The last two days in Halifax – just before the incoming storm of a dying hurricane – were gorgeous. More like late September than the end of November. I had such plans for them! Two days of ‘Indian summer’ during my days off! Lucky me, I thought. But not so much. Having avoided probably close to three years any cold or flu – I got it now. With chills, and fever. Everybody knows that for a man a flu or cold is worse than any other plaque known to humanity. The bottomless pot of self-pity, LOL. But despite that, I gathered all the remnants of my heroism and packed my camera, and small bottle of Advil and went to a small but wonderful and little-known park between the end of Halifax and the beginning of Bedford – the Sea View Park, just above Africville. Enjoy the views.
Druga połowa listopada, tuż przed nadchodzącymi z Florydy resztkami tropikalnego huraganu, przyniosła nagle cudowne dwa dni ‘babiego lata’. Dni, które miałem wolne! Ba, fatum złośliwe powaliło mnie z nóg. Spotkała mnie straszna dla każdego szanującego się bohaterskiego mężczyzny biblijna plaga przeziębienia lub grypy. Mimo to, nadludzkim wysiłkiem podobnym do dzieł greckich herosów, popołudniem zebrałem w torbę kamerę, buteleczkę aspiryny, wsiadłem na mojego czarnego uskrzydlonego pegaza i popędziłem do mało znanego zakątku w pogonii za zachodzącym słońcem i w powitaniu nadchodzącego księżyca. W małym parku na granicy między Halifaksem a Bedford.
My previous biking took me across the salt marshes from Colle Harbour toward Lawrencetown. Today I continued it starting from West Lawrenscetown. It is called Atlantic View Trail. But it is also a part of a national bikeway through the entire country, starting on Vancouver Island in BC. Having drove from one coast to the other, now I can say that I also biked through both ends of the Trail: in Vancouver Island and Lower Mainland of BC and now in Nova Scotia.
That was a very strange night. I watched some TV, and couldn’t watch any more news, as the stories from Gaza were just so depressing. Watched some Netflix movie about some Argentinian young fashion megastar. It was tiring just by the speed of the movie-documentary, him being like high on something nonstop, all the time. Somehow I started talking to You. Was sad and happy at the same time. Sad for obvious reasons, happy because we talked. Told you that life is like that now, like this movie on speed. I rush to do things, and have to be busy all the time. Just to avoid life. The reality. Sort of: not now, please. I’m busy. Will talk about it later. I have to finish this, that; have to run, have to drive somewhere.
Avoiding. Not being irrational but not willing to deal with reality, either.
Went to bed about midnight saying that I had to get up about 5 am to drive to a bike trail in the middle of a forest near West Lawrencetown to catch with my camera the sunrise over the ocean. But the night was strangely hot, couldn’t fall asleep even with a wide-open window. Then a train started going back and forth near my building with a terrible noise of the train breaking and smashing of the train cars as they moved and stopped. Went back to the living room, switched the TV back on, and watched some more of something. You were nowhere to be seen or heard and couldn’t continue our conversation. Made a decision to drive to that spot in the forest about 6 AM. Finally felt tired and sleepy. Before I knew I was asleep. And didn’t get up till 8 AM! Sunrise was gone an hour earlier. But did go for the bike ride anyway. Remembering the night I dressed warmly but very lightly. Took even a towel and an extra pair of underwear in case I decided to take a swim. Started biking at about 10 AM. And instantly knew that I wasn’t dressed as I should. It was freezing! And icy wind that went through my clothing. Swimming in the waves was out of the question when I got to the beach. If I drove by car I probably would – and warm in the car after swimming. But getting on the bike and biking back easily 10-15 km to where I parked would probably turn me into an icicle, LOL.
Rozmawiałem z Tobą cały wieczór i potem pół nocy chyba. A miałem plany wycieczki rowerowej wzdłuż jezior i brzegu oceanu wczesnym rankiem by uchwycić wschodzące słońce nad Atlantykiem. Ze wschodu wyszły nici. Gdy w końcu dwu lub trzygodzinną drzemkę złapałem – obudziłem się już o ósmej rano. Dawno po wschodzie. Mimo to pojechałem w las, do tej trasy. Noc była nadzwyczajnie ciepłą, jak na tę porę roku. Ale dzień odwrotnie – więc ubrałem się bardzo nie odpowiednio, zbyt lekko. Mimo marznięcia – trasę rowerowa, tak jak zaplanowałem, tak przejechałem. Widoki piękne, surowe, zimowe już (choć bez śniegu) mają też swój specyficzny urok surowego piękna. Lato to barok natury, a zima to styl romański północnej Europy.
Czy ta wycieczka była moją ucieczką od rozmów z Tobą? Od zajęcia się rzeczywistością? Nie wiem, Kochanie. Wydaje mi się, że tym razem nie masz racji mówiąc, że życie trwa nadal i powinienem zacząć znowu starać się żyć. Wrócić do świata realnego. Może te życie, które prowadzę, te nasze rozmowy, moje poszukiwania Ciebie na plażach oceanu, jezior – to właśnie moja nowa realność, rzeczywistość? Nie jakaś dziwna ucieczka od niej, a przeciwnie – akceptacja jej. Widzisz, kiedy jestem wśród ludzi, rozmawiam z nimi, dyskutuję – Ty w tym tłumie , pośród nich znikasz, przestajesz być. Ale gdy wędruję po plażach, nawet po ulicach ale samotnie, gdy łażę po skałach – Ty jesteś obok. Przy mnie. A ja lubię mieć Cię przy sobie. Ty chyba też lubisz, gdy jestem obok.
About the year 741, Pope Gregory III decided that the 1st of November would be the day of special prayer and observance of all good Christians, who died and were admitted to Heaven. It is the Day of All Saints. Earlier that ritual was observed around the Good Friday prayers. The ancient and still existing Chaldean Church still does it at that time.
In Poland, over the centuries this observance became a very important and popular movement. Still is. I remember it very well and rather fondly when as a child I would accompany my parents on these pilgrimages to cemeteries, where anyone from our family was buried. The cemeteries at these two days (2 of November is actually the day to remember all good Christians, who – after death – were admitted to heaven. The first of November is reserved only for the remembrance of the Saints of the Church) are still as busy as sports stadiums during important events. There are special buses and extra trains to take thousands of people to the gates of the cemetery. Going by car could be risky as nobody knows where you will find a spot to park. It is also a huge business. Visitors have to buy flower arrangements, special candles, and other paraphernalia appropriate for that occasion.
I have never known that it is actually only for dead Christians. Would not be surprised if most Poles did not know that. It became a part of our national folklore. I always remember that day even in Canada. For more than forty years. Always at least a moment of somber thought, of remembering. With age – I too have lost people in Canada, who were close: friends, with time family members. Since we came to Nova Scotia I used to go every November 1st to Pictou, to light a candle and lay some flowers at the grave of my parents-in-law, Leona and Doug. I left the Church a long time ago but that observance is still important to me. It is paying respect to those you have loved or respected. In one form or another Fall was always part of such remembering for many nations and people well before Christianization. It is somehow part of our humanity. From time immemorial.
Will not be able to go tomorrow, as I work (in Poland it is a National Holiday, after all, you could have more than one cemetery to visit, often in different cities) but I will be going there at least once in the last week of November. Within one year I have buried there, on my parents-in-low plot, two people. First, something I still have not come to terms with – I laid to rest the ashes of my Love, my Life, my Air to breathe, my dear husband, John. At the grave site, I stood with his siblings: a sister and two brothers, who came from Calgary. Now, almost a year later I stood there again, next to my sister-in-law and only one brother-in-law. The other one we were saying our last goodbye to. The sadness is hard to describe.
Today in Halifax was a nice day. Rather cold but sunny weather. Decided to visit special places in this city. Places full of someone’s memories, full of sad but often beautiful memories, of love that was, friendship that flourished. Very important people, perhaps national heroes, maybe well-known personalities, and a lot of ordinary people, some gone a long time ago, some with no family left, who would visit them. Our cemeteries. Went to the famous one with Titanic’s small graves (Fairview Lawn Cemetery) and the huge cemetery downtown, next to the Public Gardens (Camp Hill Cemetery).
And one more cemetery, a special one for me. In my Old Country, there are a lot of empty old cemeteries. There are full of old graves, some with strange lettering on tombstones. But almost never any people walking, visiting. You see, for about seven hundred years Poland was home to the largest Jewish community in all of Europe. They escaped persecution in other European countries and settled in the old Polish Kingdom. For seven hundred years. That’s a long time. Until the 2nd world war and Hitler. And they disappear. The living ones – the cemeteries remained. On my numerous visits from Canada to Poland, I always liked to go to these cemeteries. There was such a sad silence in them. But that silence spoke to me loudly. That silence begged to remember. Reminded me of the powerful ‘Never again” wish that humanity had after that war. I remembered that next to Fairview Cemetery there was a small old Jewish cemetery. Still is. Fenced and the gate closed. And empty like the ones in Poland. No one visiting. I went there. Found a spot on the embankment where the fence was missing and went there.
Somehow it felt familiar, it felt good to be there. The same Hebrew alphabet on, familiar names (in Latin). The familiar way of putting stones on the top of the grave (I don’t know the origins or meaning of it, but they do it the same way as we put flowers on our graves). I am glad I did.
But the ‘never again’ did not last, sadly. Wars and killings, even massacres continue. Even as I write these words. Humans are such strange creatures. Capable of goodness and sacrifice beyond belief, of love great and soaring. Capable of evil incarnate and hate incomprehensible.
Here is a story of Halifax, the story of Nova Scotia, and a story of Canada that is written on these cemeteries. As you read the names (although in the old cemeteries in Nova Scotia majority is of Scottish descent) precisely because it is Canada – the story of the world.
Couldn’t help myself. The wind is already rather cold – but the sunshine in full splendor. Camera and a folding chair in hand and off we go to Conrad Beach. Few people thought the same, fact that it was Saturday helped them to avail themselves of the orgy of colours, light, sea, and sky. Don’t forget the smells so different away from the city! None of them indeed ventured for a swim as the waves were wilder today and the wind almost chilling. But try to take me to a beach on a sunny day and tell me I can’t either! No chance, LOL. Actually, I think that exactly because the air was chilly – the water didn’t feel like a shock to the body. The crushing waves did not charge any extra fee for a wonderful back and chest massage! It truly was invirogating. On the way back a short trip to meadows and glory of fall.
Kiedy już wydawało się, że moje plażowanie tegoroczne się zakończyło – jeszcze jeden prezent od jesiennego słońca i kolejna wycieczka na plażę. Słońce, woda, piasek pod nogami, huk rozbijajaczych się bałwanów morskich, w dali za naturalnym skalistym falochronem, kolorowe żagle surferów. Jak nie pobiec w ten żywioł, nie pływać w tych grzywaczach? Niby nikt inny tego nie robił, ale też nikt palcem mnie nie wytykał i w czoło się nie stukał, LOL. Ostatecznie – wolny kraj, LOL. Spotkałem też konkurenta fotografowania tych cudów Natury. Jak na porządnego zawodowca przystało był porządnie ubrany w buty z cholewami, długie spodnie i ciepłą kurtkę. Ubogiego amatora jak mnie, na takie luksusy nie stać.
The Weather folks say it will snow in two day’s time. I like white beaches. But I do mean white sand beaches, snow I prefer on skiing slopes.
Od szeregu już dni zmagam się z napisaniem tekstu na zupełnie inny temat. Nie, nie mam trudności ze znalezieniem słów, ze świadomością, co chcę napisać. Po prostu wolałbym na ten temat, w tym konkretnie czasie nic nie pisać. Byłoby wygodniej milczeć. I tak tym tekstem od którego się wzbraniam wypadków nie zmienię. Wielu cenionych znajomych może oburzę lub zasmucę; innych może skłonię do emocji i zadowolenia, które w tym temacie nie powinny nami kierować. Cóz, na trudniejsze już tematy i równie emocjonalne dla wielu, pisałem od tylu już lat więc i tego, ze względów własnej wygody, pominąc nie mogę. Nie mogę nie tylko, jako osoba pisząca, ale przede wszystkim, jako człowiek. Cóż dla człowieka może być ważniejsze niż Człowieczeństwo?
Póki siądę do tego trudnego tekstu, wykorzystałem nagły, jednodniowy powrót ‘babiego lata’ na moich kochanych plażach Nowej Szkocji. Chwyciłem kamerę, ręcznik, notes – i w trasę. Na Conrad Beach. Z bliskich w odległości – moją ulubioną. Jakkolwiek nikt z dość licznych spacerowiczów nie kwapił się do kąpieli – ja z radością pływałem w tej cudownej wodzie Atlantyku. Wydawała się zimna, jakby prosto z lodówki. Ale to tylko pierwszy moment. Pływało się z wielką radością – a potem na piasek i ręcznik, gdzie słońce robiło masaż odmrażający zesztywniałych z zimna stawów.
Trying to avoid another, difficult subject – I went to Conrad Beach for a glorious sunny day on the beach and in the water. The cold water was balanced by the very warm sunshine on the beach. Went swimming a few times. Not the very first time was surprised that no one else swam. People walked alone, in pairs, with dogs, even in the shallow water – but none went swimming. But obviously, they enjoyed themselves. I did very much so. As for the other subject? Can’t avoid it forever. Probably will write something tonight. It is a very important subject. The subject of humanity. We are humans, aren’t we?
But here we go – a view of my day on the beach. Fotograficzne echa mojego dnia na plaży.
I have written here ( https://kanadyjskimonitor.blog/2023/07/28/dalhousie-university-in-halifax-an-overlooked-tourist-destination) once before about Dalhousie University. But it wasn’t until today that I really went for a long stroll through the sprawling campus of it. Immerse myself in its atmosphere, history, and future. And the vibrant feeling of youth among the throngs of young people laughing, running, walking. Some very serious in that almost funny seriousness of young age that is impertinent, arrogant, furious, determined. Others – worry-free. Glorious age. Hmm …. At times, I almost forgotten myself and felt like them for a moment. Not long enough to make a fool of myself, LOL. Age has its advantages that I always remember: aloofness and stiff upper lip. Like Lady Dowager Grantham from Dawnton Abbey – shrug your arms and march on.
Just driving there is a pleasure. Taking Main Street, it becomes later Highway 107. It is such a nice drive, very picturesque alongside the huge Porters Lake. Just open your window, turn the music up to your favorite gigs and voila, enjoy! Pay attention to exit signs. You want the one to East Chezzetcook. Such a lovely community spread alongside the well-maintained road. Just don’t speed there please – people do live in these lovely houses. Almost none too ostentatious but nicely maintained. It takes a while, but don’t worry. Just take the road to the very end. When you can’t drive anymore – you have arrived. Only one big warning – do not take your map signs as a Bible and do not turn to something called “Conrod Beach”. It is not a beach – it is hell. Plain and simple. No joking. Don’t stray, stay on the road to the end. Depending on the time of day and the tide, I suggest you go as far as you can past the main stretch of beach and explore the long strip of sandy dune. You will need to go across a fast-moving water to get there. But it is worth the effort.
Stroll through the streets of Halifax. Could have been Vancouver, Toronto, or Montreal. The truth of it – it could have been any larger city in Canada. Yes, architecture would have been different, street names and their layout, too. Different parks and nature, maybe slightly an accent spoken by the majority. Maybe language altogether (Quebec, Arctic comes to mind).
It is such a vast country. Truly from ocean to ocean to ocean. And many mountain ranges, huge rivers. Traveled or visited most of it in the last forty years. I have seen it grow and expand in population in unprecedented numbers. Ever growing, ever more attractive, and open to thousands of new hopefuls from all over the globe. In a way – Canada is the envy of the world.
But with that important qualificator: in a way ….
It isn’t only the wide world that needs Canada. It is also Canada and Canadians that need the world, and it’s people. Who else does the cheap work in our country if not recent immigrants? Who else pays the salaries and otherwise makes up the budget of Canadian universities and university colleges if not foreign students? Yes – them. Not provincial or federal budgets. Recent studies revealed that the universities actually plan their budgets around the enormous fees they charge these students. It is their main source of income. How do they ensure that campuses and cities will house these students? They don’t. It is not only a big business for universities. It is also a huge business for homeowners and renters, who rent their rooms or apartments to these students. three, four, five per room? Why not. What were the words of the old movie “Cabaret”? O, yes: money, money, money!
Provinces and federal governments totally abandoned their responsibility for housing in Canada in the late 1970ies. All of a sudden the word ‘housing’ was renamed to ‘home ownership’. And that is a huge change. Of course, it was and is a dream and goal of many young Canadians. But home ownership is also clearly the responsibility of private citizen, not of government. Yes, there were here and there a few tweaks in regulations to help save some bucks for people, who planned to build their dream home. To put away, let’s say – five or twenty thousand dollars in RSA or specially created savings accounts in banks. Tax-exempt. Another miss moniker: they were not tax-exempt, they were simply tax deferred. Sooner or later you had to re-pay them back. But in the meantime, the young taxpayer was happy because he had five or ten thousand dollars in the bank, that he could use to purchase the home. Who cares about later! Let’s buy us a home! Totally obscured from the view and recognition were the families of poor Canadians, who couldn’t avail themselves of these ‘savings’. They were too busy paying the daily bills and rent for their apartments. Or scratching their heads about how they going to save a hundred or two hundred bucks for their child’s school trip next Saturday ….
It still worked somehow. Rents were expensive but were still manageable. Then suddenly something happened. The bubble burst. It was not, as many tried to portray it, the result of COVID and disruption in business. The virus doesn’t give a hoot about the dollar and interest rates. Baloney. It had nothing to do with it. It was the result of simple mathematics, a simple economics. And greed. Greed of corporations, greed of existing homeowners, and creeping up rates of borrowing. All of a sudden an average or even small house (typical bungalow) in Vancouver or Toronto was not 300 000 dollars but 3000 000 dollars. The Condo was not 200 000 but 800 000. Older owners were happy. Their retirement worries were solved – they were millioners! Often with very small pockets of cash but sitting on huge investments. New owners found themselves in a big crunch to pay the high mortgages. Two or three jobs were often not enough to pay for their dream. But there is a solution: use our existing (although not paid off yet) home/condo as collateral and buy one more! Easy. Then we will rent it out for 50% more than the mortgage and this way it will help us with our original mortgage. Or even better: use it as an Airbnb.
In all of these unsustainable calculations the renters, people, who couldn’t or just gave up the unreachable dream of homeownership – were left to their own devices. But the devices’ were no longer working. The system was broken. By wrong policies of all levels of all governments, by our own greed.
We, Canadians (apart from homeownership) have one more dream and holly tradition: camping! In motorhomes, in relatively cheap motels. But most of all the holy grail of being Canadian: in tents on the shores of wild lakes, rivers, on the foothills of our majestic mountains, by wild beaches of our oceans.
That dream was not abandoned, not lost. It is well and very much alive. It even found new spaces to set-up a tent. Or tent community. In cities. In parks or downtown streets. From ocean to an ocean to an ocean. What a majestic country and resourceful people we have!
Now, I know you could say angrily – why don’t they just find a job! These lazy bums! OK, you are right I suppose. After all, I did and obviously you did too. Wait a second though, it’s been a while since I applied for any job (had one my entire life) – but I seem to remember that when you apply you need a permanent address, phone number, even an account number as nobody pays cash anymore? Hmm. Ok, waiters, dishwashers, these simple, menial jobs for cash. But you can’t just show up unshaven, unwashed with layers of dirty clothes on your back for your interview on your first day of job, can you? No, not in real life.
Suddenly governments, especially the federal government, noticed that huge problem. The wording even changed. It is no longer ‘homeownership’, now it is called simply ‘housing’. Yes – that is correct. Homeownership is a dream, hard to achieve but still possible. Housing is not a dream – it is a minimum necessity. It is a must to function in life. If you live in your own home – you have a housing. If you rent – you have a housing. If you live in a tent – you don’t.
Building non-profit or municipal rental properties is a must. And taxpayer money should be spent only on solving this major problem. Expensive condos should be the worries of rich developers and people, who can afford to buy these condos. Even those of you, who can afford expensive city condos (and I hope most of you can) – do you want to see from your balcony a row of tents under this balcony or in a nearby small city park?
When I came to Canada over forty years ago, I landed within weeks a job paying over 15 dollars an hour. Rent for one bedroom in downtown was about $380. A nice two bedroom condo was between 50 000 and 60 000 dollars. A modest but comfortable 3 bedroom bungalow was 100 000 to 200 000 dollars. Today, forty years later, $15 an hour pay is not even legal minimum wage in many provinces. Just think of it. Something is terribly wrong with the picture. Unless you want the picture of Canada to be a tent of a homeless person.
Picture above are from Halifax, NS. The tents are in one of most popular and important part of historic Dwontown: the Grand Parade piazza, nestled between historic, original first Anglican Cathedral and City Hall. It also contains two importand Centotaphs commemorating the fallen soldiers in two world wars.
I have started the ‘Talks with John’ soon after His passing. Last place we went to, on our numerous journeys, was a little, tranquil lake called ‘Dollar’, in the midst of deep forest, half way between Highways No.102 and 107. I was the first place I returned to, after He was gone. It seems fitting it was a place I went to few days ago, closing that period of my search of Him. Here is the final letter. First part in Polish, second in English. Just a note to the Reader: both parts are a continuation of the entire text, not a translation. I could have write the entire piece in both languages – but that would not be honest to the emotional process of writing it down. My talkes with Him were bilingual and I want to preserve that aspect of it. The authenticity of the emotions. —– Polska i angielska część moich Rozmów z Johnem nie są po prostu tłumaczeniem jednej wersji na drugą. To osobne fragmenty jednego całego tekstu. Świadomie w takiej formie chce je pozostawić, gdyż taką formę rozmowy dwujęzycznej z Nim prowadziłem. Przepraszam jeśli komuś sprawi to kłopot w rozumieniu i znajomości obu języków. Ale takie są prawa oryginału.
Posłuchaj raz jeszcze, wytłumaczę Ci moje zmagania. I moje klęski emocjonalne, moją słabość. To, że zapomniałem, że jestem Twoim Domem. Naszym Domem, że Ci to obiecałem i że tego ode mnie oczekiwałeś. Gdzieś tą pewność zagubiłem, gdzieś schyliłem plecy w jakimś bezgłośnym szlochu. Jeździłem po miejscach znajomych i nieznanych przedtem i szukałem Ciebie, wołałem Twoje imię. Tak, jakbyś odszedł. Wszędzie zabierałem ze sobą swój notes i te walki wewnętrzne opisałem.
Czas bym Ci złożył z nich sprawozdanie, bym te strony notesu otworzył. I obietnicę na nowo podjął, w pełni zrozumiał. Czas na powrót do Domu z podróżowania. Domu, którym jestem ja i w którym Ty mieszkasz. Na zawsze.
(Conrad Beach, 21.09.23) – Wszystko to jeden przeciągły krzyk. Jedno nieustanne wołanie, jak nieustanny szum fal. Jak ich huk, gdy rozbijają się o brzeg, gdy załamują się pod własnym ciężarem w dzikiej kipieli białej piany. Może dlatego do tych opustoszałych o tej porze roku plaż jeżdżę. By z nimi krzyczeć, by niosły ten krzyk daleko, topiły w swych głębinach i zamykały go w leżącej na dnie ciężkiej kryształowej szkatule.
Piszę do Ciebie na mokrym piasku list-poemat w archaicznym języku, którego sam nie znam, ale przeczuwam. Nadchodząca fala zbiera każdą literę, każdy znak runiczny i zabiera ten list. Zbiera delikatnie każde ziarnku piasku z każdej runy i niesie do swoich głębin. Może tam, w tej głębi największych rowów oceanów, na wielkich perlistych konchach siedzą wszyscy kochankowie i kochanki oczekujące na te listy.
(Dollar Lake, 22.09.23) – Więc przyjechałem tu znowu w pogoni za Tobą. Tu zaczynałem moje poszukiwania Ciebie, moje ucieczki z domu. Ucieczki do nas, w nas. Za naszymi śladami, szczątkami rozmów, słów, uśmiechów, dotknięć. Miejsca ostatnie dłuższej wspólnej wycieczki kończącej nasza wielką podróż życia.
our first visit to the lake
Las za plecami jest pełen swoich rozmów. Jakiś ptak z uporem coś zrzuca z gałęzi, coś rozdłubuje. Szuka pożywienia pod korą? Na budowanie gniazd wszak już za późno. Nadeszła jesień. Woda jest chłodna ale przyjemna. Gładka jak powierzchnia lustra. Po grzywaczach szalonych fal oceanu dziwnie się jakoś pływa po takiej lustrzanej tafli.
Możliwe, że i ta podróż tu, nad to jezioro, jest moja ostatnią. Tamta pierwsza, odbyta wspólnie, istnieje tylko w moim sercu, w mej pamięci. Czas oddać te jezioro, ten las, tę szosę do niego prowadzącą, innym kochankom. Ich marzeniom, ich pocałunkom. Jest piękna cisza, jesienne słońce chyli się ku zachodniej ścianie lasu, nawet lekki wiaterek ustał. Jakby nie chcieli mi przeszkadzać, jakby umówili się: dajmy mu jeszcze chwilę, trochę czasu by się tych wspomnień nałykał.
my first return to the lake, in May, 2023
Czasu na odwiedziny i czasu na pożegnanie. Niech nastanie już ta cisza.
To think of it, You were my Canada. My entire life here. My love for this country was my love for You. I went to Halifax today for this last recorded on-paper talk with You. At my favored spot in this city at the beginning of Coburg Street. In front of my favored church – St. Andrews United Church.
There are many reasons to like this spot: it is, in a way, an invisible border separating bustling and noisy Halifax of tourists and business from Halifax the quiet, the reflective. But it is also the church I have visited many times for musical concerts organized there. But above that there is one more thing, a small detail that I noticed and just love it. The administrative annex of the church is a very busy and noisy some sort of school/childcare facility. There are always many kids coming and going, laughing, joking, saying hi and goodbye. The entrance to this school is always adorned with some rainbow symbols of the LGBTQ+ community. What a most splendid idea! Remember? I showed it to You and You agreed. Introducing the kids to the reality, that love has no boundaries, that all are welcome and included. Just that visual effect is stronger and better than lectures could ever be.
That is why I came here to finish this letter to You. About our Canada, Canada You gave to me. Or Canada that made us.
Canada now is with me all the time. Your gift to me and Her gift to us. Wherever I go, She will go with me. She is part of me, like our love and You.
I will stop searching for You on the vast beaches in the majestic bosom of waves crashing on the shore. Stop looking for You on the tranquil trail and beach of Dollar Lake lost in the middle of an old forest. It is true – memories of us being there, are still there. But they are also inside my soul, imprinted there till the day I die.
I didn’t need to call Your name, You are not hiding in any of these places. You are within me. You are us, and I am us.
You once said: ‘wherever you are, there is my home’. I remembered it at the beginning of my immense grief. Over time that grief became so heavy, so strong, it started to overpower me. And I run to these places calling Your name, begging You to answer, to reveal Yourself.
But now it all came back. You are everywhere I go. At home, on my travels, my walks. You are my Canada. My true heimat. I can take it with me across any mountains and oceans. The entire world is that – our Canada. You have come back where You always belonged – to me. Let’s walk together the rest of the Journey, wherever it takes us.
from my last visit to the lake in late September 2023
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