Fountain 56 Parthenay 31 August

Angels

Generally speaking, almost every religion recognizes Angels.

Sometimes they have wings and sometimes not.
 Sometimes they have bodies and sometimes not. 

In Christian iconography they are always beautiful, ageless and androgynous beings in gowns *,
 apart from putti, those plump and rosy toddlers,
who apparently are quite acceptable as naked little boys.

The word Angel is often translated to mean "messenger of God",
and sometimes it is defined as someone who has transcended
 above the mean pettiness of being human.

Allegedly, more people than not believe in Angels,**

especially Guardian Angels, who have helped
them in times of need.

Workmen Angels

 

An exhibition of larger than life-size photographs

 mounted on the outside walls of the market 

as part of the VI Bienale Internationale d' Arte Contemporaine de Melle.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Of course there are many unthinkable things.

And I hasten to add that I am still grateful that this particular unthinkable
thing wasn't that Louise and I had crashed and I was critically injured.

My unthinkable thing was that I lost the keys.
A small but paralysing thing to do.

On an unmarked road in the middle of nowhere

I discovered that I had lost all but one of Louise's keys.

I still had the ignition key, but without the immobiliser "key",

trying to start the engine would only activate an unstoppable and deafening siren.

I had taken this road only as a detour to find a quiet picnic spot,
which I had found, but I hadn't looked for any signs to say where I was
nor took particular notice of any houses I might have passed.

So I walked back the way I had come, anxious that 

without the wheel lock key, my most precious friend and companion
 was completely vulnerable to being wheeled away like the proverbial lamb to slaughter.

After a couple kilometers I flagged down the only passing car.
The driver listened with that familiar look of incomprehension to my story of woe
 and delivered me to the door of the Mairie who could speak English.

The Mairie and his wife were on the balcony finishing their coffee and newspapers
and leapt to my assistance.
 They drove me back to Louise and helped us freewheel down the remarkably
flat stretch of road to their house.
 The Marie trotted alongside me, smiling encouragement and
pushing whenever we ground to a halt.

The Marie's wife offered to take me to where I had last used the keys and didn't balk as I grimaced
and said that it was over 35 kilometers away. After we re-enacted my movements and had searched the spot in vain, we visited the local mairie and the police.
Then we slowly returned to their house while we scanned the road,
and for a few seconds a shriveled black banana skin had raised our hopes. 

The sun was setting and the Marie's wife announced,
 "There is nothing else we can do now so you must stay the night",
and with that she showed me to my room,
pressed a fluffy toweling dressing gown into my arms and pushed me into the bathroom.
 Despite the neighbour's concern that I might kill them in their beds,
I stayed a few days: resting in a real bed after weeks of camping, eating home-made cakes, practising my French and watching English videos to practise her English.
The Mairie de-mobilised the immobiliser with worryingly simple instructions over the telephone
 and drove me many kilometers to purchase a new wheel lock.
Then it was time to go. I folded my freshly washed clothes, tucked the packed lunch which the Mairie's wife had made into my pannier and set off on the last leg of my journey.

French Angels

Brigitte, Jean and T2

Aquarius, the water bearer, the altruist and humanitarian.

A fountain in Parthenay

* Archangel Michael slaying the Devil 

Having said that most Angels wear gowns, Michael is often depicted wearing clothes more suitable for the business of slaying devils. Of course, we must remember that symbols, such as armour, spears, evil-looking horned figures are metaphorical guides used to tell a story.

Now days, slaying devils is much more complicated and subtle. 

We can, if we choose, rise above all the pettiness, greed, and short sightedness of our extremely slow to learn human nature and slay devils with wisdom and compassion.

I can't say that I have I seen any historical evidence which proves that nuclear weapons, 

machine guns, sub-machine guns, grenades, bow and arrows, rifles, machetes, land mines, 

canon balls, mortar launchers, drones etc etc etc *** have truly been successful 

as we still have all the same old problems.

*** to see how impressively busy and inventive we have been 

at not using our wisdom and compassion, visit

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lists_of_weapons

** who believes in Angels?
 77% of Americans, Italians and Croatians
     between 25-33% of Danes
      36% of Britons
http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2012/10/21/do-believe-in-angels.html


"You do not see angels so much as feel their presence," said Father Lavatori, adding: "They are a bit like sunlight that refracts on you through a crystal vase."
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/italy/10530177/Angels-exist-but-have-no-wings-says-Catholic-angelologist.html

St. Amand and his demon or how do we know who's knocking at our door? (ps. Fountain 55)

    I had intended to finish the Saint-Junien and Fountain 55 post and move on to Fountain 56

 however a dip into Wikipedia-land has struck a chord with me.

                                             


                                           
                                                             St. Amand and his demon
                                                 

The history of the town of Saint-Junien began around AD 500.

Saint Amand, an ascetic of Hungarian origin, was visited at his cell late in the night by Junian, a young noble lad from the north of France. Amand, afraid that the knock at the door was possibly a demon, did not answer, leaving Junian no option but to spend the night outside. During the night there was a terrific blizzard, however the snow miraculously spared the young lad. The next morning Junian returned again to Armand's cell, where in the reassuring light of day, he was recognised for who he was: an earnest young man from a good family.
 Junian became a disciple of Saint Amand and lived as a hermit until his death.

Already by 593, the traffic of pilgrims to the saint's tomb had impressed the great
Gallo-Roman historian, Gregory of Tours, who mentioned it in his writings.
Soon an abbey was built and the city expanded until 866 when the Vikings
 came along and destroyed it.
In the 1200s fortified city walls were built to protect the town and in 2013 I passed through without so much as a glimpse.

However, the particular chord I am referring to is "how do we recognise who is earnest?"

In small towns the problem doesn't really present itself. However, in the city,
I am frequently entreated to put coins in grubby hats,
disfigured hands, sparkling white paper cups from McDonald's, etc. etc.
Old men with filmy eyes play accordions, young men juggle clubs on unicycles at traffic lights, mothers nurse spindly legged toddlers....who am I to trust?

And as I shake my head and avert my eyes or feebly smile and fumble for some coins,
I feel terrible.
I feel like the bad Samaritan who looked away and ignored someone in need.
I feel like a gullible fool aware that when the takings are counted it most likely will
 exceed my humble income.
I feel like part of the problem as I am supporting a corrupt and cruel system of exploitation.

Of course, I am no wiser and have no answers,
but I feel slightly comforted that I am in good company.
 Despite a life dedicated to prayer, simplicity and a trust in God, even Saint Amand wasn't sure who was knocking at his door.