It really is. I know not a lot of people think about stuff like this, but I do.
Today I put up a video of the presentation I gave to a couple of audiences on the subject over the past couple weeks. The video isn’t perfect even though I recorded it quite a few times. I wanted to do it one more time but Tom convinced me that it’s better with all the mistakes. “It’s more human,” he said. Good point. It’s not AI.
So, the presenatation is an exploration of the metaphor of the caterpillar dissolving into soup in order to become a butterfly, offering tools and understandings for navigating the liminal realms into which humanity seems to be dissolving.
It runs about 45 minutes. Take a look and tell me what you think.
Early this morning, at about 4:30, I was woken by a dream.
Someone is knocking at the door. I know it’s still night and at first I resist answering. The knocking persists, so at last I get up and go downstairs. At the door is the UPS man who shows up periodically in my dreams. He’s in this one, for example: https://eveneuhaus.com/2017/04/22/the-changing-room/) In the new dream, he hands me a soft package wrapped in white paper.
When I unwrap it, I see that it’s a fairy godmother dress, complete with folding wings. I am delighted.
As I wake up, my inner eyes still on the sparkling costume, I realize that I’d been blessed with another gift from Alice O. Howell, the third powerful vision she’s blessed me with.
The first came in a dream too, the night before I had my first of our long interchange of e-mails, talks on Skype, and occasional visits. In that dream, the central image was a telescope or kaleidoscope that I found in my pocket unexpectedly. When I looked into it, my own eye looked back.
The second was a vision in a meditation a couple days after she passed. In it, she was flying back and forth past me merrily, calling out “Look! I’ve left that troublesome body!”
And now she sends me a fairy godmother costume right when I need one. Oh my goodness, I am grateful beyond words.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been busy preparing my talk for the Seekers Compass on November 16. Deadlines suit me. I like to work intensively on a project, and I have been working very intensively on this one. Day and night.
The talk is titled “Everyday Magic- synchronicity, symbols, and in-sight.” I gave it the name before I had any real idea about what I’d be saying, but I trust my intuition in matters like this. I planned to began the research by looking up the word “synchronicity.” I wanted to now what people are saying about it now.
I was off. I spent at least a couple of weeks down that rabbit hole.
Somewhere along the way, an app for recording and analyzing dreams, Temenos, was recommended. I downloaded it and immediately began having a series of dreams related, not surprisingly, to my upcoming talk. Using the voice recorder is much easier than writing down dreams. And, as these things go, the more you pay attention to your dreams, the more you remember them.
Weeks pass. I begin an outline of my talk but it’s uninspired. I start over, this time using images. Since it’s an online presentation, I pull up Keynote, which I haven’t used for many years, and start to play with it. As those of you close to me know, I’ve always been drawn to computer technology. It runs in my family. Alice gave me permission to love it when she explained that the waves of the symbol of Aquarius are energy waves, not water waves. Aquarius is an air sign. She eagerly embraced electronic communication.
The images I came up with soon coalesced into a detailed breakdown of the diagram Ganesh Baba drew for me on a paper napkin in a diner in Watkins Glen, New York, in 1979, the first full day I spent with him. It’s a diagram of the cosmos. At the time that he drew it for me and pounded the numerology associated with it into my head, we thought we only had that time together, so there was a strong sense of urgency. “This is your work,” he told me. Study it, remember it, and pass it on.
Ganesh Baba the day we went to Watkins Glen
It took me about two weeks to get an explanation of his diagram into images and language that I hope will be intelligible. Yesterday afternoon I decided that part of my presentation was finished.
When I went to bed I asked for a dream to guide the rest of my presentation, which is, after all, about Everyday Magic: Synchronicity, Symbols, and In-Sight.
I got a Fairy Godmother costume from Alice.
To top it off, I had a related vision about it in my meditation this morning, but I think I’ll save that for the talk itself.
Now I’m off to work on that presentation again, feeling very grateful indeed.
Look! I’m doing an online presentation that you can sign up for using the link on the picture. It’s an extension of the ponderings I’ve been doing on my blog in recent months. See you there?
Type the word “magic” into the search on my blog to get an idea of what I’ll be talking about.
Use the link at the bottom of the description to sign up.
This seems like the right day to share the Rosh Hashanah section of Underground, the second volume of Two Suitcases, which is currently being considered by agents.
May the new year bring you many moments of joy and small delights. May we all find the courage to stand up for our neighbors, the strength to resist instead of bending to dark forces, and the flexibility to let go and move on when it’s necessary.
And, even in the dark times, let there be singing. (paraphrase of Bertolt Brecht)
Shana Tova.
UNDERGROUND
Chapter 26
THE NUREMBERG LAWS
September 16, 1935
10 am
Basel
Emil picks up a copy of the Der Bund at a kiosk before boarding the morning train to Vienna. If all goes well, he’ll arrive in time for the festive meal his mother will have ready at sunset to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.
Seated by a window, he reads the headlines about some laws that were announced the day before at the Nazi Party rally in Nuremberg.
ANTI-JEWISH LAWS PASSED IN GERMANY
Non-Aryans deprived of Citizenship and Right to Marry
Hitler warns that Provocative Acts will draw Reprisals
Two laws have been enacted, the Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honor, and the Reich Citizenship Law.
The first of them bans marriage between Jews and non-Jewish Germans, criminalizes sexual relations between them, and prohibits Jews from employing German women under the age of 45 as maids.
The second defines who the first law applies to. Only individuals of “German or kindred blood” can now be citizens of Germany. Jews are relegated to the status of “subjects of the state.” The new law defines a Jew as anyone with three or more Jewish-born grandparents, including converts to Christianity and children and grandchildren of such converts.
Emil expected the news to be bad but he’s still shocked to see the prohibitions in black and white. Between his regular features, his red hair, and his apparent disinterest in religion and politics, Emil is rarely identified as a Jew, and, to be honest, he rarely identifies himself as one. The Swiss people with whom he works assume he’s a Catholic Austrian, and he hasn’t disabused them. But this news from Germany shakes him to the core. He wouldn’t be safe in Germany, and if Germany takes over Austria, of which there is talk, his family will not be safe in Austria.
What a blow to Jews, particularly on the eve of the most holy days of the year, he thinks. Rosh Hashanah begins that night and will be celebrated for two days. A week later comes the day of atonement, Yom Kippur, when Jews fast, the most sacred ritual of the year. He puts the newspaper down and closes his eyes. It’s good that he’s on his way home—he wants to be with his family.
In the seat behind Emil, two businessmen, one Swiss and one Austrian, are talking.
“They’ve changed the flag in Germany, did you see that?” says the Swiss.
“No, to the Swastika?”
“Yes, on a red background. It doesn’t surprise me. Hitler says his Reich will last a thousand years, so naturally he would put his own flag in place.”
The Austrian is nonplussed. “I read that they’ve formally downgraded the Jews to non-citizens. Not a bad idea, if you ask me. They’re not so much of a problem in Switzerland, but in Germany—and in my own country—the Jews have had far too much power for too long.”
“In what way?”
“In the universities, for a start, and in banking, of course, but it’s far more than that. For years, the Jews in Vienna have controlled the discourse. They’ve set the tone for what people think! They decide what’s good and what’s bad. That’s the real reason the Germans are smart to do what they’re doing.”
The Swiss man isn’t convinced. “I don’t buy it. Why would a strong, intelligent people like the Austrians let that happen?”
“I’m sure if they knew it was happening they wouldn’t have agreed to it. But the Jews are sneaky, and they have international connections that quietly help get them into positions of power.”
“I’ve heard those arguments before, but I don’t understand why it should be true in Germany and Austria, but not in Switzerland.”
The Austrian man’s lip curls. “It is, my friend. You and your countrymen choose not to see it.”
Emil shudders.
* * *
Leopoldstadt
A few hours later
Emil puts his suitcase down on front of his parents’ door, and takes in the enticing smell of his mother’s cholent filling the hallway. The savory bean stew with bits of meat and potatoes has always been his favorite. This is the first time he’s been home since April, almost half a year, and the smell of the cholent makes him happy he came. He just hopes he won’t find his parents, Ottilie and Richard, in exactly the same positions in which he left them, his mother chattering nervously in the kitchen, his father slouching in his chair, ignoring her.
In fact, when his father opens the door, Ottilie is busy in the kitchen and the state of the living room indicates that Richard had just risen from his chair when Emil rang the doorbell. But things have changed. The place is much cleaner. The untidy piles of newspapers on the dining room table have been replaced with a tablecloth.
An hour later, as Ottilie is putting out place settings, the doorbell rings again.
“Tante Stefi! Nathan!” Emil is pleased to greet his mother’s sister and her son, his cousin Nathan. “I didn’t expect to see you!”
“We couldn’t stay away from you forever,” Stefi says, patting Emil’s cheek as if he were a small child. “No matter what your father did.”
“Mutti! You promised not to make remarks like that!” Nathan, nine years younger than Emil, will be entering university this fall if Emil’s calculations are right. The cousins haven’t seen each other since the bank failure five years ago, when Richard’s part in the mismanagement of the Creditanstalt Bank led to its collapse, and took Ottilie’s family fortune—and that of many other Jewish depositors—with it. The scandal had split the family, with Stefi’s husband refusing to speak to Richard since then. Nathan was a child at the time. Now he’s almost a man.
Richard speaks up, a false heartiness making his voice too loud. “Welcome, welcome! L’Shana Tova!”
New Year’s greetings are shared all around, the guests’ coats hung on the coat tree, and the family makes themselves comfortable around the table. The men put on their yarmulkes and Emil’s father, his tallit, or prayer shawl.
Ottilie emerges from the kitchen to light the candles and say the opening blessing, and Richard follows by blessing the wine. The blessing of the Challah, a beautifully braided loaf of bread glistening with egg wash, fresh from the oven, is next.
As everyone takes a piece of the bread and dips it into honey to celebrate the sweetness of life, Emil comments,
“Not such a happy new year for the Jews in Germany.”
Bread and honey in their mouths, no one says a word.
Next, slices of apples are dipped in the honey, and Emil smiles along with everyone else as the blessing is chanted and wishes for a sweet new year are exchanged. Carp in sulz, fish in cold jellied broth, is the next course.
Between the prayers and the sharing of ritual foods, the family catches up on the news. Nathan will not be attending university although he has been preparing for it for years. Instead, he will be a clerk in the bookshop owned by one of his father’s cousins. No one asks why his father isn’t there—they all know he blames Richard for the whole family’s financial difficulties.
Then the real meal begins. Ottilie brings everyone some homemade chicken broth with two matzo balls in each bowl.
Stefi is surprised. “Matzo balls! But it’s Rosh Hashanah, not Pesach!”
“It isn’t so often I have my whole family here,” Ottilie says. “I made all of Emil’s favorites. I want to lure him back to Vienna!”
Emil smiles at her. “So far, so good.”
Three more times through the long meal he tries to talk about the Nuremberg Laws, and three more times he’s shut down by one or more of his relatives.
Chapter 27
MAKING AMENDS
September 17, 1935
late morning
Café Josef Weiss and Café Central
After the morning service at the synagogue, Leo and Felix walk over to their regular café, where they find Anna, Max, and Hugo standing beside the locked door.
“I guess they don’t work on the Jewish holidays either,” Anna says. “But why don’t we go somewhere else? I’m sure the cafés in the Inner City are all open.”
So it is that most of the group is at Café Central when Emil walks in. Warm greetings are exchanged and Emil joins them at their table.
“So,” Felix says, “who went to synagogue this morning?”
“I did,” says Emil. “The singing was outstanding. There’s a new cantor at my family’s temple.”
Leo looks around the circle, his head cocked. “Nobody else? Yet none of us went to work.” He raises his bushy eyebrows. “Felix and I went with the family. I enjoyed the music too—the fellow who blew the shofar did a particularly impressive job—but it was the rabbi’s talk that will stay with me.”
“And so?” asks Hugo.
“He brought up a tradition that I had either forgotten or isn’t often followed. In the eight days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, it is our responsibility to make amends.”
Anna interrupts. “We all know that. It’s nothing new.”
“But this rabbi suggested that we take the project much more seriously, that we go and knock on the doors of the people we may have wronged, and apologize face to face,” Leo says.
His brother adds, “I think it’s a good idea. I’m planning to do it. Is anyone else up for the challenge?” He lights a cigarette and looks at each of the others questioningly.
“It’s not for me,” Max says. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance that my apology wouldn’t be accepted. I could have a big argument on my hands.”
Anna thinks for a moment and then says, “I think it’s a very good idea. It’s excellent psychology. Everyone feels better after Yom Kippur because you get rid of whatever guilt you were feeling. Confession in Catholic Church does the same thing. Taking the trouble to face the people you may have hurt or caused problems for makes a big difference to everyone involved. I’m in, even though I almost never take religious customs seriously.”
“Really?” says Max, incredulous. “You are my sister Anna, aren’t you? And not her long-lost twin?”
Anna scoffs.
Max turns to the others. “Have any of you ever heard my sister apologize to anybody about anything?”
A ripple of laughter spreads around the table. Emil raises one finger. “I have.” He looks at Anna. “We were walking in the Heiligenstädter Park, arguing.” He crooks an eyebrow at Anna as if to say, do you remember? “I was defending Karl Lueger, the Christian Socialist mayor who built so much of Vienna’s infrastructure, and you were rightly calling him a populist and an anti-Semite. I said it didn’t matter, the city was better because of what he did, no matter what his politics were. The argument ended when you apologized, as I recall, and admitted I was right.”
“That is certainly not how I remember it!” cries Anna, dark eyes flashing. “As I recall, we came to the end of the park and I said, ‘Let’s not argue anymore—let’s talk about something else.’”
Emil looks down his nose. “I don’t think so. But let me be the one to say ‘let’s not argue’ this time. And let me apologize for remembering the incident differently.”
“No,” says Hugo thoughtfully, “I don’t think that’s the kind of apology the rabbi meant. As my mother used to say, apology is cheap currency. It’s easy to apologize without meaning it because it doesn’t cost anything.”
Emil is surprised. “But I’m genuinely sorry, Hugo. It doesn’t count if you haven’t stewed on the offense first?”
Felix answers. “Emil is right, Hugo. Both kinds of apologies are effective so long as they’re sincere.”
Anna doesn’t give anyone else the chance to respond. “But apologies can also be used to get one’s way! Willi is a master of it!” She grimaces, thinking of the little boy she’s caring for. “He does something truly terrible, like hitting another boy,” she throws up her hands in frustration, “and then he apologizes to the other child—and to us, and his teachers, and to the injured child’s parents—and it all sounds perfectly sincere! He looks like he really means it.”
“He’s learned how to put on exactly the right face,” agrees Hugo. “In fact, he can be so believable that I’m taken in every time. I think he’s making sincere promises, from the bottom of his tough little heart, and I give him another chance.” He snorts, blowing cigarette smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
Anna continues, “But afterwards he can never manage to keep up the good behavior, no matter what his intention is. He always slides back. Poor Willi.” She sighs. “He’s only 10.”
Of the five men at the table, only Hugo looks at Anna sympathetically.
Emil is admiring the line of her chin and her high cheekbones. He finds her especially attractive when she’s passionate.
Max is fuming silently. In his book, Anna is sharing one more reason why Willi needs to move on.
“So, is Anna the only one taking up the challenge, then? Is it just the two of us? Leo?” asks Felix after a pause.
In the end, Max is the only one who doesn’t agree to make amends that week.
As they get up to leave, Emil and Anna make a date to meet again in two days.
* * *
September 19, 1935
late morning
Café Landtmann, Vienna
Anna arrives at the café 10 minutes early and immediately orders a coffee. She prefers to pay her own way, even though she knows Emil can well afford to pay for them both. The fact that she has barely begun a new job as an office clerk after more than a year of not working doesn’t change how she feels.
As she inhales the scent and sips the coffee very slowly, she notices an older, neatly bearded man talking to a younger man at the next table. Can it be Professor Doctor Freud? It isn’t the first time Anna has seen him—she heard him lecture at the university several times—but that was always from a distance. She listens carefully. If she isn’t mistaken, he and the younger man are talking about cigars.
Doctor Freud lights one and breathes in the smoke contentedly. The younger man speaks.
“Of course you are aware of the recently enacted Nuremberg Laws in Germany, Herr Professor?”
“I am, and I find it most concerning.” The older man moves his jaw in a peculiar way as he speaks.
“Professor, you are Jewish. If Germany were to annex Austria, as Hitler desires, would you go to Palestine, as so many Jews have? I know you stated a few years ago that you didn’t support establishing a Jewish state in Palestine.”
“That’s correct, and I stand by my words. I don’t think that Palestine could ever become a Jewish state, or that the Christian and Islamic worlds would ever be prepared to have their holy places under Jewish care. It would seem more sensible to me to establish a Jewish homeland on less historically-burdened land.”
At that moment, Emil slides into in the chair opposite Anna. She’s was so engaged in Freud’s conversation that she didn’t even notice him entering the café.
“Anna,” he says without greeting her formally, “I want to apologize more fully.” He leans forward, puts his elbows on the table, and looks at her intently, a crooked smile on his face.
She pulls herself away from Freud’s words, and turns to Emil, tipping her head toward the psychologist and discreetly pointing with her finger.
Emil glances at Freud and mouths “Freud?”
She nods “Yes!”
But the moment is gone. The professor and the young man are standing and then moving toward the door.
Emil and Anna sit and talk at the café all morning. He begs her pardon for having acted superior and not always listening to her. She begs his for having gotten angry too quickly and for her own variety of acting superior.
He tells her about some of his eccentric coworkers at Sandoz. She tells him about her boring office job.
“I spend my days sitting in a row with a dozen other women, all of us copying information from hand-written bills of sale into enormous ledgers, and then adding up column after column of numbers,” she says. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it is when the sums don’t come out right. I’m very tempted to leave them wrong.”
Emil raises both eyebrows. Anna continues, “I dislike the old crone in charge of us enough to be glad to get her in trouble, even though in the end, it would be me who’d get fired.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her bag. “Look. This is my boss.” She holds out a caricature of an angry older woman with exaggerated hawk-like features. “One of the other women drew it and gave it to me.” They both chuckle.
“It’s good!” he says. “I can imagine her perfectly.”
They go on to tell old stories, and they laugh until the man who has taken Freud’s table turns around and glares at them.
* * *
Felix and Leo begin the day by apologizing to their mother for all their boyhood antics. The family spends hours reminiscing, hooting with laughter, as one old story leads to another.
* * *
Hugo is shifting from foot to foot impatiently in front of Gert’s door when she returns from work.
“Gert, listen. There’s something I need to tell you. I realized that I take you for granted far too often. I am so sorry.” His words flood out.
Gert smiles a little as she inserts her key in the lock. “My goodness, what brings this on? Come in, come in.”
They sit at her table, and he tells her about the rabbi, and about the agreement between their Jewish friends to take making amends seriously. As he speaks, he realizes there’s more he wants to say. He takes a deep breath.
“I have another apology, too. Our relationship is years old now,” he says. “I should have asked you to marry me a long time ago.” Another breath. He looks down and then up, into her eyes. “Gert, will you marry me?”
Gert grins from ear to ear. “Hugo! Of course! I forgive you everything and yes, I will marry you!”
* * *
Max unpacks two radios and assembles three lamps that morning.
* * *
Later in the week, Emil and Gisi meet for a walk in the Stadtpark. Though they’ve agreed that nothing would change, it has. There’s a new distance between them, a slight hesitation before they begin to speak, more silences between their words.
He tells her about the apologies he made to some of his school friends, one who had completely forgotten the incident Emil was apologizing for, the other who remembered it very well and was surprisingly grateful to Emil for stopping by.
“And Max? “ asks Gisi. “Was he there when you all agreed to carry out this project to make amends? Because I haven’t seen him all week.”
Le vendredi suivant celui où les pierres noires étaient apparues puis avaient disparu, je suis retourné à Emmaüs pour voir si la personne qui les avait emportées chez elle par inadvertance les avait peut-être rapportées.
The day began well with a slow drive—our Ami only goes 45km (28mph)—through the hills, lush green with all the rain, while chatting with a friend, Anu, who’s only in Cordes a short time each year.
La journée a bien commencé par une balade tranquille en voiture – notre Ami ne roule qu’à 45 km/h – à travers les collines verdoyantes après la pluie, tout en discutant avec une amie, Anu, qui ne passe que peu de temps à Cordes chaque année.
It was on our walk to Emmaüs from the car that I made my first mistake. As I was telling Anu about the ephemeral black stones, we passed a woman talking to a couple as she bent over to arrange some white stones in a tray in front of her garage door. We laughed—white stones this week!—and I’m certain I heard the words, “la magie des pierres,” (the magic of stones) but we didn’t stop to hear more.
C’est lors de notre promenade entre Emmaüs et la voiture que j’ai commis ma première erreur. Alors que je parlais à Anu des pierres noires éphémères, nous avons croisé une femme qui discutait avec un couple, penchée pour ranger des pierres blanches dans un plateau devant la porte de son garage. Nous avons ri– des pierres blanches cette semaine !–et je suis certaine d’avoir entendu les mots « la magie des pierres », mais nous ne nous sommes pas arrêtées pour en savoir plus.
Did I pause to hear more? No.
Me suis-je arrêté pour en savoir plus ? Non.
The black stones had not been returned to the store. My round table wasn’t there, not was the small carpet for the upstairs landing.
Les pierres noires n’avaient pas été rapportées au magasin. Ma table ronde n’était pas là, pas plus que le petit tapis destiné au palier à l’étage.
But, in the same place in the kitchen section that I’d found the black stones on the glass candy dish the previous week, I found a brass monkey on a crocodile.
Mais, au même endroit dans la section cuisine où j’avais trouvé les pierres noires sur le plat à bonbons en verre la semaine précédente, j’ai trouvé un singe en laiton sur un crocodile.
“What a treasure!” said the guardian of the kitchen section as she wrapped my 1€ find in newspaper.
« Quel trésor ! » s’exclama la gardienne du rayon cuisine en emballant ma trouvaille à 1 € dans du papier journal.
On our way out of the store, I unwrapped it to show Anu, who, being Indian, immediately recognized that my treasure was from the Panchatantra teaching story, “The Monkey and the Crocodile.” We were talking about that as we passed the tray of white stones, still displayed in front of the garage door.
En sortant du magasin, je l’ai déballé pour le montrer à Anu qui, étant indienne, a immédiatement reconnu que mon trésor provenait du conte pédagogique du Panchatantra, « Le singe et le crocodile ». Nous en parlions en passant devant le plateau de pierres blanches, toujours exposé devant la porte du garage.
Did I stop to take a picture? No.
Est-ce que je me suis arrêté pour prendre une photo ? Non.
When I came home, I looked up the story. Here’s my favorite rendition of it:
Once upon a time, a monkey lived in a tree by a river. The monkey was alone as he had no friends or family but he was happy and content. The tree gave him plenty of sweet jamun fruit to eat. It also gave him shade from the sun and shelter from the rain.
One day, a crocodile was swimming up the river. He climbed on to the bank to rest under the monkey’s tree.
‘Hello,’ called the monkey, who was a friendly animal.
‘Hello,’ replied the crocodile, surprised. ‘Do you know where I can get some food?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t had anything to eat all day and I am hungry.’
Now you might think that the crocodile would want to eat the monkey, but this was a very kind and gentle crocodile and the thought never entered his head.
‘I have lots of fruit in my tree. Would you like to try some?’ said the monkey, who was also very kind.
He threw some jamun fruit down to the crocodile. The crocodile was so hungry that he ate up all the jamuns even though crocodiles don’t usually eat fruit. He loved the sweet tangy fruit and the pink flesh made his tongue turn purple.
‘Come back whenever you want more fruit,’ said the monkey, when the crocodile had eaten all he wanted.
Soon the crocodile was visiting the monkey every day. The two animals became good friends. They would talk, tell each other stories and eat lots of sweet jamuns together.
One day, the crocodile told the monkey about his wife and family.
‘Please take some fruit for your wife as well when you go back today,’ said the monkey.
The crocodile’s wife loved the jamuns. She had never eaten anything so sweet before but she was not as kind and gentle as her husband.
‘Imagine how sweet the monkey would taste as he eats these jamuns every day,’ she said to her husband.
The kind crocodile tried to explain to his wife that he could not possibly eat the monkey.
‘He is my best friend,’ he said.
The crocodile’s greedy wife would not listen. To get her husband to do what she wanted, she pretended to be ill.
‘I am dying and only a sweet monkey’s heart can cure me!’ she cried to her husband. ‘If you love me, you will catch your friend the monkey and let me eat his heart.’
The poor crocodile did not know what to do. He did not want to eat his friend but he could not let his wife die.
At last, he decided what he must do and the next time he visited the monkey he asked him to come to meet his wife as she wanted to thank him in person for the lovely jamun fruit.
The monkey was pleased but said he could not possibly go because he did not know how to swim.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said the crocodile. ‘I’ll carry you on my back.’
The monkey agreed and jumped onto the crocodile’s back.
So the two friends moved out into the deep wide river.
When they were far away from the bank and the jamun tree, the crocodile said, ‘I am so sorry but my wife is very ill and says that the only cure is a monkey’s heart. I am afraid that I have to kill you, although I will miss our talks.’
The monkey thought quickly and said, ‘Dear friend, I am very sorry to hear of your wife’s illness. I am glad that I will be able to help her but I have left my heart behind in the jamun tree. Do you think we could go back so that I can fetch it?’
The crocodile believed the monkey. He turned and swam quickly to the jamun tree. The monkey jumped off his back and climbed into the safety of his tree.
‘I thought you were my friend,’ he called. ‘Don’t you know that we carry our hearts within us? I will never trust you again or give you fruit from my tree. Go away and don’t come back.’
The crocodile felt foolish. He had lost a friend and a supply of good sweet fruit. The monkey had saved himself because he had thought quickly. From that day on, he never trusted crocodiles again.
Quand je suis rentré chez moi, j’ai cherché cette histoire. Voici un lien vers le conte en français :
It took me about a week of asking my French neighbors to learn that putting white stones in front of your house for good luck or to make it welcoming is an old, local custom, and even longer to find an article about it.
Il m’a fallu environ une semaine pour apprendre, en interrogeant mes voisins français, que placer des pierres blanches devant sa maison pour porter chance ou la rendre accueillante est une ancienne coutume locale, et encore plus longtemps pour trouver un article à ce sujet.
“Healing stones in the French countryside: forgotten knowledge
Not so long ago, the French countryside was rich in ancestral knowledge passed down from generation to generation, whispered in hushed tones or through age-old gestures. Among these traditions, the art of healing with stones, known as lithotherapy, held a discreet but essential place in the daily lives of villagers.”
Since learning about the magic of white stones, I’ve noticed how often there’s one white cobblestone on the street in front of houses, or a white stone placed at the corner of a house. I got to know my neighbors better by asking my neighbors about the custom, and I put a couple white stones on my own windowsill, too.
Depuis que j’ai découvert la magie des pierres blanches, j’ai remarqué qu’il y avait souvent un pavé blanc devant les maisons ou une pierre blanche placée au coin d’une maison. J’ai adoré interroger mes voisins sur cette coutume et j’ai moi-même placé deux pierres blanches sur le rebord de ma fenêtre.
So, even though I missed the opportunity to learn the magic of the stones from the woman in Carmaux, and I missed the chance to take a picture there, I did get another good story.
Ainsi, même si j’ai raté l’occasion d’apprendre la magie des pierres auprès de la femme de Carmaux, et même si je n’ai pas pu prendre de photo là-bas, j’ai tout de même obtenu une autre belle histoire.
The moral of the Monkey and the Crocodile and of my own story is similar.
Even though bad things happen, good thinking and smart actions can lead to happy endings.
La morale de l’histoire du singe et du crocodile, et celle de ma propre histoire, est similaire..
Même lorsque des événements malheureux surviennent, une réflexion positive et des actions intelligentes peuvent mener à une issue heureuse.
It makes me want to cry, because really, what more do any of us want?
Read the review, read the book—get it from bookshop.org or through your local bookseller.
The second volume of Two Suitcases, Underground, is moving closer to publication. I’m currently looking for people who’d like to read the manuscript and write me a blurb for the back cover or the inside front pages. If you’re interested, write to me and I’ll send you the first 20 pages. Then if you decide you want to continue, I’ll send you more.
Now I think I’ll reread that review and feel appreciated. What a feeling. I am so very grateful.
La vraie magie : des pierres noires, trois verres à vin et une bonne histoire
For several weeks, I’ve been watching for magic in my life. An explanation is in my post from two weeks ago, Peace, Love, and Magic. The post that follows it, The Queen of Cordes, is an illustration. And since then, my life has been filled with ordinary magic. It seemed as if all I had to do was hear about a problem, and a solution would appear. I found the keys my neighbor lost. I found the right person to care for a friend’s gîte. In record time.
Depuis plusieurs semaines, je suis à l’affût de la magie dans ma vie. L’explication se trouve dans mon billet d’il y a deux semaines, Peace, Love, and Magic. Le billet qui suit, La reine de Cordes, en est l’illustration. Et depuis, ma vie est remplie de magie ordinaire. Il me semblait qu’il suffisait d’entendre parler d’un problème pour qu’une solution apparaisse. J’ai retrouvé les clés que mon voisin avait perdues. J’ai trouvé la bonne personne pour s’occuper du gîte d’un ami. En un temps record.
So naturally, I thought last Friday would be a good day to go to Emmaüs, the best thrift store in the world. (I wrote a story about that too, Emmaüs in Carmaux).
C’est donc tout naturellement que je me suis dit que vendredi dernier serait un bon jour pour aller chez Emmaüs, la meilleure friperie du monde. (J’ai d’ailleurs écrit un article à ce sujet, Emmaüs à Carmaux).
“I feel lucky today,” I told the friend with whom I went to Carmaux. And indeed I was!
« Je me sens chanceux aujourd’hui », ai-je dit à l’ami avec lequel je me suis rendu à Carmaux. Et c’est vrai que j’ai eu de la chance !
Neither the round table nor the small carpet that I’ve been on the lookout for months was there—you don’t go to Emmaüs for specific things in any case—but in the kitchen section, in a heavy glass candy dish, was a collection of polished black stones. There were about twenty of them, different kinds, some that you could hold up to see a glint of light, others opaque, different shapes and sizes but all beautifully polished, ranging from the size of a marble to that of a walnut.
Ni la table ronde ni le petit tapis que je cherchais depuis des mois n’étaient là – on ne va pas chez Emmaüs pour des choses précises de toute façon – mais dans le rayon cuisine, dans un lourd plat à bonbons en verre, se trouvait une collection de pierres noires polies. Il y en avait une vingtaine, de différentes sortes, certaines que l’on pouvait tenir pour voir un reflet de lumière, d’autres opaques, de différentes formes et tailles mais toutes magnifiquement polies, allant de la taille d’une bille à celle d’une noix.
(An AI generated picture of the stones. In real life the shapes were all organic, but I couldn’t figure out how to get rid the geometric ones in this picture. Une image des pierres générée par l’IA. Dans la réalité, les formes étaient toutes organiques, mais je n’ai pas réussi à me débarrasser des formes géométriques dans cette image.)
~
For years, I’ve been collecting black stones to give to people. Somewhere, a long time ago, I read that a black stone will absorb negative energy, particularly the negative energy you pick up from others. A useful tool, no? The trick is to state that you believe the stone can do it—black is absorptive after all—and then to hold the stone in the palm of your hand for a little while, concentrating on it. After a few seconds or minutes, the stone can be set aside. For a while, I was even sewing little sacks to keep the stones in.
Pendant des années, j’ai collectionné des pierres noires pour les offrir aux gens. Quelque part, il y a longtemps, j’ai lu qu’une pierre noire absorbait l’énergie négative, en particulier celle que l’on reçoit des autres. Un outil utile, non ? L’astuce consiste à dire que vous croyez que la pierre peut le faire – le noir est absorbant après tout – puis à tenir la pierre dans la paume de votre main pendant un petit moment, en vous concentrant sur elle. Après quelques secondes ou minutes, la pierre peut être mise de côté. Pendant un certain temps, j’ai même cousu de petits sacs pour y ranger les pierres.
It works. Maybe it works literally—who knows?— but it definitely works psychologically. The act of imagining negative energy being drained from you is enough to change your perspective from being “inside” of the negative state to being “outside” of it, and thus to disempower it.
Cela fonctionne. Peut-être que cela fonctionne littéralement – qui sait ? – mais cela fonctionne certainement sur le plan psychologique. Le fait d’imaginer que l’énergie négative se vide de vous suffit à modifier votre perspective, qui passe de « l’intérieur » de l’état négatif à « l’extérieur », et donc à lui ôter tout pouvoir.
~
When I found so many perfect stones at Emmaüs, I was overwhelmed. It was obvious that finding them was the reason I’d come.
Lorsque j’ai trouvé tant de pierres parfaites chez Emmaüs, j’ai été subjuguée. Il était évident que c’était pour les trouver que j’étais venue.
I took the glass bowl of stones, plus two wine glasses and two dessert plates—one with a cat on it, the other a pretty floral design—to two ladies who are the keepers of the kitchen section.
J’ai apporté le bol de pierres en verre, ainsi que deux verres à vin et deux assiettes à dessert – l’une ornée d’un chat, l’autre d’un joli motif floral – à deux dames qui sont les gardiennes du rayon cuisine.
“I don’t need the glass bowl,” I explained to them, so one of the women wrote up a chit for 1€ for the lot, and the other carefully wrapped the stones in a cone of newspaper. As I went out, the chit in my hand, I saw my wine glasses and plates being wrapped too.
“Je leur ai expliqué que je n’avais pas besoin du bol en verre. L’une des femmes a donc rédigé un bon de 1 euro pour le lot et l’autre a soigneusement emballé les pierres dans un cône de papier journal. En sortant, le chit à la main, j’ai vu que mes verres à vin et mes assiettes étaient également emballés.
Then I went to find my friend. As we walked toward the cashier’s office to pay, she remembered that another friend was looking for a washing machine, and there it was, clean, refurbished, just the right size for our friend’s apartment. After a flurry of texts, arrangements were made for the washer to be delivered on Tuesday.
Puis je suis allée retrouver mon amie. Alors que nous nous dirigions vers la caisse pour payer, elle s’est souvenue qu’une autre amie cherchait une machine à laver, et celle-ci était là, propre, remise à neuf, de la bonne taille pour l’appartement de notre amie. Après une avalanche de textos, des dispositions ont été prises pour que la machine à laver soit livrée le mardi.
I paid my euro and went back to the kitchen section with the receipt and the remaining part of the chit to retrieve my bag of goodies.
J’ai payé mon euro et je suis retourné au rayon cuisine avec le ticket de caisse et le reste du chit pour récupérer mon sac de friandises.
Alas, when the ladies looked, the bag with the other part of my chit stapled to it wasn’t there!
Hélas, lorsque les dames ont regardé, le sac avec l’autre partie de mon chit agrafé n’était pas là !
Apparently it had been given to someone else by mistake. The two women were most apologetic. But what could be done? The other customer was gone.
Apparemment, il avait été donné à quelqu’un d’autre par erreur. Les deux femmes se sont excusées. Mais que faire ? L’autre client était parti.
I chose something else worth a euro—three wine glasses.
J’ai choisi quelque chose d’autre qui valait un euro – trois verres de vin.
~
As magically as those beautiful black stones appeared in my life, they disappeared.
Aussi magiquement que ces belles pierres noires sont apparues dans ma vie, elles ont disparu.
It’s such a delicate thing, magic, so ephemeral. It exists in the liminal space between the world of the physical and literal, and the worlds of thought and imagination, where time and space are transcended. I held those stones in my hands. Now they only exist in my memory.
La magie est une chose si délicate, si éphémère. Elle existe dans l’espace liminaire entre le monde physique et littéral et les mondes de la pensée et de l’imagination, où le temps et l’espace sont transcendés. J’ai tenu ces pierres dans mes mains. Maintenant, elles n’existent plus que dans ma mémoire.
It seemed like my extraordinary streak of good luck was over—until I realized that we’d found a washing machine for our friend, and I’d come home with something, too: three wine glasses and a story.
Il semblait que ma chance extraordinaire était terminée – jusqu’à ce que je réalise que nous avions trouvé une machine à laver pour notre ami, et que j’étais rentré à la maison avec quelque chose, aussi : trois verres à vin et une histoire.
On my way home, I recounted the story to a neighbor who was feeling particularly exhausted. She got it, and I left her smiling.
En rentrant chez moi, je l’ai raconté à une voisine qui se sentait particulièrement épuisée. Elle a compris et je l’ai quittée en souriant.
Last night the storm hit. All day I’d been watching the weather to see if Cordes was likely to be in the path of a small but exceptionally intense storm crossing the south of France. Yes, said the weather forecast, no, said the forecast, yes. By 6 in the evening it was here. In force.
La nuit dernière, la tempête a frappé. Toute la journée, j’ai regardé la météo pour voir si Cordes était susceptible de se trouver sur la trajectoire d’une petite tempête exceptionnellement intense qui traversait le sud de la France. Oui, disait la météo, non, disait la météo, oui. À 18 heures, l’orage était là. En force.
Mocha was frightened in advance, as she often is. When she tried to hide under the chair I was sitting on, she knocked over a full cup of tea. Tom and I were cleaning up the mess—there was tea on books, games, a pillow, the floor, the power strip for all the electronic devices, the chair itself, the side table, and the dog was dripping—as huge gusts of wind and rain tore down the streets and battered the village.
Mocha était effrayée à l’avance, comme elle l’est souvent. En essayant de se cacher sous la chaise sur laquelle j’étais assis, elle a renversé une pleine tasse de thé. Tom et moi étions en train de nettoyer le désordre – il y avait du thé sur des livres, des jeux, un oreiller, le sol, la barre d’alimentation de tous les appareils électroniques, la chaise elle-même, la table d’appoint, et le chien dégoulinait – alors que d’énormes rafales de vent et de pluie déchiraient les rues et frappaient le village.
I didn’t know until morning that the huge linden tree at the Barbacane had fallen.
Je n’ai su qu’au matin que l’énorme tilleul de la Barbacane était tombé.
She had graced the square below the round tower guarding our fortified city for as long as anyone who was standing near me as we listened to the chainsaw cutting her to pieces could remember.
Elle ornait la place située sous la tour ronde qui gardait notre ville fortifiée depuis aussi longtemps que ceux qui se tenaient près de moi alors que nous écoutions la tronçonneuse la découper en morceaux pouvaient s’en souvenir.
Linden trees can be female or male, though their flowers are hermaphroditic. Cordes has several male trees—they’re the ones with the heavenly scent in the late spring—but the one at the Barbacane was female, and ready to drop her seeds. She was perfectly formed, with a beautiful round top that rose above the houses and provided a circle of deep shade.
Les tilleuls peuvent être femelles ou mâles, mais leurs fleurs sont hermaphrodites. Cordes possède plusieurs arbres mâles – ce sont eux qui dégagent un parfum céleste à la fin du printemps – mais celui de la Barbacane était femelle et prêt à laisser tomber ses graines. Il était parfaitement formé, avec une belle cime ronde qui s’élevait au-dessus des maisons et offrait un cercle d’ombre profonde.
After paying homage to her uprooted body, I took a little branch and visited some of the other grand trees pf Cordes. The black locust behind the library seemed very sad to me. So did the horse chestnuts, who are suffering from leaf-miners themselves. But the other lindens seemed the most affected.
Après avoir rendu hommage à son corps déraciné, j’ai pris une petite branche et j’ai visité quelques autres grands arbres de Cordes. Le robinier derrière la bibliothèque m’a semblé bien triste. Il en va de même pour les marronniers d’Inde, qui souffrent eux aussi de la mineuse. Mais les autres tilleuls semblaient les plus touchés.
When I touched the little branch I’d taken from the queen tree to the linden on rue de Colombier, the living tree grabbed hold of the branch of its queen tightly. As I held onto my branch and pulled on it gently, I could feel a vibration running through my body that made me not want to let go either.
Lorsque j’ai touché la petite branche que j’avais prise de l’arbre reine au tilleul de la rue de Colombier, l’arbre vivant s’est agrippé fermement à la branche de sa reine. Alors que je m’accrochais à ma branche et que je tirais doucement dessus, je sentais une vibration parcourir mon corps qui me poussait à ne pas la lâcher non plus.
In ancient Celtic societies, like the Gauls who lived here before the Romans, people gathered to celebrate and dance under linden trees, as well as to hold official meetings to restore peace and justice. The linden tree was believed to preserve the truth. In German mythology, it is the tree of peace and love.
Dans les anciennes sociétés celtiques, comme les Gaulois qui vivaient ici avant les Romains, les gens se réunissaient pour célébrer et danser sous les tilleuls, ainsi que pour tenir des réunions officielles afin de rétablir la paix et la justice. Le tilleul était censé préserver la vérité. Dans la mythologie allemande, il est l’arbre de la paix et de l’amour.
A couple weeks ago, in response to a friend’s distress over the heart-wrenching news, I responded, “Maybe we’re moving from the three dimensional world into the fourth and fifth dimensions.”
I said it lightly—and, sadly, I doubt that my friend was any less upset after I said it—but I do take refuge in the thought. It gives me comfort to imagine that, as the world as we know it becomes less and less sustainable, there’s more out there than meets the eye.
After sending the idea into cyberspace, I spent the week reflecting on how such a shift might unfold. I stopped listening to the news, I focused on internal work, and I reflected on how the 3-D world might intersect with the 4 and 5 dimensional worlds.
It’s an area that’s interested me for as long as I can remember. Even as a child I had extraordinary dreams. I’m prone to synchronicity. I was more at ease in the world of make-believe than in the real world for many years. I love fiction, especially fiction with magical elements. Speculative and science fiction appeals, too, as do the edges of science and philosophy. It’s where I usually go, along with increasing my time in meditation and contemplation, when the world is too much.
So, for a week or so in mid-July, I paid more attention to my posture and my breath, I meditated more, and I tuned into the cosmic hum more often. Instead of the news, I listened to archetypal astrology—Richard Tarnas, Heather Ensworth, and Rick Levine—and I took lots of time for reverie.
In 1969, when the Fifth Dimension told the world about the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, astrologers believed it had already been happening in fits and starts for a long time. And the sun did shine in the late 60’s and early 70’s—for a little while anyway.
A whole generation of kids and young adults valued peace and love over money. I was in my late teens then, and I was completely swept away by hippie values. I still am. It’s heartbreaking that the promise often attributed to Jimi Hendrix, “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace,” hasn’t yet happened.
What astrologers are saying these days is that the transition to the age of Aquarius, which is indeed upon us, involves a major shift in consciousness, a change in essential values, and ultimately, a move from focusing on gathering goods to generating good.
Whether any of us alive on earth today will live long enough to enjoy such a world seems doubtful to me, but I see great value in releasing the expectation that life will return to the state it was in when we grew up. Opening one’s heart and mind to some of the infinite possibilities the future could bring seems like a much better option than hanging onto a vision of reality that’s crumbling into the past.
I love the idea that our perception of the measurable world will soon be enhanced by a greater understanding its more subtle aspects, as well as its place in the greater, less dense whole.
The pull of the three-dimensional world
Imagine my surprise then, when, in the midst of my dedication to exploring higher dimensions, the 3-D world intervened with an invitation to appreciate, if not acquire, a genuine treasure.
Tom had recently come into a small inheritance. At the time, that money wasn’t three dimensional at all—it was some numbers on a screen. It occurred to me that rather than putting it in the bank, we might make it more productive by buying a building here in Cordes-sur-Ciel. Tom could move his little chocolate shop there, and an apartment or two would provide us with some income. I took time out from my reverie to look at what was on the market.
Who knew a magnificent piece of untouched old Cordes just 200 steps from our front door would immediately turn up? Such an opportunity! Unoccupied for 50 years but clean and sound, the owner had maintained it more or less as a memorial to her parents. Embossed wallpaper, plump feather beds, wool mattresses, lace curtains. And an old bakery.
Tom’s shop would go in this room. That’s a kitchen behind it. Perfect.
It is very, very charming, a magical place.
Filled with stuff like this.
And that that ancient bakery!
Of course there are more a few black holes that would need to be dealt with, like the low wooden shelf or seat in the downstairs bathroom that I thought might be a well. When we lifted the top off, layers and layers of newspaper, paint, and rust showered down. No point in looking in.
But it would be possible for someone to live in that house almost as is. Some plumbing would probably have to be done, but the first floor has 25-year old decent wiring and lighting. The bedrooms are delightful as they are, and so is the upstairs bathroom. A temporary kitchen of some sort could be set up, though the old wood and gas cookers, gems themselves, are there.
With tax and fees, the house and bakery would cost roughly 100 000€. Tax is 950€/year. So appealing! I almost couldn’t resist.
The morning after we saw it, however, the weight of the project hit me. We live so lightly now: small house, very small electric car, and everything we need in walking distance.
Why would I even consider taking on a huge stone building, no matter how beautiful it is?? Then I realized how much of my mental and physical energy had already gone into that place over the last three days!
I went back to listening to astrology and contemplating existence outside the confines of time and space.
Beyond the confines of the 3-D World
Einstein identified the fourth dimension as time, already a stretch to envision as a dimension, but the fifth is even harder to understand. Our civilization is so thoroughly engrossed in the gross world of matter that we can barely imagine it. Subtler worlds, if our physical science-based understanding gives them any credence at all, are only very slowly being discovered. Ganesh Baba often pointed to the discovery of electricity when talking about increasing understanding of subtle energies.
On the second day I spent with Ganesh Baba, he drew a diagram on a paper napkin that he told me encapsulated his entire cosmology. In brief, in an endless cycle, consciousness creates matter, and matter evolves into consciousness.
(To align with the yogic teaching that good posture is essential to conscious evolution, he placed “Homo Erectus,” meaning having a straight back, above “Homo Sapiens.” The spine running up the center is replicated in the human body as the chakra system.)
Ganesh Baba described eight fields functioning in eight dimensions: matter, energy, space, time, life, mind, intelligence, and consciousness, each more subtle than the last. He identifies the fifth dimension as life. Indeed, neither time nor life is understood very well at this point of human evolution, and mind is an even greater mystery.
The Cycle of Synthesis is an attempt at a 2-D representation of an 8-D cosmos, a fractal universe, microcosm in macrocosm and vise versa. It is not static—rather, it is constantly in flow, twisting and turning, expanding and contracting, in an infinite number of directions, smaller and smaller, greater and greater, replicating itself in an infinite number of manifestations, each one connected to all the others.
As in a Moebius strip, the twists in the helix at the center of the drawing indicate shifts from one dimension to the next.
Passing through them is like water going down a drain. The water turns more and more quickly until suddenly it’s somewhere else. I think the transition human consciousness is going through is like that.
It’s interesting to consider that the perspective of the lower dimension is always subsumed into the perspective of the higher one, as when a point becomes a line, a line becomes a square, and a square becomes a cube.
If the point moves, a line exists. The line moves into a square, and the square moves to become a cube. Move the cube, and time exists. But beyond that?
What comes first? Consciousness or matter?
In most non-Western perspectives on existence, consciousness precedes matter. Even in the bible, God creates the earth. Assuming that only what can be measured is real is a recent twist in human understanding. It’s a limiting conception, though certainly a useful one in the practical world. If the great god of civilization, Science, wants to survive the coming twist, it will have to let go of the shores of time and space and greet the coming age of immeasurability with curiosity and eager anticipation.
I have less hope for the other worldwide religion of our era, the Economy, and its god, Money. I can easily see Mr. Moneybags falling off the edge of the earth to become a monster. An idea that particularly struck me during my studies at Pacifica Graduate Institute is that as dominant mythologies shift, for example from the “pagan” religions to Christianity, the old gods are forced underground, or off the edge of the earth, where they’re perceived as devils. It happens every time.
In Ganesh Baba’s model, following the downward arrow on the left, consciousness condenses into matter. Then, as it evolves back toward its source, more and more of the whole becomes comprehensible. As well as being reflected in the human body as the chakras, the Cycle of Synthesis mirrors Indian theory of the Yugas, a cycle of epochs in which the understanding of subtle things recedes as the earth moves away from the center of the universe, and increases again after it reaches its nadir and moves toward the center again.
So, if, as many astrologers are now saying, we are moving out of the Kali Yuga, the period of least understanding, into an era in which subtle energies will become more apparent, we will have to learn to navigate in the bio-psychic and intello-conscious fields in Baba’s diagram, the dimensions beyond space and time.
One way to do that is to begin by paying more attention to the interface, the twist, the liminal place, where fourth and fifth dimensional events show up in the 3-D world.
That’s why the dramatic incursion, in the form of that very attractive, very large three-dimensional stone house, into my fourth- and fifth-dimensional musings struck me. It was magic. That opportunity came into my physical world via a current of synchronicity. Its appearance overrode the laws of time and space, and I was very nearly beguiled.
What’s next?
Now, I’m on the lookout for magic. I’m asking a question before going to sleep, hoping for a response in my dreams. I’m actively looking for coincidence, actively seeking synchronicity.
So it was that I noticed some writing in blue chalk on the cobblestones of Rue Saint Louis as I walked Mocha one morning this week, when I had just begun this essay. The message is a little hard to read, but the words are in English, even though I found it in our beautiful French village.
Emmaüs, the big thrift store in Carmaux, is only open on Fridays.Like all thrift stores, it’s a magical place.I thought I’d take a break from watching the sky fallto share some of the pictures I’ve taken there over the years.Lots of these are available in the vintage fabric sectionan old farm implementKnitting supplies have their own areaAmazing laceI want all the buttons, but what would I do with them?Emmaüs is my regular source for threadThe six interior spaces have employees who set aside your choices and give you a chit on a little piece of paper. You take the chits to the cashier who tears off half and gives you back the rest so you can retrieve your items.There are so many tempting things to take homeThe linens are exquisiteSometimes the line at the cashier takes a long time.Sadly, Emmaus founder Abbe Pierre was accused of sexual misconduct and his name was removed from the organization.His presence in the many Emmaus shops and charities was ubiquitous, but all the posters and busts are gone now.His good works go on, though, regardless of his offenses.
Eve Neuhaus 