What can you say about a disaster like this? Let us hope no one perished. Let us hope the injured will recover. Let us hope that some of the priceless things that constitute the religious and cultural heritage of the people of France and of Catholic Christianity remain. What else can you say? Such unfortunate events show you how important it is to keep and to remember sacred spaces, from the smallest chapel and humblest altar to the grandest temple; from a little grotto to a mighty river. These places are powerful symbols, making real the presence of God or the holy. They are unique, unrepeatable, and irreplaceable.
A colleague of mine from the Episcopal Church, the Rev. Joel Gibson of the Micah Institute, wrote this afternoon:
Regardless of our own religious grounding, Notre Dame Cathedral is known to us all as a sacred space that proclaims so profoundly the power of the transcendence of the holy.
While at this time we do not know how much of this house of prayer will remain, we know a lot about what has been lost. The days ahead will tell us more. For now, let us stand with and pray for all those who have known this place as their spiritual home. As people of faith, we know that what is most important to all of us is not that which is made by human hands, but we also know that we find the presence of the One who creates in our respective sacred spaces. For our Catholic sisters and brothers, and other Christians and other persons of faith, for whom this is a special place, let us pray. Let us pray for their strength, for their undaunted faith and that they may find the determination to not allow the loss of material things to diminish a spiritual well of hope.
As Christians across the globe gather for Holy Week and Easter services this week, may each of us, in our own way, find some comfort in the belief that that which the Holy has ordained cannot ever be truly lost.
I understand if your attention remains absorbed in this global happening and you skip my daily post. But if I may, I would like to divert your attention just for this moment. Your mind is on those flames of fire in the epicenter of Paris. But I want to show you a place where I have seen flames of water dancing. And not only in the form of flames, but also in rays, sprays, and streams, and so many other wonderful shapes, and in so many fantastic colors.
Sunday night I went to Parque de la Familia. Kitty Schmidt of the language program had told me that the park is the place to go after dark, when the fountains light up and the waters play in the colors. I was given to believe that entry to the park, eight bolivianos on any given day, would be free to all this weekend for the celebrations of El Día del Niño. Alas, you had to be un niño or una niña, 12 years or younger, for that privilege. I was too old and too hairy to pass for a child, though I tried for about six seconds to feign stupidity. Nope: eight bolivianos. Anyway, I got my ticket and entered the park, which was packed with parents toting their children.
They were right to be there Sunday night. Oh, what sights! What delights that dancing waters and colored lights can provide!
I will begin with the grandest fountain, Fuente de la Alegría. Picture a pool about 70 yards long with a spine of jets, sprinklers, and lanterns, all of these operating in tandem with each other and with any music or video being played. Put these together, and you saw water shooting 10, 20, 30 feet high, multiple streams at different heights. You saw streams curving and swaying over the pool. You saw projectiles rising and landing. You saw waves of water, curtains cutting across the pool. You saw rays of water shooting, soaring, bursting: liquid fireworks, liquid light. But these waterworks, these aquatechnics were not high in the sky but directly in front of you. And when these watercrackers burst, it was not smoke in your eyes but mist falling on your face. Water glowing, water glaring; water coursing, water darting. Water in fog; water in foam. All of this in every color of the spectrum. A rain of color, a raining rainbow. This was only the first act at the fountain. For the second act, a wall of water formed a screen on which was projected scenes and songs from the canon of Disney and Pixar cartoons. In between these movie clips and videos you saw a 3-D light show. Oh, brother, oh sister! Did you ever go to a planetarium when you were small? This was better than that. It was like being inside one of those old-school screen savers, the ones with the feathers and rays of light shifting shapes and colors all over your computer monitor. Definitely groovy. How could I stop from smiling?
When the lights and waters turned off at Fuente de la Alegría, the three other fountains turned on, and to them the dispersing crowds gathered. At Fuente de los Deseos, a wishing fountain, I saw more flames of water: red fire, green fire, purple haze. As the music played, the clouds gave way to jets, now softly flowing, now fiercely blasting, the great curves rising higher and higher, then falling and falling. One color, two colors, many colors. I was mesmerized.
The waters at Fuente de la Alegría and Fuente de los Deseos showered the pools continually. The pools looked so inviting; how could you resist stepping into them? This, of course, was prohibited.
Ah, but stepping into the other two fountains was not only not prohibited, but positively encouraged.
Over at Fuente de la Amistad, you have two rings of spouts, an outer and inner ring. The jets shot water up as high as 12 feet, maybe, and at other times it was at about two feet. On Sunday evening the fountain was full of children and teenagers, playing different games with the waters. They were running in and out of the rings when the water was low, but it was hard to know when to time your entry and escape. The heights kept changing; the colors kept changing, and you did not know when to move or where. Some children were trying to be clever and stay as dry as possible even while confined by the concentric circles of water pulsing high. Others surrendered and were all in, all wet. And for the shy bystanders who thought they could have it both ways, standing as close as possible to the rings and laughing at others’ sport—sorry! Every few moments additional spouts outside the rings would start spraying everywhere, as if to say to you, get wet or go away.
After more than an hour, I made my way to the exit, but not before stopping by Fuente de Paz y Tranquilidad, the other walk-in fountain. Here you have a starburst of spouts in the center of a small ring of jets. Together they created a dome of running, surging streams, under which a shower kept hissing. This is the kid-sized fountain. And there is no escaping it: walk into this fountain, and you will definitely walk out wet.
I have never seen anything like these fountains before. They swelled my heart with gladness. This is human ingenuity at its best, harnessing the energy and play of Sister Water and Brother Light. How constructive, how creative, how good. Truly I have found the fountain of youth, and there are four of them in Cochabamba! What do you think? Would you like to get drenched and rejuvenated? Join me. Grab a towel. Let’s go!
No comments:
Post a Comment