British Columbia postcard
May 1997
Dear Fellow Travelers,
Time for more tales of wandering. The sun breaks through as the
great white ferry crosses to Vashon Island -- in view of West
Seattle but a world apart -- all trees and craggy coast and creative
hermits -- like my friends, John and Tara who now have a place
right on the water. He's hard at a book on the mythic mysteries
of language -- when he's not out on his new kayak becoming one
with the currents. I first met her when I was giving a paper for
a Festival of Archetypal Psychology at Notre Dame. We all savor
endless conversations about the workings of the imagination. Being
out on the misty island is a kindly start for this Spring swing
through British Columbia to tell stories and see wonders. Had
to stop by Bellingham to see the progress on the big church in
the forest that Rev. Colleen's congregation has been working on
all Winter. I spoke the very first Sunday in the building last
Fall. At that time, the walls were still just framing covered
with builder's paper. What was an old metal barn is being reborn
into a woodside corrugated temple. It is a tribute to vision and
an apt metaphor for reclaiming our slightly tattered selves in
the service of new callings.
Up in Vancouver, the snow from an extra-severe winter still laces
the Grouse Mountain ski area above the city. The white slopes
are lit at night like benign glowing mother ships floating above
the metropolis. The first event is a reading at a large Chapter's
bookstore. The crowd is receptive but for one enormous guy who
had been drinking and insists that people like me are responsible
for tragedies like Heaven's Gate. What upset him were my comments
about the value of spiritual life. Sometimes people who have had
bad experiences with religion seem to fear all discussion of the
longings of the soul.
By the way, did you hear that they found two more bodies at that
Heaven's Gate house? They were overlooked at first because they
were down under the kitchen sink -- you know, behind the *Comet*.
-Thanks to my sister Mimi for that bit of tasteless mirth.
Back to the report. One of the treats of this trip is that time
allowed some exploring to find the haunts of a favorite writer
from the thirties. He is one Malcolm Lowry and his masterpiece
-- Under the Volcano -- is about the disintegration
of a minor British official living in Mexico. In the eighties,
John Huston made a strange film of it with Albert Finney and Jacqueline
Bisset. Anyway, I had heard that he wrote much of the novel living
in a shack at water's edge on the north bank of the bay. That
area is now posh suburbs across the bridges from the city. With
navigational assistance from my host, Carrie Hunter, we found
the site of the writer's shack (which had been partly on poles
right in the bay). The structure has long since vanished, and
the area is now massive upscale homes, but the view is splendid
and the street is now called Lowry Lane. The next day, I found
the house where Lowry lived for several years in Vancouver proper.
Since he worked on the epic novel for a decade, several sites
can be said to be the fertile ground of creation -- including
the Normandie Hotel in L.A. where he labored on it for awhile.
This hobby of tracking down the places that inspired writers or
where they did their best work got started years ago in London
reading blue circular historical marker tiles on famous homes.
It is stirring to notice that triumphs of the imagination have
been achieved in ordinary places near our daily lives. In the
morning, the B.C. Ferry threaded its way through the channels
between the densely wooded Gulf Islands to get me to Salt Spring
Island. The main town is Ganges, named after a ship that used
to call there when in from India. Appropriately, my talk is hosted
by the coordinator of an ashram (she can also deliver a wicked
impression of a pompous guru fresh from Madras). The next day,
a friend takes me to a mountaintop on the island that affords
a view of the maze of fjords below. It is quite a dazzle, all
greenery and waterways framed by billowing clouds. The central
presentation of the tour is a workshop for the Praxis Screenwriting
Center at Simon Fraser University. Vancouver has become the third
largest film production center on the continent (after L.A. and
NYC) and the eager young writers have taken notice. The theme
is personal discovery in small films. I show clips of some Canadian
movies with modest budgets and point out how psychological development
can drive a story. A character learning something important about
herself can be as fulfilling for the audience as flashy special
effects, and a lot cheaper to film. The best example for the talk
is a movie called My American Cousin. It's about a twelve year-old
girl growing up in rural Canada in the fifties. Her cousin from
Texas shows up in a red Cadillac convertible looking like a young
James Dean. She gets a mad crush on him as he chases the older
girls. There are many good shots at gross aspects of American
culture on the way to the inevitable disappointment that leaves
her older and wiser. The film is a jewel in showing illusions
at work -- and revealing how not getting what we want can sometimes
be the best thing in the end.
The last leg of the trip is inland to the Okanagan Valley where
most of Canada's fruit is grown. Towns have names like Summerland
and Peachland (the actual setting for My American Cousin). I do
an interview on the Okanagan Live television show. The host had
read in The Cinderella Complex how awful fairy tales were to suggest
that women should wait for Prince Charming to solve all their
problems. This provides a great opening for me to explain how
these stories are better understood as spiritual allegories and
not courtship dramas. If she makes a good connection with her
personal angel, the Fairy Godmother, the heroine gets to live
in the palace of radiant fulfillment with the beloved of her soul.
This is not just some guy, but something closer to allowing the
Holy Spirit to become real in one's life. The show is one of those
moments where there is a brief chance to take large ideas to a
general audience who least expects such content on local TV.
There are more sights and stories but enough for now. It is sunny
outside my window here in gracious Santa Barbara and this looks
like a good day for a walk on the beach.
Jonathan
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