Over The Pedestrian Bridge

In lumine tuo videbimus lumen - In Thy light we shall see light.

Am reading the last of the four books I have chosen to prepare me for writing my second proposal for the Thomas Merton Society. This is the last, a compilation of what are considered Thomas Merton's essential writings. I had hoped to be half-way through today, since this second proposal is due Saturday. I have written a draft, but hope to make it far more compelling, using quotes from his works.

Today I was distracted by other concerns, an e-mail to Joanne which was too long and in which I sent her a few Merton quotes that I find meaningful.

Bottom line, while I meant to spend the day reading, it was five o'clock and I had not begun the book.

The sun was setting, but I set off in my long black wool coat, red scarf, red hat, red gloves, red boots, with my satchel over my shoulder (containing my laptop and this thick volume) and headed downtown.

The air felt nearly solid, it was so cold, especially after I passed over the Thames on the pedestrian bridge. The river is beginning to freeze. Ice starts at the sides of the fork and works inward.

Past the snow covered park and barren trees, but the Christmas lights are up downtown and in front of Covent Garden Market, so it is quite cheery.

I passed through the market and bought a New York Times, even though I am used to reading it on-line and just last week finally gave in and paid for Times Select so I can read the Op-Eds.

Just about ten days ago I was wishing that stand sold the Times. Until a week ago, it sold only the London Free Press and the Globe and Mail. So when I passed by and saw the Times yesterday, it felt like a small miracle, like a wish answered. I think it is an omen of other wishes - more important wishes - to be answered, such as my wish to be of real service.

The market is a beautiful place full of flowers and wonderful food. Shoppers and workers from downtown come and sit at the many small tables, drink coffee, read the paper, get a bite to eat. It always looks wonderful to me in there, but now it is filled with festive Christmas displays.

Whenever I walk inside the market, I feel a sense of wonder that I am living here, in London, that I get to walk downtown every day if I choose and that the people around me, for the most part, are in a good mood. On weekends musicians deck the market and downtown streets like small bells. You pass in and out of range of sax, trumpet, guitar and drums. I love the street musicians. They are so brave to stand out there, playing on faith that they will be rewarded for lifting the moods of passersby.

It is such a wonder to walk in such plenty, but not simply plenty, in a boutique atmosphere that is attractive and welcoming and safe. I think of the contrast between my life and that of those who live in Iraq, specifically, in Baghdad where there is intermittent electricity (and this is a new development - before there was none), ugliness, suicide bombers, an occupation of troops on top of a lack of jobs, infrastructure and even food.

God, how did I get so lucky to be here and be safe? I am so grateful.

So I walked to the Starbucks on Dundas and, of course, they are familiar with me there, it is my "home away from home" where, oddly enough, I seem to often concentrate better, amidst the hub bub and music, than I can at home in silence.

Except at night. I like the silence of sitting at my desk at night which is why I am so prone to staying up too late.

So I read and took notes for nearly five hours. I walked home after ten. Young men were playing hockey on the ice rink in front of the Market. Holiday lights shone bright. As I walked high above the river, a goose honked from somewhere in the distance. How they stay here and sleep with their feet in that icy water, I don't understand.

But then I have grown so soft, so concerned with comfort over the years. I realize I've run from experiencing extremes. Still I'm walking in the bitter weather, not driving. I think I'm tired of being a wimp. Maybe that's why I'm in Canada in winter. To learn that constantly seeking comfort is not what life is really supposed to be about.

Still, it was good to come upon our cheery looking house decorated with Christmas lights, to step in to the warmth, to make a cup of tea.

I am only to page 176. I promised I would get to 220 tonight and finish tomorrow.

I wish I had photos to post. Maybe after Saturday I'll take time to snap a few.

I better resume my reading. I will say that Thomas Merton's Seven Storey Mountain reads like a brilliant novel. But it was his life.

I will leave you with the beginning of a prayer he wrote:

Today, Father, this blue sky lauds you.
The delicate green and orange flowers of the tulip tree praise you.
The distant blue hills praise you, together with the sweet smelling air
that is full of brilliant light.

The bickering flycatchers praise you with the lowing cattle
and the quails that whistle there.