jeudi, avril 28, 2011

25 years ago, I was on my way home in Bastille, after a boring day in the real estate business school. My room was very small, I had no window but a single vasistas, no toilets, only cold water inside. I had a view on a charming church called Notre Dame d'Espérance, which had been demolished. On Sunday morning the bells were ringing and I felt like living in a small village. Of course, I had no contact with what was happening inside; this was stuff for the old persons, for the catholics, people with clenched smile and joie dégoulinante.

On my way home I saw a yellow postal box, and on the top of it, a little blue form (yellow and blue are the colours of the Crédit Lyonnais bank, and also Castorama and Ikea stores). I picked up the blue object; it was a small book, kind of a Bible. I went home and read the John gospel. It was the first time that I red a talking book, the book was talking to me.

From step to step, visiting various assemblies in different parts of Paris, I ended up in that same little church I could see from my window. I had become part of the old persons and people with clenched smile and joie dégoulinante, after having made a rencontre on a yellow box.

25 years is a long time. I didn't think of an anniversary when I proposed Florence and my brother Julien to go together to Israël. Our trip is spiral shaped, including Tel Aviv, Haïfa, Nazareth, the Tiberiade lake, the Dead Sea, Jerusalem via Be'er Sheva. In a few days, we will see what he saw and feel the interaction between landscape, people and faith.