So, here I sit in La Basilique du Marie, Reine du Monde, a church so beautiful it's almost ridiculous, Latin script lining the cieling around me, statues of the saints looking down blindly, and a woman reading La Lettre du St. Paul a les Romans, about how par la peche d'un seul, la mort est entree la monde, (how, by the sin of one man, death entered the world).
Outside, in the park next door, in the morning shadows of skyscrapers and banks, is the statue of John A. Macdonald that became famous when, in 1964, the FLQ used it as the site of their first public act, spraypainting "JE SUIS SEPERATISTE!" on the base of it. (They blew up a mailbox in the suburbs the next day.)
Since I can't become Jewish in any real or meaningful way (though I'd certainly love to), I've decided that perhaps I shall become French-Catholic, since at least that's a genuine part of my heritage (moreso than the 1/16 Jewish bit, in any case).
The woman sitting a few rows in front of me looks so much like my friend Claire that I keep looking over to make sure it's really not her, and I keep forgetting to think about my sins.
My new roomate Pascale has taken to calling one of my cats "La Reine du Monde"-- the queen of the world. It's sort of like calling her "The Madonna". Pascale's blood boils whenever I mention that good hockey players have played on teams other than Les Canadiens, although she has a soft spot for the Jets.
The Cardinal is sitting up front in his velvet robes, on a giant purple couch. He seems like he's about 90 years old, and possibly falling asleep.
I can't take communion here, since I was never confirmed and am therefore not part of the club (two years of seminary doesn't count). I got my cheeky revenge by listening to Robbie Roberston's "Ghost Dance" on my way to church--exactly the kind of song and dance that this very church would have banned not so long ago.
(p.s. In the end, I took communion anyway, having confessed my sins only to God and Carlos, and not to a priest as I'm supposed to, and I didn't feel badly about it at all. In fact, I felt pretty good, and I suspect that God and Marie, Reine du Monde, were probably happy that I went ahead with it.)
12 comments:
Very nice personal ethnography, or personal mystery.
Magic and gold, magic and gold.
Lorne, as a confirmed French Roman Catholic I give you my blessing to commune, commune, commune.
It's a good start to connecting to the mystical ways of our faith...but wait, just remember to keep learning French, meet a nice girl from the country, court her, marry her, and whatever you do, DON'T use birth control. And that means no less than 9 or 10 babies, or we'll all start to get suspicious.
And colline de binnes, get a haircut. (What would the neighbors think?)
Welcome.
I always knew that fishing was a sin.
I love navel gazing! More dude...more...
Takes one to know one James.
Navel gazing, you're a jerk.
No doubt. I don't consider navel gazing or biography as derogatory.
One can't help themselves, especially when leaving home, searching inside for oneself. I think a lot of bloggers would agree, especially the ones that have moved, navel gazing is very important(especially for a winnipegger). It's like shoe gazing, only deeper, and towards the inside, the heart.
c-gaze, I suggest you reconsider your statement, and maybe your name while you're at it. c-namecaller would be better. and have a sandwich too, you're bitchy.
By the way Roberts, great narrative here, it was easy for me to picture you there.
Hey now! You two be nice. Carlos shouldn't have called you a jerk... maybe (cause it hurt your wittle feewings), but you could have avoided that by choosing your words more carefully (Saying biography in the first place would have worked better). You may not think "navel gazing" is a derogatory term, but it is:
na·vel-gaz·ing /ˈneɪvəlˌgeɪzɪŋ/ Pronunciation[ney-vuhl-gey-zing]
–noun Slang.
excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue.
(note:EXCESSIVE, as in too much)
That being said, maybe Carlos doesn't think of "jerk" as a derogatory term (since we are now making up our own meanings or tone for words - despite what dictionaries say). Maybe to him it means "good buddy". =P
So, I say: {taking on a very humourous-cheeky tone)..eat shit, both of you (which I take to mean: I love you and play nice for goodness sake this is a public forum).
Cheers Lorne, fine post =P
ha! too funny David.
My apologies Lorne, it wasn't meant to be mean, I honestly didn't think it was a bad term, but obviously I've yet again adopted a definition for a word that is incorrect. my bad.
And Carlos, you're on probation.
This reminds me of a story I told Carlos about on Chess.com (where we battle daily). I was teaching a class from a text book that provided a card game as a learning tool. Whoever answered the most questions, and got the most cards won the game. I had this one student (Jim) who was very bright and had a sincere interest in English spurred on by his love for western media (movies and music {mostly rap}). He was cleaning up and had far more cards than the other players. When I finally declared him the winner he stood up from his chair with a bid smile and yelled "SHUT THE FUCK UP"! Needless to say I was shocked, but I understood that he was a good student and there must be some reason for this outburst, as he would never intentionally offend me or risk getting in serious trouble with the director or what have you. After I asked him a few questions I learned that he had taken the meaning (from listening to rap music and its context) to mean simply, "I WIN" (which in some ways I'm sure it did) and didn't understand that it was 'bad language'. I gently explained to him that this was not an appropriate expression. Still, whenever I think of it, to this day, it makes me laugh. Every now and then when I make a good move on chess.com I lie to type in the message box "SHUT THE FUCK UP", but of course Carlos knows what I'm getting at because I relayed this anecdote PRIOR to using the phrase. Anyway, that's funny huh?
that is hilarious!
totally hilarious.
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