Deeper Reflections

It's been on my mind for a while to go deeper in the next post I write, reflecting more on the internal landscape of my experience so far here in the Paris of North America.
Ponderings and observations in particular about what spirituality really means to me, and what I've been thinking about that's important to me recently.

The thoughts for this post began a while ago, while I was staying at the studio on Rue Berri. It had been a rainy day, and I was feeling the blues up there in the south tower of the "ilotapparts" building, so naturally I comforted myself with cigarettes, and making up excuses for when I wanted to make the journey down the elevator to go and smoke one on the terrace. I took my headphones with me to listen to a voice message, and made my way into the dingy stairwell which was the only dry area on the terrace. From there I could see out onto the back alley behind the Berru-UQAM metro entrance, where there was a community garden, and in the background the layers of the city stretched.

I had just sat down in the pigeon-shit infested stairwell, mostly out of the rain but not quite out of the wind, and I noticed a group of three people down on the street huddled on cardboard under very narrow eaves of a building. They seemed quite happy all things considered, I noticed them laughing and appeared to be a close group of friends.

When I finished my cigarette I realised I was being called to from down there on the street. The group of three were standing below the stairwell and the guy was asking me how I got up to where I was. At first I felt a little wary, but just looking into their eyes told me they were no threat to me. I told them it's the terrace of an apartment building, and the guy looked surprised as I answered. With a smile he asked, "Are you from the UK?" I laughed and told him New Zealand.

They told me they just needed a spot to get out of the rain for a while. I felt the conditioned part of me saying, they're dangerous, what if you get caught letting them in, what if they don't leave? But the human instinct in me said absolutely, give them what shelter you have to give. So I went downstairs and opened the emergency door for them. The group was the guy, who I learned was half-Jamaican, half-English, and two women who were Cree, from Northern Quebec.

I found myself sitting with them in the stairwell, having easy chats as they took a load off finally out of the miserable weather outside. They offered me a drink from their impressive selection of spirits, which I politely declined. I enjoyed chatting with the women, getting to know a bit about being Cree in Quebec. It was wonderful to share with them that my cousin is in fact Cree, from Manitoba.

After feeling so lonely in the morning in this modern, clean cut apartment building, here I was in a mucky stairwell, having such a nice time with these people. I felt reminded of a spark, a bright streak within my personality of always finding myself in strange but wonderful situations, with new people, never feeling afraid of what might happen, holding my own and being rewarded for it with lovely and authentic connections.

Something had caught their attention in the street. A guy wearing a pink hoodie was stumbling along the street towards the stairwell, hands shoved deeply in his pockets. We couldn't see his face. The Jamaican guy said, "Damn who the fuck is that, look at him walking so suss down there."
Two seconds later he yelled out, "Kevin!!" And the little pink figure stopped and turned to look sharply up at us. Of course his name was Kevin.

So the newest addition to the stairwell clumsily made his way up, barely making it through a sentence he attempted, and I was genuinely concerned watching him take each step. He was very inebriated. But once again, I knew intuitively, harmless. Just a really fucked up dude called Kevin.

We all got to talking about music, and I told them about my song. Jamaica chucked it on his phone and the opening seconds that I know so well started playing in that cosy stairwell. Jamaica looked super excited and looked at Kevin saying, "Ohh man who does this sound like?!" Without missing a beat, Kevin just said, "Nelly" and I lost it laughing. He gave a very stoned laugh in return and after about a minute of listening to it, Jamaica decided he was going to be selfish and listen to it on his headphones instead.

Eventually I felt ready to head back upstairs. I was so glad to have met them, especially the Cree women. I found myself thinking of what I could give them, when I got back upstairs. I got some muesli bars together, some ointment for their sore feet from walking for days, and a power bank to charge phones. When I made it back to the stairwell they were gone. It was quite something to recognise what a gift they'd been to me that day.
Beyond that, sharing my music that way, felt like the thing that really mattered. It makes me happy knowing they've got that with them wherever.

So my reflections. I felt ashamed at my woeful loneliness from earlier, in the luxurious studio that had everything I could possibly need. It certainly brought a much needed dose of perspective. And yet, it wasn't like a 'look at those poor people and how little they have and how much I have' kind of moment. It was, 'look at those friends having a laugh and a drink together, helping each other get by through the toughest shit, and being open to hang out with someone like me, from up there in the apartment block' kind of realisation.

The essence of me would rather have the essence of what they have, the simplicity, the friendship, the making up each day as you go along, though of course I do not envy the circumstances, and am wildly grateful for the lifestyle I can afford. But it showed me what I miss, being in a place like that alone. As productive as I can be, and I do enjoy solitude, they brought a lightning bolt of raw authenticity into my life when I really needed the reminder.

I thought so much about the poison of social conditioning, that teaches you to be afraid of people with less advantage. Beyond that, the social conditioning that gets a hold of you to look and act and dress a certain way, and the hippie in me strays further from grasp as I unconsciously behave. I think that's part of why I smoke. It keeps me connected to this part of me. A bit of a conundrum this one is.Read more