We all need to let ourselves be touched by glorious or simple places and by the human tragedies around us and to transform these emotions in the positive energy of change through inner listening. 'There are places where the spirit blows.' This phrase, loosely inspired by the Bible, was coined by the very influential French nationalist writer Maurice Barrès at the turn of the 20th century. It captured the mystical power which he felt radiated from certain locations predestined to become sanctuaries or meditation places. He found this to be the case for instance in Domrémy, home to Joan of Arc, on the beach of Saintes-Maries de la Mer, the most ancient Christian pilgrimage place in France, but also in 'the forest of Brocéliande, full with rumour and will-o'-the-wisps, where Merlin by the days of storm still groans in its fountain' or at Carnac, where endless rows of standing stones date back from a time and a form of religion practised by an unknown, ancient people.
I share neither Barrès’ nationalist ideology nor his exalted romanticism, but from time to time I nevertheless feel the same unexplained inspiration. I feel it in the Cévennes valleys, scene to the Camisards' tragedy, where each tree and each stone seems to still bear witness to their revolt. I feel it in military cemeteries where each individual tomb you face begs that you see to it that such sacrifices never happen again. I feel it on these border points where the flow and ebb of historical tides eventually dropped fateful borders, and sometimes wondrous points of passage.
For instance, Istanbul: a Roman capital for no less than a thousand years!, then the Ottoman capital, with its bridges on the Bosporus, retaining its cosmopolitan culture in spite of the ethnic cleansings of the 20th century, it seems to be a location predestined to establish links between Orient and Occident. I was also struck by the site of the now ruined Devin Castle, near Bratislava, at the confluent of the Danube and the Morava. The day before yesterday, the Roman limes (the outer limit of the Empire) followed the Danube, yesterday the Holy Roman Empire stopped on the Morava, and further downstream on the Danube, a few hours ago, the iron curtain also followed the course of the Danube.
Today there still are milder borders: from the Devin Hill, you can see Moravia (part of the Czech Republic) to the west, the hills of the minor Carpathians mountains to the east (part of Slovakia) and the Austrian plain to the south, but tomorrow the European Union will assign new tasks to border guards in the area as the Schengen treaty (allowing for free movement across borders) will prevail for all three countries. We have gone from a disputed stronghold to a unique memorial to former divisions and future union.
But are such places evident to all, like burning bushes, as Maurice Barrès claimed, or is a particular frame of mind needed to be receptive? The answer comes from another place where the Spirit blows: Caux, on a Vaud mountain side, halfway between Montreux and the summit of Rochers de Naye. There visitors can train their listening skills. It is actually fairly simple: like when listening to someone, there is need to give the other an opportunity to speak, and therefore need to remain silent and let the communication start. These are no ghosts or supernatural spirits to be expected, but rather what the Mahatma Gandhi used to call his inner still small voice. It is sometimes called the voice of conscience, a name that doesn't do justice to the amazing creativity and sense of priorities that stem from this still small voice.
The experience is free and accessible to all! A time of quiet, possibly a pen and paper to keep a record, and ideas start to flow and important ideas, sometimes unexpected, become key convictions: 'return the money you took from your parents' – my own first thought – or 'there can be no Europe tomorrow without the Germans,' – was the thought of French socialist politician and former Resistance activist Irène Laure after two days of seclusion in her room at Caux; she consequently decided to give up her acute hate of the Germans and she was to become a passionaria of the reconciliation of French and German peoples. Her most powerful message was directly derived form that conviction born in silence: 'I wanted the destruction of Germany and hoped to see it removed from the map of Europe. I ask you to forgive me.' It was extremely simple and efficient.
There are places where the spirit blows and Caux is one of them. But more important is that there be people who listen and open themselves to inspiration. We all need to let ourselves be touched by glorious or simple places and by the human tragedies around us and to transform these emotions in the positive energy of change through inner listening.
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