The book I had chosen for the EU legs of my trip was the Lucifer Effect, in my case 488-page tome printed with small font describing the Stanford Prison Experiment from the perspective of the principal researcher. In this experiment, designed to better understand the bureaucratization of evil, a group of 1970s undergrads at the liberal Bay Area University were randomly assigned to be guards or inmates in a simulated prison located in the basement of the psychology building. Begun on a Sunday, and expected to last for two weeks, the experiments had to be called off on the first Thursday night due to the abuses the ‘guards’ were heaping on the ‘inmates’. I had reached the point in the story where the worst of the mistreatment occurred and the student breakdowns began, and was wishing I had brought a cheerful romance to read instead. I was also feeling that strange combination of headache, fatigue, and restlessness that I get when I combine not enough exercise with not enough sleep.
I was soon outside, back in the park, more precisely on a path leading from the park into a nearby neighborhood. Gravel crunched under my feet, the wind caressed my shoulders, and sunlight peeked between the trees and apartments to the west. Fresh air and the steady pace of my footsteps began to clear my mind and relax my body. The end of the path came far too quickly, a T at a road, and after a short pause I turned left toward town.
Two houses down, I was met with a delight: a front yard bursting with spring flowers. I stopped and took it in, pink hydrangeas and peonies, red geraniums, white jasmine, orange lilies and violet pansies, among others; all carefully arranged and tended along the brick walk leading to the front porch. As I took in the abundance of cheerful colors and the sweet fragrance, two insouciant cats took up guard on a tongue of grass, gloating as they encouraged me on my way. A sign on the fence indicated this was a stop on the upcoming garden tour, and I was sorry I would miss it.
As I continued on, I was struck by the pleasant ordinary-ness of this village nestled just off the final approach path to one of the largest airports in the world. My walk took me past a brew-pub style restaurant and a flower shop. I perused the magazines and children books in the librarie (bookstore) I had passed earlier in the day. A right turn led me to the health clinic, and a left into a neighborhood, a new development of cozy homes with warm sand stucco exteriors accented with redwood-stained shutters, each with a small patch of lawn between it and the flower-lined sidewalk. I slipped through a small alley (Rue de l’Europe) to a larger cul-de-sac (also the Rue de l’Europe) lined with apartments. As I proceeded back to the village center, the newer residences gave way to more established structures. I passed a pharmacie, a marker embedded in the plaster indicating the building’s history stretched back more than a century. After a quick stop in the other grocer (a Petit Casino), I headed back to the hotel.
For some reason, it had not registered that the town was on a low incline, with my hotel near the crest and most of my walk toward the valley. I headed uphill, but, legs beginning to tire, stopped halfway to rest on a low wall. Locals walking by greeted me with a cheerful ‘Bon Soir!’ and I even got to pet a few dogs, mostly small breeds but also a chocolate lab and a Pyrenees mix. I continued on, up the steps that led to the park.
Tired again, I stopped at a bench to rest my now weary legs. It was a quiet little spot, with a second bench placed opposite mine so friends could talk or play. The nearby grass was shaded by large trees, with sections of path bordered with well-manicured hedges. There was a fountain, flower beds, and the stones nearby were littered with rose petals left by the girls who had had been playing earlier. I took a deep breath and tried some lovingkindness meditation. (Remember all those meditation retreats?) May all beings be happy, may all beings be safe, may all beings be healthy, may all beings live with ease. It was a nice moment, and the more I sat, the more relaxed I became.
And then, calmness.
It was a calmness of a depth I have rarely experienced. It was the calmness I had gone to monastery hoping to find. The air was warm on my skin. Leaves fluttered in the wind. Birds chattered and sang as they worked. And I sat.
You are here, my mind whispered. Now. Just enjoy it.
And with a deep breath, I did.