Soul – Where the Infinite Meets the Intimate
Leaving Chartres at the conclusion of the successful first Intensive retreat of the New Chartres School, I was under the impression that I would perhaps be returning for the second Liberal Art ‘Dialectica’, in July the following year. Fond farewells were said and promises made to keep in touch until then. But of course, everyone’s lives had been turned upside down, and there were no guarantees that contacts would be maintained when folk returned to ‘normal life’ whatever that meant.
I too, returned to a busy schedule and Ronald’s return from Angola. But no sooner had I returned than I received a communication from Lauren Artress outlining the seminar she would be conducting in Chartres in September with John o’Donahue, the Celtic priest and poet. I had devoured his two books earlier in the year, and there was absolutely no way I was going to let this opportunity slip by.
My friend Beth was keen to accompany me, and we signed up. I found a guest house in the old town, outside the seminary. So only two months later, I found myself returning to Chartres arriving at the now familiar station and guiding Beth through the narrow streets to the ancient house we would be staying in.
And what a gift the seminar turned out to be! A small group, less than thirty persons in contrast to the ninety plus with Wisdom University two months earlier. Each morning, we were treated to the exquisite voice, prose and poetry of John o’Donahue, as he guided us gently through this topic of ‘The Soul – where the Infinite meets the Intimate’. How powerfully this narrative resonated with me. I sat in the front line of the circle, absorbing his vibration, amazed at the blessings I was receiving.
In the afternoons we often had free time to spend in the cathedral and the town. One of the participants in our group was Maya, a young blind woman with her seeing dog, Tessa. Tessa was young and this was Maya’s first trip to Europe from the States. She had managed alone, arriving in Paris and finding her way down to Chartres. I was awed by the magnitude of this achievement. Beth and I began to accompany her in the afternoons. It was a very reciprocal arrangement as I soon discovered. She could manage entirely on her own, but I was learning a lot from Maya.
We visited the stainedglass museum and art gallery, and I watched as Maya put her eye up close almost touching the colored glass. The universe she discovered there delighted her. She had been a dancer and explained that when she stopped dancing she had put on all the weight which had now made her very round. But she was still graceful, and I could imagine how she could have been a dancer. She was now working as a therapist, giving a special type of massage. I signed up for a session with her, as did Beth. And indeed, this was very special. I had a sense that her hands were ‘seeing’ my body and found areas which needed particular attention.
Of course, on arrival in Chartres I immediately went to Michel’s atelier taking Beth along. He was astounded to see me back in Chartres so soon after our au revoir but clearly delighted. After our little music session, he was easily persuaded to join us for a drink at a pavement cafe. It was convivial and we seemed like old friends.
I had the opportunity to sit on the steps outside the cathedral one afternoon, next to John O’Donahue and we talked a little. I mentioned I was about to go off to Michel’s atelier to play a piano and his eyes lit up as I described the venue. I could see the idea struck a chord, when he mentioned the book “The Piano shop on the west bank”, a delightful little book on a lapsed pianist’s finding of his piano in a quaint and quirky piano atelier in Paris. Yes! I enthused… it is a bit like that. And he asked if he could come with me.
So it was that John O’Donahue, Beth and I made our way quickly through the streets of Chartres to Michel’s atelier. John was not given to socialising with participants, and I had noticed him keeping his distance. So, this event was out of character, and he was almost furtive and a bit apprehensive. But when we got there and entered the space, I could see his delight. I moved quickly to the piano, after introducing Michel to his new visitor, feeling that John would not linger long and was not interested in small talk.
And so I played – it felt like a Balkans theme, and the music was rather passionate. O’Donahue was a most passionate man, and I remember the music being very stirring. Wild in fact. Wildness as a necessary ingredient for soul growth was a theme he had referred to that morning, and here the music was echoing this concept. Most emphatically. As the musical outpouring came to a halt, slowly, with the deep resonance ringing out in the field around us, he took his leave saying something to me about the need to reside in this wildness, to find and hold the wildness. I forget his precise words but of course it was pure poetry. We had shared a beautiful moment with a beautiful soul.
There is one other highlight in this memoir of the seminar with John and Lauren Artress, which is the night we walked the labyrinth. Lauren is the founder of the labyrinth movement, Veriditas, and was responsible for getting the labyrinth, which is laid out in the floor of Chartres cathedral, back into the public domain after two hundred years of being hidden from view by the church hierarchy. Walking the labyrinth as a sacred ritual at night with hundreds of candles placed around its perimeter, accompanied by medieval music and chanting, is an experience which takes one to the centre of one’s soul, or very close. I had experienced this already in July when Lauren led the Wisdom University participants in this ritual.
This time, however, was very different in our smaller more intimate group. Maya was going to walk the labyrinth too, leaving Tessa attentively observing her from the entrance to the circle. She had earlier explored the textures and feeling of the stone floor with her bare feet. The design of the labyrinth is in fact based on the use of two types of stone, a lighter limestone and a darker granite. The black stone forms the edging to the lighter stones which create the path on which one actually walks. The two types of stones have a different feel and temperature. Maya with her sensitivity could easily make out the route, and by sliding each foot close up to the black stones, was able to stay within the limits of the path to be followed. The route in a labyrinth turns this way and that, doubling back, leading eventually to a six- petalled centre. Then one follows the same route out. Watching someone walking slowly in the ritual, however, it is impossible to know whether they are on their way in to the centre or on their way out.
Lauren stood at the entrance, gently guiding us in at our turn and ensuring sufficient space between walkers. I entered somewhere in the first half of the group and after a beautiful connecting time in the centre made my way out, passing Maya who was on her way in toward the centre. Those who had completed the walk sat around the candle-lit circle of the labyrinth, honouring those who were still in their rituals. All our attention was on Maya as she gracefully glided her way to the centre. It was humbling to witness this courage and determination. And there was a beautiful rhythm in her feet finding their direction. And then she arrived at the centre and embraced each of the six petals on the floor. She lovingly and with great dignity then took her leave from the centre and started her return.
There were still several people on their way in, and at a certain point Maya came up against someone who unfortunately seemed unaware of her needs. We all noticed Maya’s foot movements as she stepped aside to allow the other person to pass, but she had stepped across the black stone border into another part of the circle and onto another section of the path. There was absolutely no way she could know whether the path she was now on would lead her back to the centre or out to the exit. One could sense her concern, her knowing that there had been a step out of line. But she was still gliding although with less confidence.
The energy in the group was phenomenal by now. Everyone except Maya seemed to have emerged from the labyrinth. We were all focused on this drama, willing her to come through. The musicians seemed to be directing the music to her like the thread of Ariadne to guide her out. Lauren started to walk around the outside of the circle to give Maya a sense of being accompanied. John O’Donahue sat in the front seat, his eyes fixed on Maya who was showing distress. All our hearts were united in sending love to this brave but vulnerable soul who was battling her demons in front of us.
And then it happened. We witnessed what I can only describe as a miracle. All of a sudden, Maya seemed to be lifted up under her arms on both sides and I swear that we all watched, forgetting to breathe, as she actually danced her way out of the remaining section of the labyrinth. Danced! and then she closed the ceremony by holding her arms outstretched in a gesture embracing the whole of the labyrinth, giving thanks.
What a privilege to have been witness to the work of this huge soul, where the infinite had met the intimate under our very gaze. I felt humbled and grateful and tearful. Looking round I saw there were tears on many faces around the circle.
Later at our farewell dinner, John O’Donahue wrote in my journal
“To Tone, with love and recognition, May you always dwell inside the music”.
Five months later our world was shocked and saddened to hear that John O’Donahue had died at the age of fifty-four in the South of France. How grateful I am for this memory of a shared moment in Michel’s atelier and the labyrinth.