When I think of Provence, does Provence think of me?
A friend asked a version of that curling question a while back in the comments. I have needed to pose it, inwardly, for necessities sake over and over these past few weeks. And while I am humble enough to know what the only possible answer lying embedded within 2500 years of history could be – a booming God-like “Non” – there are held-tight images glowing strong, still.
I am in Arles and it is the after dinner dog walk. A simple, everyday affair. Ben, Kipling and I are at the Arena but my mind is elsewhere. Unthinkingly, I reach out my hand to the grooves in the columns put into deep relief by the sun, another day done. My eyes flick toward Ben, off-leash and rounding the bend up ahead. Kipling gives a slight tug and continuing on, padding feet quietly with my arm extended, I run my hands across the stone from arch to arch and in so doing touch time without a care.
This is a memory that I have replayed a hundred times during the past eight months. I don’t even know if the moment ever actually existed. It doesn’t matter finally.
As I turn in mind’s eye towards those distant crossroads yet again, I try, repeatedly, to explain what hold Provence has on me and this is as close as I can come. I have often leaned on the word “Beauty” – even as an all encompassing filler for when the heart is searching; this blog was named “Lost in Arles” for a reason as I have often said. But there is a deeper sense. “History” nor “Culture” do justice either but rather a nameless sensibility that somehow gathers a yawning insouciant freedom wrestling with the stark shadows of fortified walls (or closed minds), searing heat pushing against a winter Mistral and the possibilities that the Rhône rolls in, brightly reflected with a Van Gogh lilt.
I can’t ever go back to the life that I had as it doesn’t exist anymore, I know that now. I accept.
But what new one awaits for me? And where? Our persona sands off with times passage just like the patina in the stone that I am thinking of today. At least mine does. Cats with nine lives and all that. Yet, there is so much that stands. I tend to forget that part. Do I listen to my heart or my head? Will the words somehow meet in the middle at my throat, allowing me to find the words to speak?
Fingers reach to touch, to touch…the air and are left grasping. There is a known unknown waiting and it will be just for me. If Provence ever does think of me, at least it just might admire the willingness, the asking.
Admittedly, I am especially emotional today. These words were like fishes wriggling through my fingers. There is a very rare Black New Moon tonight and it is a time of planting seeds for the coming six months. And if I don’t know what those seeds are? If I have no idea? I am often scared of the blank page awaiting me but tonight I will try to place my trust in the hole where the moon should be.
Thank you, my dear friend, I am so grateful for you. My heartbeat is strong. And so is yours. It makes me smile to know I am only one of many that you have helped through your kindness.
You know, lovely Rebecca, it has been a challenge to see the hope and possibility when all is so uncertain and yet I have so much. I just don't know where it will all roll out but I still have my health and the possibility to work plus family and numerous friends to support me. So I know how lucky I really am.
Wonderful people like yourself, Bill. Much Mahalo always and extreme gratitude for the perspective and pushes towards the positive that are so needed. Hoping you see the wonders on your doorstep too.
You are so lovely, Judi. After all that you have been through, to be so loving and open. Thank you. And I can tell you that there is not a day that goes by where I do not thank my lucky stars for all of my good friends like yourself that I just have not had the chance to meet…yet. You have helped me through this. You know that. Bisous à toi.
I can not imagine every thinking of this time fondly, Catherine. It has been the hardest so far of my life. But perhaps I will end up being grateful for it. Actually, I already am in most ways. And yes, I miss NYC but know that it was best from age 17-32 for the same reasons…
Lorraine, your words here make me cry every time that I read them. You inspire me. I can't really find the proper words to respond so I hope that you will forgive me, save that I hope that you will accept my deepest condolences for the loss of your husband. I know well all the love that you have in you through your beautiful words here and so can only begin to imagine the love that you have shared. I am deeply honored that you would consider my situation to be similar to yours. The love that I gave to Remi, I gave with all of my heart, so perhaps in that sense, it was close? Thank goodness for the beauty that we have to see to remind us of who we are.
Thank you so much, Jan. I am very humbled, as always, by all of the kindness here.
You are wonderful, Maria. I will know soon and I feel really lucky to have such support either way. Thank you so much for your wishes, I need them! xo
Merci, ma chère copine. 🙂
I am so incredibly grateful, Ali. Can you imagine what that might mean to me to have one?