NEW YEAR'S EVE IN THE LIBRARY
An old life sort of flashes before my eyes while I'm watching New Year's Eve festivities from Harbourfront on CP24. Harbourfront is where I lived in my thirties; it's where I was a wife, did a Jungian analysis, wrote a fairytale, and it's where my marriage ended. The fireworks tonight bring it all back.
I pick up Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation again. Randomly I open to page eighty-one:
"You should be able to untether yourself from the world and set yourself free, loosing all the fine strings and strands of tension that bind you, by sight, by sound, by thought, to the presence of other men." And, "Once you have found such a place, be content with it, and do not be disturbed if a good reason takes you out of it. Love it, and return to it as soon as you can, and do not be too quick to change it for another."
Continuing. I think about how I didn't go to my former downtown Toronto parish this Christmas (haven't for a few years). But then I come to the next paragraph in New Seeds and I think maybe I am in a kind of downtown city church tonight (even though I'm in the suburbs and not in a church). Merton writes:
"City churches are sometimes quiet and peaceful solitudes, caves of silence where a man can seek refuge from the intolerable arrogance of the business world... in these quiet churches (our library) one remains nameless, undisturbed in the shadows, where there are only a few chance, anonymous strangers among the vigil lights, and the curious impersonal postures of the bad statues (and strange tenants.).
All this is to say, I'm satisfied exchanging happy New Year's wishes with the man in the elevator on my way down to pay January's rent. And with Amanda who's still working at this late hour on New Years Eve. I give her the Michael Connelly book I finished (the one my cat chewed the corners off) that I was going to leave in our library. I'm glad I could give it to Amanda. Am I in denial to feel this is gloriously and joyfully enough?
I can still see the fireworks from my balcony, if I want to look at them. I feel unconditionally loved tonight and so grateful for where I live now, especially in these times.
It has changed my perception of what hope is— for myself and others.
