. The real mark of personal authority is not how intensely we can express our feelings, but how honestly we can look at where they're coming from and spot the elements of clinging, manipulation and personal agenda that make up so much of what we experiences as our emotional life today. (pp. 32-3)

It takes most of us about 30 or 40 years to grasp this - and another 15+ to put it into practice with the semblance of consistency. If we're lucky. If we're intentional. It takes a ton of effort, practice, and encouragement to break free from our culture's confusions. More often than not, and I write from personal experience, we keep doing the same things over and over while expecting different results. We refuse to recognize the Wisdom of our wounds. Or, as they say in AA, we deny that "if we always do what we've always done; we'll always get what we've always got." Jung used to teach that we have to keep making the same mistakes over and over until we've learned their lessons. That is why Bourgeault writes: "The heart (or our emotions) at the service of the personal, psychological self is not a heart at all: the heart is not for personal expression, but for divine perception." (p. 34)

Watching that throng of young college students reminded me of my own college days. My hip may hurt from too much walking these days and I get worn out more easily, but living through that haze once was more than enough. I ached to be loved. And like Springsteen sang, when you're hurting and afraid to be alone: "You do some sad, sad things baby, when it's your you 're tryin' to lose. You do some sad and hurtful things, I've seen living proof..." Beyond the booze and the buzz, there were a lot of broken hearts last night - and perplexed and hurting bodies this morning, too. No judgment in any of this, ok? Been there and done that, too. Everyone is just looking for life and a "little of that human touch." The Boss put it like this: 

Ain't no mercy on the streets of this town, 

Ain't no bread from heavenly skies

Ain't nobody drawin' wine from this blood, 

It's just you and me tonight

Tell me, in a world without pity, 

Do you think what I'm askin's too much

I just want something to hold on to 

And a little of that Human Touch

 

So I had to smile to myself when I put Bourgeault down and read these words from Henri Nouwen before heading into bed. In an early book, Reaching Out, he writes:

Without some form of community, individual prayer cannot be born or developed. Communal and individual prayer belong together as two folded hands. Without community, individual prayer easily degenerates into egocentric and eccentric behavior, but without individual prayer, the prayer of community quickly becomes a meaningless routine. Individual and community prayer cannot be separated without harm. This explains why spiritual leaders tend to be very critical of those who want to isolate themselves and why they stress the importance of continuing ties with a larger community, where individual prayer can be guided. This also explains why the same leaders have always encouraged the individual members of their communities to spend time and energy in personal prayer, realizing as they do that community alone can never fulfill the desire for the most unique intimate relationship between a human being and his or her God.

Nouwen himself also learned this truth the hard way. He ached to be loved. He denied the conflict within his heart. And he crashed and burned just like all of us do when we try too hard. It took nearly two years of intense prayer. spiritual direction and therapy in a safe and loving community for Nouwen to embrace and trust the wisdom of his wounds. Becoming real and loving is hard work. It cannot happen in isolation. 

As I watched some of the children of Montréal play at yesterday's street fair, surrounded by loving friends and family who cheered them onward in their larger than life water balloons, I became aware of yet another paradox. In an age where most young people no longer have any contact with communities of faith - or people other than their peers - events like street fairs, concerts, poetry readings, and parks take on a deeper significance. They become, as Leonard Cohen sang, "the holy places where the races meet." These encounters are not perfect, and they are not yet deep communities where transformation and healing can be learned, but they evoke a measure of trust, diversity, joy, depth, integration and the possibility of loving-kindness in a life that often seems anxious, confused, and even cruel. I have heard much the same thing from young LGBTQ folk when they speak about the internet. Say what you will, it offers a place to know you are safe and real.

One of the reasons we cherish Montréal is that there is a commitment to sharing safe public spaces. Along the boulevard's street fair, there are rest stations as well as play stations, mixed with public art and green space. A real touch of humanity and even tenderness out in the open. In my own culture, I don't see much room for tenderness these days. Or safe public spaces. And the whole of the US is the poorer for this absence. Walking in this grand city has become yet one more paradox: a time of personal rest and wonder as well as a silent lament for contemporary America. Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.