Bye, Bye, Berlin

It's so easy to stumble into a cafe on every corner in this place. I have done just that most days with journal in hand becoming a regular at the Kaffee KATHE named for famed neighborhood sculptor, Kathe Kollwitz. She lived on this street during the old days and ways. Her works represented the common folk who were poor both in means and in spirit. A huge self-portrait bronze sculpture overlooks the ping pong tables in the Kollwitzplatz park where children gather day and evening with their families who as most people in the neighborhood seem to be of upper middle class. Kathe would not recognize the place. It's easy to forget the troubles of the world when life is good.

Artists and writers are often the ones to draw us back to the issues that weigh on the shoulders of so many. We each have a share in that burden given the givens of our times: poverty/wealth disparity, climate crisis, political strife, to name but a few. It's easy to look the other way while downing a cappuccino on a lovely summer day (the past month has been spring-like). Kathe must have known this typical summertime weather even while she worked diligently to drive home a point for those who worked to merely survive. Tons of bronze vis a vis the lightness of being on today's breezy Kollwitzstrasse is a perfect metaphor for our times.

Looking the other way is an ancient story. The Greek myth tells of Atlas looking the other way while Zeus loaded the world onto his shoulders. From that moment Atlas had no choice, he was forever to bear the burden, literally, of carrying the world on his shoulders. When there is no escape, no exit ramp, looking the other way is not an option. We all know this instinctively, but, it's easy to look the other way, nevertheless.

When I decided to write this blog from Berlin to look at my place in the world from another place in the world, I didn't have any idea what might come of it. The weekly missives have given me a brief reflection before returning home. Now that I have completely emerged from my COVID cocoon, I know I cannot go back into its coziness. It took a lot to come out of the quiet safetiness I had found there during those three years. I had been reticent about embarking on a first international trip after so many months at home. It was a "now or never" moment. No regrets now as I say bye to Berlin.

It's easy to look away towards home. It's not so easy to look away from the people in the neighborhood whose lives I have intersected with daily. I see the women here working in their self-owned shops, like the two millennials who told me in perfect English that during COVID they made new choices to take their talents into the community as a seamstress and leather designer of the most beautiful bags this side of Italy! And, the unforgettable Lisa below, who added an extra apple strudel to my market bag as a gift when we said good-bye and took a photo standing outside her stall in a thunderstorm. Then, the cafe women who smiled at me with a friendly "Guten Tag" never seeming to mind how long I sat writing this blog. They are all part of the story that belongs to Berlin. Each of these women, around my daughter's age, carries a weight that Kathe would speak to if she were here today: It's not easy to be a woman in the world whether in Berlin or the US. It never has been easy.

My mother worked as a "mill girl" in harsh factory conditions at the weaving loom fifteen hours a day when she was a teen. Her mother, my name sake, Marie Laure, bore fifteen children, one of them on a train trip while emigrating from her homeland of Quebec. My 1960's life opened opportunities that neither had, yet, as I approach seventy years, I am witnessing those hard won rights fought over three generations disappearing for my granddaughters in their early twenties. It is not easy to look the other way when it comes close to home.

Returning home means more to me than changing location. I have changed, too. I am no longer the activist I once was, partly because there is too much violence in a country where guns outnumber people! But, as Kathe Kollwitz and many others knew, there is another way: "The pen is mightier than the sword". I'll not put down my blog pen when I return, and I expect to be a voice that speaks for those who feel weighed down by the world. This blog will have to go beyond the comfort of my website to speak truth to power. I'll take that risk. I hope that as a reader, you will add your comments to the blogs that will be shared in a larger community. It's easy not to, but please do.

Auf Weidersehen, for now.

Kryptonite

One of these days I will have to go back to the "state" of Florida where I will not only encounter the heat, but the hotbed of politics.

Whenever I have picked up an international newspaper here, it never fails that there is a story about the latest law imposed by the Governor. Today, three of my beloved New England states where immigrants live are no longer validated to drive in Florida since DeSantis slapped a new law on their licenses in HIS state. Meanwhile, another Florida resident, and DeSantis' only viable opponent in a run for the Presidency, faces state and federal law suits while simultaneously campaigning to consolidate powers of the presidency. He'll get away with it if we are not careful! (See NYT, July 17).

So now what? Where to live? The favored choices are either burning up or drowning under deluges of rising rivers. No place to run! To live as I have these past several weeks in a new place, requires accepting limitations in language, on connections with loved ones and abiding by those laws of leaders in the adopted country. An Englishman said to me: "America IS already Great! Always has been." Most of the Germans I have encountered in my multicultural neighborhood when learning that I am an American, smile and say, "Have a nice day!" I see a yellow smiley face behind their words. They do not say, America is Great. They know a thing or two that we Americans have yet to learn about power.

There is a long through line in German history that started with the Prussian Empire and continues into the twenty-first century. It can be summarized succinctly in the the stories of Schonhausen Schloss ( The Beautiful Palace) in the photo. It was built as the summer palace for Frederick the Great's wife, Elizabeth Christine, as part of their arranged marriage. He lived in the City Palace in Berlin. The two were seen together there for official state gatherings, but never at the summer palace which Frederick did not frequent. It was, however, full of invited guests, mostly women, during the fifty years while Elizabeth was alive. Afterward, during the Nazi reign it became a store house for what was called "degenerate" art, or more factually, confiscated art from those people sent away by Hitler. After his suicide, the German people were separated by that infamous Wall between East and West until 1989. The Palace, like many of the great art museums, was in the East. At that time, it became the residence and office of the President of the German Democratic Republic. He continued to add to the palace's guest list. These names are on the short list of those who were invited and stayed in the guestroom: Brezhnev, Castro, Gaddafi, Arafat, Ceaucescu, and lastly in 1989 before the Wall was torn down, Gorbachev and his wife, unlike Frederick and his. With that the through line concludes and reunification begins.

I wandered the beautiful gardens wondering what might have been discussed in those rooms between the East German President and those terrorist dictators? It sends shivers just to imagine them meeting, let alone their conversations.

The palace is outside downtown Berlin far from public view. The surrounding buildings were offices for the GDR, and included many more guest rooms. None of these buildings or the palace were bombed in World War II because they were out of range, as were those nefarious characters who gathered there years later. No records exist, as far as I know, detailing those meetings, even as the current museum prominently displays a scroll of names dating back decades. The powerful prevailed throughout this long story line. Germans know what we Americans are coming to learn about power.

In the meantime, and it is a very "mean" time, back in Florida, power is on the front burner. When DeSantis won his first term as Governor, his earliest legislation was in favor of protecting the Everglades. I thought then, he deserved a chance. That was before the power of the presidency grabbed him and his wife, "Cruella" ( DeVille) DeSantis, one of Disney's most infamous female characters, by the throat. Speaking of the hand that feeds many, many people in HIS state, Disney threw down the gauntlet over another law DeSantis created restricting gay rights. That list of restrictive laws has grown to be as long as the list of dictators named on the scroll.

There seems to be no end when going down that road to power, that is until something unexpected shuts it down, like people tearing down a wall one night! Power looks indestructible, but there are always weaknesses to be found.

One sculpture that stood out to me in the vast museum collections owned by Germany, is of Achilles, the famed mythological warrior. We all know the story and refer to weaknesses in a person as their "Achilles heel" alluding to the hero's demise. I circled that perfectly built marble sculpture of Achilles holding his shield and wearing a helmet. I looked to see that heel at the end of his raised leg . . . the foot was gone! It didn't end well for Achilles and we can hold that thought as we move ahead in our own power struggles knowing everyone has a weakness.

For every threat barked out by powerful men du jour, there is a vulnerability waiting to be discovered. DeSantis' will be discovered most likely by his biggest nemesis, then HIS story will become just another footnote.

Serendipity Times Two

Coming face to face with two women this week reminded me of my own words shared in a talk in late June at the Julian Center in Norwich, UK. That talk is the reason I traveled abroad, or so I thought. The first face I saw "across a crowded room" looked out at me from a painting in one of the many museums in Berlin. In fact, this particular museum was the one I most wanted to visit to see the works of Caravaggio, Donatello, Durer, and Rembrandt's "Jacob Wrestling with the Angel" which I had expected to see in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. So, I thought of this as a second chance. When I found the spot where it would have hung, all that was visible was an outline darkened over time against a pale blue wall. The painting was in a traveling exhibit as were most of the others I had planned to see. What I hadn't expected to see was a woman in a 14th century "winged bonnet" who looked completely familiar to me. When she caught my eye, I said out loud: "It's Julian!" I walked directly across the large room to the one painting at eye level, not often the case from my height of five feet. Unmistakably this was the face I had come to know from the book cover "Revelations of Divine Love". This very face was etched in my mind as Julian herself. Now, I had found her hanging around this museum as if she were waiting for me to show up someday. I stood a long time staring at her while trying to recall the exact book cover details on my desk in my study at home in Florida. The painting's title was not Julian of Norwich, but "Frau in winged bonnet", 14th century. I looked on Amazon to see that book cover, and sure enough that same smiling face was right before my very eyes! I knew that serendipity had brought me here in the same way it had brought me to Julian's 14th century anchorage in Norwich twice in four years. My own words came to mind: . . ."That's the way serendipity plays out in our life stories . . .allowing us to consider the Unseen." The circle felt complete in our coming face to face. How serendipity affects our lives is as mystical as the 14th century mystic herself.

Within days, another encounter stirred serendipity yet again. Readers may remember that I wrote about meeting a young woman selling strudel at the Farmer's Market. One comment on that blog was that this woman would be long remembered. Yesterday, when she greeted me, she said she had told her friends about meeting "a cute couple" from Florida who were spending time in her old neighborhood. I told her that I had written about her in my travel blog. Then, a most mysterious moment happened between us: Quite innocently, I asked, "What's your name?" "Lisa" she replied. Pointing to myself, I said my name is "Charlene". Her crystal blue eyes grew large. "My mother wanted to name me Charlene! I have never met anyone before now with that name." She extended her hand and said: "Nice to meet you." It was as surreal as the encounter with the painting! It seems like both women had been expecting me! How can this be? Some things defy explanation while creating links between people and places across time. These two recent events so very close in time couldn't have been planned. Together they seem more mystical somehow. Was I meant to be here at this very moment so that I could come face to face with two women who have been in this one place all this time? I believe so.

TIME, my friends, is not linear it is mystical. We are on that "carrousel of time" that Joni Mitchell sang about in her song "The Circle Game"* when I serendipitously encountered her in my twenties and was too young to really understand. But, there she was strumming her song in a near empty stadium at Berkeley College when I happened upon her on an ordinary Saturday afternoon. That moment lingers and found its way into this writing some forty years hence. I wondered why I had thought of her song before recalling that long ago travel encounter with someone who would go on from this moment in her own young life to become that icon we know today. To this day, I still do not understand, but I do believe that those connections that seem to come from "out of the blue" are nothing less than moments that are truly meant to be.

This seems like the auspicious time to share my Julian of Norwich talk with you.

June 18, 2023

Bending Time

Good afternoon . . . thank you for the lovely introduction and to all of you for coming today.

My book, Return from Exile, is the second in my “Serendipity Series”, so called for the way moments of serendipity come as a surprise to us in the midst of our daily lives. These unexpected threads that connect us one to another create a series of “what ifs” in our minds. Exactly three years ago, I sat in Julian’s anchorage as a solo pilgrim. What if, a year earlier, my flight from the U.S. had not been canceled by unexpected tornadoes and I had come as originally planned that summer? Everything would have been different. There is no way to know how, but I know that certain “chance” meetings that seemed to “just happen” could not have been foreseen when that flight was grounded.

Consider the following episode which I have played over and over in my mind and have written into my story:

What if when I arrived in London a year later, I had gone straight to the British Library that Saturday morning as I had planned?

What if I had not gone first to the St. Pancras station to pick up my train ticket to Norwich while on my way to the Library?

What if two women arriving by train into that station, that morning, at that time, had gone out a different exit?

What if I had gone out the other exit?

What if in that one brief moment standing side by side on a street corner I had not overheard them puzzling over directions to the Library?

What if I had not turned to them to say that the Library was up ahead on the right?

What if one or the other of us while crossing the street had not spoken the name “Julian of Norwich”?

What if we had never met? Would they be here today? I wonder.

That’s the way serendipity plays in our life stories, or at least through the serendipitous lens with which stories may be seen allowing us to consider the Unseen.

My colleague, Sarah Law and I have our own story of connecting from afar, that we will share with you during our conversation. She and The Friends of Julian graciously allowed me to choose the date for this event and serendipity struck again: In choosing this date, I was unaware that it was Father’s Day, and that 2023 marks the 60th anniversary of my beloved father’s passing, just as it marks the 650th of Julian’s Divine revelations. It got me thinking how these connections between souls suspend time whether for 60 or 650 years.

Once upon a time, Julian was no different than you or I sitting here. But, now, she and all of us are soulfully connected on the continuum of time.

Are we bending time?

By breaking through traditional time, Julian proves that time is not linear, but mystical. While she is fixed in time as she once was within her anchorage, she is not fixed to only her time in the 14th century. Otherwise, why would we be here today to celebrate Julian’s visions that ultimately changed her life and have touched ours across time?

Consider just for a moment, Julian in her anchorage, writing day after day, trying to understand what it all meant, that she, a self described “lowly, unlettered woman” should have been shown such mystical things.

What if Julian were physically sitting among us, or at the anchorage window? What a thought! What would we ask her? What might she ask us?

Twice now, within three years, and following one failed attempt, I have traveled a great distance to sit with her in the anchorage, the room where she chose to live out her life. I have heard that some people who live much nearer never do.

Why then should I?

That might be the question Julian would ask me! I have tried to answer it for myself. The answer is not so simple. It is all wrapped up in the mystery of soulful connections: me to you, you to me, her to us. Somehow, Julian seems to be bringing us together once, and for all, and forever.

Our encounters not only feel timeless but are timeless, just as Julian herself.

During the “pandemic pause,” which is analogous in so many ways with Julian’s plagues, the days of the week became blurred: Is it Sunday? Tuesday? Did it matter?

I came to think of everyday as Tuesday because I had always thought of Tuesday as the day of the week without expectations. It simply IS.

I am trying to be like Tuesday on what feels like an auspicious occasion. If today were just an ordinary Tuesday, we could all just have “tea and cakes” and go home. But, our coming together to remember the Divine revelations of a woman whose words called me from across an ocean and you to come here today from near and far, seven centuries notwithstanding, is anything but ordinary.

What if we are not simply sharing stories and “tea and cakes”?

What if each one of us came here today, some of us meeting, once again, because we were brought here for such a time as this?

What if all the serendipity that opened the way for us is a tangible expression of Divine Love?

In conclusion,

Today is not Tuesday. It is Sunday, and Father’s Day, and, clearly, the auspicious time for us to have come together.

It begs a bigger question that we might ask ourselves, and the one that I would ask Julian which she herself asked of God: Why me?

Some of those answers may be found in reading my book. I say some because I can honestly say that I wrote the book to find the answer that still seems somewhat elusive to me.

The answer for Julian came after fifteen years of waiting and longing within her ENCLOSED CELL without clearly knowing why! But what’s another fifteen years when compared with 60 or 650? What’s “fifteen years and more” when the answer that came was timeless? What’s fifteen years when she delivered a universal message that has outlived her and reaches us as if no time has passed?

I begin my book where Julian ends hers, with these words in her 86th chapter of the Long Text:

“And from the time that this was shown, I often longed to know what our Lord meant. And fifteen years and more later my spiritual understanding received an answer, which was this:

‘Do you want to know what your Lord meant? Know well that love was what he meant. Who showed you this? Love. What did he show? Love. Why did he show it to you? For love.”

While preparing for this talk, I serendipitously came across the following quote. “Love is made up of time. Love is an attempt to make of the instant, an eternity.” (Octavio Paz)

*jonimitchell.com