I, like so many women, have sung along to numerous songs which include the lyrics of wedding bells or church bells. But it wasn’t until this morning that I’d realized I’d never actually heard them before.



There on a cobblestone road, dressed in summer clothing on a rainy day, I heard the church bells for the first time in my life. And a tear trickled down my cheek.

I was stunned by my tears. Don’t get me wrong, church bells have sounded in my presence, perhaps further away, but nonetheless my ears are no strangers to the sounds of spirit. From sunrise puja bells in Benares, to singing bowls in Nepal, to the beautiful songs of Mangal Artic at 4 a.m. in Vrindavan, to morning mosque prayers in the Hunza Valley, no other vibrations have stopped me in my tracks like the church bells of today.

I’m not quite sure how to describe the sound, but the vibrations gripped me. You could say it possessed me internally and sort of turned me inside out, just like reversible clothing. It’s the same clothing, one just gets a different perspective of it when it’s flipped the other way It was definitely a feeling of balance in my gut, my solar plexus, if you will. I was filled with uncontrollable emotion as I was taken by such surprise, and found myself in different space altogether. Strangely, I keep picturing the vibrations of a cartoon character after he has been hit by a frying pan. Not pain, (after all the character is fine and dandy a second later) but stunned. The feeling was that of happiness and sadness combined. Sadness because the feeling was so unfamiliar to me, and happiness because I was feeling it now. Accepting this was also a bit frightening so that is when I decided to go inside the church.





This was no amazing cathedral, not even a very charming church. I say this in comparison to the churches you see over here, it oozed charm compared with St. James in Petaluma! In fact the stained glass window of Joan of Arc actually made it quite exceptional. Nevertheless, it wasn’t Notre Dame! This was a very small humble church in the town of Pontrieux.



The interesting thing was how we even got to Pontrieux this morning. We were about to set off for the day with everyone when Greg’s mum came bounding down the stairs announcing that there was a “Pardon” mass today and that her sister Marguerite wanted to go with her. Marguerite would pick her up in 10 minutes. Then suddenly the children said that they wanted to go. Well you can’t exactly tell the children they can’t go to church, now can you???!!!! And anyway I knew they’d behave much better if Greg and I were not there even though the “Pardon” sounded very interesting as it is customary only in Brittany. So after we got rid of the kids and mum-in-law, we set off driving to nowhere in particular. We drove down all sorts of country roads, me airing my annoyance at the planning capabilities of my fellow travelers. Finally we found Pontrieux, a town that is famous for its ghats ( stone steps leading down to the river for the washing of clothing). We parked the car, had a little stroll and then the church bells sounded. It was one of those times when you know you are exactly where you are supposed to be at that exact moment in time. (And a reminder for Little Miss Gina to stop her planning tirade!) Afterwards, the phone rang and it was time to pick up the family at the “Pardon Mass”. So off we went—-we drove a long ways to have that moment. But that’s all we came for, we just didn’t know it.

When I was a young girl I loved the Christmas song “Do you hear what I hear”—-it’s always been my favorite because I always found it so mysterious and today I realize a bit challenging as well. Perhaps in connection with my Gaelic roots here in Brittany, which is so famous for its seaside holidays, I finally heard:

“A song, a song high above the trees with a voice as big as the sea, with a voice as big as the sea.”

And today, after 37 years, I know I hear what you hear. Cheers & Ciao for Now,

Gina