The most unexpected Winter Solstice, ever.

After writing the last post I packed up my computer and left the library, jumped in the van and we started driving. We had been invited to a winter solstice celebration in the next province and we were running late. Friday hit me hard, like it did the nation and the world. There are some tragedies that crawl into every nook and cranny of my being, haunting me with thoughts and images and what-ifs. And then all the yoga classes and meditation sessions and Buddha books invade my mind too, trying to teeter me over to the side of not loosing hope and reminding me that the only thing I can and should do is to send out my love and blessings and strength to those families that are in the midst of this nightmare.

And so we were on our way to this party, me, certainly not in a party mood. I dreaded having to put on a happy cheerful face to hide what was really twirling and swirling inside. And I dreaded even more the opinions I was sure would come (while traveling you learn that everyone, everyone always has an opinion about the United States, and often it's not a pleasant one.) In this case I was imagining being baraded with advice on how to fix our gun policy and having to take it as if I'm actually the person that creates the gun policy, or listen to comments about our healthcare system, or foreign policy, etc.  Or even worse, the question that makes me reel the most - "what's happening with you people over there, anyway?" Most of the time I try to take it all in stride. Afterall I am a US citizen (a proud one because I know so many good things too), it is my country, and yes, we've got a lot of issues; many of which affect the rest of the world. But this Friday, I just didn't want to hear it.

So we finally arrive over an hour late after getting lost once, missing a turn off and somehow getting on a toll road instead of the free road. The good part was the scenery was breathtaking. Through the mountains of pine and cork with patches of silvery aspen trees and little villas nested into the mountain sides. I tried to let my mind wander there for a while. In the beauty and peace and calm of the country. There is a quote out there somewhere and I can't remember it exactly, but it is something to the effect of "I am in every leaf, every flower, every blade of grass...." And as I watched the trees sway in the breeze images of smiling children came flooding over me.

We parked in the drive, I plastered a smile to my face and we ambled up the path to the house. And low and behold we were greeted first by a puppy. So the seconds before meeting our host, the puppy worked a little magic and somehow transformed my plastered smile into a genuine one.

The house was huge. An old estate with a kitchen so massive it even had one of those big stone hearths that you can practically stand in. The estate is owned by a cooperative, a group of vegetarians that made an organization and created this space for workshops and retreats, summer camps and family gatherings.  One of our hosts, the cook let us know the kitchen was her kingdom so we couldn't help cook, but we could sit at the table and chat and keep her company. Turns out that we weren't late at all. In fact we were about an hour early.

So a while later another few people came. They entered the kitchen, plopped down some bags and scrolls of paper on the table and after the introductory kisses and name exchange they put us to work. We were instructed to make two giant pictures of mountain scenary to be the backdrop of a marionnette performance. Meanwhile the two other ladies sat down on the other side of the table and started making yarn pom-poms. Could this be real? Mind you that Jota and I had never met these people before. We knew almost nothing about them. They were strangers that had invited us to their celebration after getting their contact info from our local librarian. We had no idea what to expect - what their rendition of a solstice party would be. So my surprise, shocked and relieved self settled into a chair, crayon in hand and started drawing. How could they have known this was exactly what I needed? How could they have known when I hadn't even know what I needed?

So a few hours passed. Carmen cooking away in the kitchen, a few others making a giant fire in that giant hearth, Grandma making pom-poms, the children and teenagers making the puppets and Jota and I along with a trickle of other adults scribbling away at our community picture. No questions, no politics. Just laughing, innocense, open hearts and a joyous mood.

We ate dinner together- salad, vegetable lasagna and broccoli soup with homemade bread. I felt restored in the goodness of the world, the goodness of strangers. We enjoyed sparkling cider (it's a no alcohol, no smoking place!) and dessert and then started our marionnette performance.

Like I said before, I didn't know what to expect of this evening.  So when everyone started climbing the stairs inviting us along, I was a bit nervous. Upstairs? What's up there? What kind of entertainment will this be anyway?  So I followed Grandma up the stairs carrying my doubt with me, but my curiosity too.  When we all settled onto cushions on the floor in a circle I looked around and saw a family, a community. At their gatherings this group always brings self-entertainment. As in- people bring a story, song, instrument, skit, comedic act, something to share with the group, something to entertain, make people smile, make people feel welcome and connected. I looked around in anxious anticipation for clues as to what this "entertainment" would be. A couple started off with telling a story and then hitting the play button on the cd player. You know what came out booming? Julia Andrews and "A Few of My Favorite Things." Really? Could this actually be happening, I thought. And so sing-alongs to the  Sound of Music ensued along with a group spontaneous marionnette performance, goofy games, a few jokes and a few stories. It was "child-ish", silly, fun  and something so perfect I couldn't have thought of any better medicine to restore my faith in humanity. I sang and danced and smiled and laughed with all those children and teachers alive in my heart. Sometimes the world surprises me in ways I wished it didn't. But then again, sometimes it surprises me in other ways too.

(pictures to come, the internet is too slow here to post them now...)