And Then Everything Made Sense (part 2)

I am not a very disciplined person – I can’t seem to sustain any kind of daily practice for long, such as yoga or meditation, unless it really calls me. (If an unfinished drawing is hanging on my “project string”, I can hardly keep myself from working on it every day.)

But Vipassana meditation works best if you are practicing it daily, or at least several times a week: it’s like learning to play an instrument, you need to give your body and mind the time to catch this gesture-chord-sound connection, repeatedly, so after a while you can play without having to think about every note.

Reflections in an April alley

Similarly, the habit to observe your reactions, instead of acting them out, needs to be practiced regularly in a neutral, safe situation where you can try again and again, without worrying about the results – you just need to have faith in the process and keep trying. Your mind and body will learn this eventually, and you will be able to use it in real-life situations.

So how was I going to make it work, without meditating several times a week?

I love how puddles bring out the simple, hidden beauty of our surroundings.

And then I remembered something that S. N. Goenka had said in one of his evening talks (he was not there in person of course, but his wonderful sense of humour turned these videos into a very lively talk, and it was the best moment of the day): “Don't forget that you can also practice Vipassana in your daily activities. There are many occasions (at work, in family life) where you can simply observe your inner reactions. This is a good exercise.”

And observing quietly is something I enjoy, obviously.

Right! Working in a bookstore offered a lot of opportunities to do just that. There was always only one employee in the store all day, which meant I sometimes had to manage the ‘cash register’ (except we had no cash at all, because of too many past hold-ups) while answering questions on the phone and dealing with customers in front of me. Dear waitresses out there – and parents! – you know what I am talking about  ;o)

Messy but interesting

So I began practicing my equanimity at work, once in a while when I remembered to… and soon, it made a real difference. Situations (or people) that would have driven me nuts a few weeks before became interesting challenges, or exercises.

Furthermore, most of the time I did not feel the need anymore to rewind the difficult situation or dialogue in my mind, or to dwell on how unfair, unexpected etc. it had been… The ‘exercise’ was precisely to let the experience drift away, and not to become attached to it, even in a negative way. And it worked! This alone was worth it, for living in my head is not good for me.

Then you get closer

But this endeavour was taken to a whole new level after the Free Hugs event.

I am a member of Couch Surfing, which has brought several lovely encounters, cat-sitters, and two good friends into my life. Couch Surfing is one of the global movements that give me faith in the power of generosity, open-mindedness and trust, to change today’s and tomorrow’s world. The community has grown (in one decade) to almost 7 million members everywhere. It is great for traveling (and hosting like-minded travelers), but also for meeting friendly people in your own neighbourhood... This is how I stumbled on an event organized by a guy in the Montréal CS group.

This could qualify as an exercise in letting go: painting an imaginary pot in a few gestures.

I had never heard of “Free Hugs” happenings, but I thought it would be a good way to overcome some of my remaining shyness, as hugs were, for me, something really meaningful and personal that I shared only with my family and good friends.

Needless to say, I was nervous when I arrived at the meeting place, but I soon realized that all the others were, too – there were maybe twelve of us in all, including Caro, whom I liked instantly, and who became a friend soon after that  :o)  We took our time to paint warm-coloured, bilingual signs proclaiming “Free Hugs! Câlins gratuits !”- then we simply stood there, waiting for people to accept our offers. In the beginning, though, they were too shy themselves!

(Would you be bold enough as a passer-by? Or have you participated in one?)

I found this heart in rue Marie-Anne, last summer.

Then I started to hold out my arms to women (at first) in a coy, innocent gesture. This universal body language had a universal appeal – with a surrendering smile, they came to me, and we hugged. After a short while, my shyness dissolved, as I began to truly appreciate the sincere, warm exchange that took place each time, even with the occasional guy.

With every person, regardless of their personality, their current state of mind or their original embarrassment, the same wonderful thing happened: in a few seconds, through the simple grace of the embrace, both of us were relating on a deep level. We were able to share tenderness and trust in a genuine, reciprocal way – there was no ‘giver’ or ‘receiver’… We were simply experiencing these feelings, together.

When we separated, I could see in their wistful smile and peaceful look that they, too, were aware of this transformative connection. No words were needed, except “thank you”: we both knew that we had experienced the same beautiful thing.

Cosmos and wild geraniums on the gallery.

You can imagine how giddy I was, how grateful and in awe! Now my inviting smile and gesture were full of happiness and promise, and people actually went out of their way to respond. One tall, slightly dishevelled guy remained in the embrace for a little while, and I could feel the weight of his weariness, his solitude. He nodded gravely while saying “thank you”; again no words were needed to convey the fact that he had not shared a hug in a long time.

Ah friends, I still can’t tell this whole story without having goosebumps. Before leaving I hugged each of the Couch Surfers, and our smiles expressed the same happy gratitude.

Giddy Machaon feeding on merry Honeysuckle.

While walking home, I found myself looking at people from that place of intimate knowledge and connection – I was now truly conscious that just under the surface, we shared every human emotion and feeling. We are all one. Really. This revelation was the beautiful sister of the one that took place in the forest...

And it made me even happier.

New Rowan sprouts shooting up towards the sky,
right from the trunk that had been bent by a peculiar fate.

Back at work the next day, I saw each person entering the bookstore in this new light. Just like the other days, though, I would not necessarily greet them with a warm “bonjour”, or even ask them if they needed help with something (unless they did ask, or looked perplexed), since I tend to let people drift into their own thoughts as long as they feel like it. We definitely need this in our busy world… So it was more of an inner perception on my side.

First you observe; then you really see; and then you can make see. 

But as the week went by, I began to notice that everybody’s attitude was different, too. In fact, almost all of the customers thanked me warmly for my help upon leaving the store, although I was simply my usual (helpful) self. I was grateful to them every time. And puzzled. How did this work?

Little Emmanuelle at four. It's almost as if she could see it coming, way back then.

So I tried to apply this discovery further. 

As recounted in chapter three :o)

You can read the first chapter here.

ps - I picked a completely different series of pictures (and two drawings) for the French version.

pps - This special portrait of me was taken by my dad (who printed it in his improvised darkroom). Merci Papa ! 

I've always felt that he had succeeded in capturing the essence of my personality, but there is a blend of trust and tenderness here that has been resurfacing slowly through adulthood, so that I can now often recognize it in my current everyday self. It's a wonderful feeling  :o)

And Then Everything Made Sense (part 1)

This is a true story, and it took place over several years - summed up here in a few pages, but still, it's longer than my usual posts. Here is the first part (out of four). See on the bottom of each part for the link to the next.

My first true understanding took place in the forest.

For a long time, I was more at ease in the company of animals, trees and birds, or alone with the ocean and the elements, than in the company of humans.

This scene reminds me of Kipling, for some reason.

People were mysterious and unpredictable; I had no access to their thoughts and motives. I felt constantly awkward, with my classmates or with adults – well into my student years.

My teenager dream was to live in the desert forever, with books and art supplies... I might even tame a wild pony, or a fox. But I knew enough of “life”, through books of course, to understand that this was not possible. You could not make a living that way, nor could you spend your life avoiding people, apparently.

Eventually, I did learn how to make a living within society, both as a translator – which can be done in the desert, I guess, although I had no idea some folks actually do that – and as a bookseller… I enjoy finding the right words to express an author’s “voice” and view of the world, which is useful in both activities  :o)

But real-life people were still opaque to me. And so was life in general.

Can you guess what this is?

Then I moved to Montréal, which had two major consequences: I could start being myself at last, and I could also start relating to humans in a genuine way. Both were truly rewarding! However, after a few years into the process, it was still puzzling me.

I was becoming increasingly sensitive to people’s feelings, and overwhelmed by small events: an exchange of glances, a gesture – I often noticed tiny beautiful things in people, or between them, and my whole being resonated in a disproportionate way, probably because I had been cut out from these perceptions for too long.

This was drawn on a tiny notebook, in the dark, from way up above the singer.
Which is why I am still quite happy with the result.

For instance, the sight of a granddad holding his tiny grandson’s hand in a park, even from a distance, would fill me up with a deep emotion, and I did not know what to do with it. Or, as I was showing a picture-book to a parent, my voice frequently faltered when I reached the last pages. After a good contemporary dance show in a small-scale venue, I was high and exhausted as if I had been dancing myself... And so on.

Several times a day, I felt like a guitar whose strings were being struck (generally all at the same time) without warning or explanation. Sometimes it was quite loud. Sometimes it left me a bit weary. And if I was the only one to hear it, what was the point?

Brimming with joy.

So I often took walks among the trees.

Their time was much longer than human time. They were benevolent and patient. They would still be there way after I had disappeared, and this was strangely soothing. I felt as if they were saying: “It’s okay… don’t worry. Whatever happens, all is well.”

But in the magic hour between afternoon and evening, when the tree tops darkened against the transparent sky, the pure beauty of it resonated (as well) in my soul and heart, where my exhilaration was mingled with a deep longing. A longing for what? I did not know.

Am I the only one who feels this sight is calling us into the transparent sky?
With the paper-cut silhouettes as our personal prompters on a stage?

This happened even in broad daylight, whenever I was standing close to one of these immense Cottonwoods that we have in Montréal – particularly if there was even a slight breeze shaking their murmuring leaves. Trembling in unison, but unable to respond to the Cottonwoods’ gentle, powerful call to become one with them, I felt hopelessly in exile.

“I must have been a Cottonwood in some previous life”, I thought, but then again, what should I do with this experience?

Here they are, my awe-inspiring and gentle friends, soaring above the three-storey houses.
I can hear their wonderful rustle, and feel the warm summer wind, every time I consider this picture.

Then one evening in October, as I was coming home through the forest, feeling dizzy and strange because I hadn’t slept in 48 hours (a deadline to meet), the wind was so rowdy that even the tallest trees were pushed around this way and that – what a strong, joyful mood was agitating the whole forest!

Suddenly, there was a long, powerful rush of wind culminating in the Cottonwoods right above me, calling me stronger than ever before – and it happened: without even being aware of the transition, I was suddenly one with everything… the Cottonwoods and the Maple trees and the Oaks; the wind; the rain that had been soaking the forest all day; I could even feel the stones’ vibrations in my bones. 

This one is a summer storm.

What happened then is a story in itself, and I have written about this experience in a short piece that I intend to illustrate and get published :o)  so I won’t elaborate about it now, but my true connection with the world and its inhabitants began right there and then.

Because this is our natural state, the one we are all meant to experience all the time.

I realized, quite simply, that my previous feeling of ‘being in exile’ from Nature was an illusion. The deep beauty of the natural world was right there inside me – and this is what the trees had been telling me all along…

You are not lost, child.

And you are never alone. 

Cottonwoods reflected in the melting snow.

Some time later, I told a friend that I was looking for a good meditation course. “There is Vipassana”, he said simply, writing down the Website on a piece of paper. I looked it up, and I knew it was just right for me. So I registered in a ten-day course. And I went. It was truly helpful, and quite illuminating.

Again, the whole process is not easy to describe – the experience is based on simple but subtle things, like all basic meditation practices – and this process can be unsettling but empowering, too. Particularly, I feel, in the Vipassana approach, which is derived from Buddha’s teachings. If you are curious, here is a good explanation of its principles.

Canal Saint-Martin, Paris

This specific observation resonated in me, in relation to what I had experienced in the forest: “We are not separate: we are all made of the same molecules; the same feelings make us happy or miserable… We are all one, really.” (I summarize from memory, this is not a direct quote).

So practicing Vipassana became the second significant experience in my quest, both as a technique to observe my (positive or negative) emotions with equanimity – instead of being overwhelmed by them – and as a more general frame of perception, where I could become connected to people in the same way I was now feeling connected to Nature.

Strangers in Paris.

And then… there was the "Free Hugs" event.

To be continued in Part 2  :o)