La Petite Lumiére
A stop further on from Moissac with its delightful cathedral, stands out powerfully in my memory. It was at the top of a very steep climb, very close to a huge statue of the Virgin Mary. A small sign La petite lumiére had beckoned to me somewhere lower down the path and I had left the principal GR65 route and taken this climb, intrigued as to what it might lead me to.
Reaching the top and looking around at the magnificent panoramic view, the river snaking its way through French farmlands, I was more than delighted to find that La petite lumiére was in fact a small gite with a couple of rooms containing 4 to 6 beds. I was immediately drawn to the vine-covered terrace with two long tables with cheerful provencal table cloths. It was festive, light and welcoming.
Two attractive women welcomed me warmly. I saw the small notice indicating massages on offer! and glancing into the therapy room, I saw the piano. At a later stage I would ask if I could play. In the meantime – it was late afternoon, still very hot –I took a shower and a short refreshing siesta.
When I went outside half an hour or so later, I found an agitated grey-haired woman talking to Anne, one of my hosts and an even more agitated youngster, perhaps sixteen. He looked Moroccan, perhaps adopted. He had left his sweatshirt somewhere earlier and they’d retraced their steps back up to the statue looking for it. Other details offered by his mother were that he was ‘out of the institution’ for the holiday break, and she was clearly struggling to cope.
Actually, it seemed to me that he was close to spinning out and about to go into a tantrum. I overheard his mother refer to him as Bertrand.
I was guided to approach the small emotional group. I was aware of my calm presence and the impact of my unexpected entry into their drama. I looked into this boy’s eyes and placed one hand on my heart, and with the other on his I greeted him softly.
‘Bonjour, Bertrand’ and then said something like…
‘Please come with me, the music wants to come through for you’.
He came quietly, holding my hand. I led him into the therapy room and lifted the lid of the piano, seated him next to me and allowed the first note to fill the small room. He sat hunched forward, rolling slightly backwards and forwards, his head in his hands as the music started to come through to him, for him.
It was filled with love. He became still and calm and the music continued filling us both with its balm.
All of a sudden he jumped up and rushed out of the room. I was startled, thinking I’d gone too far.. a small doubt.
But No.
Bertrand reappeared holding the hand of his small grey-haired, frazzled mother, bringing her in to the space he’d just experienced. And the music continued for both of them, she with tears in her eyes.
Later, I was on the massage table feeling deep gratitude both for the much-needed massage, for the music and for the way in which this piano had appeared on my path and what had transpired with Bertrand.
A real bond was established with these two women, Anne and Sylvie, and over a wonderfully wholesome dinner on the terrace we shared stories and felt a deep complicity. So much so, that when I set off the next morning and completed my walk, arriving at the address of a friend of theirs, they were both there having driven over to meet me.
Again, we shared a wonderful evening, this time including another extraordinary woman.
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