We are here at the Source of the Le Loiret, in the town of Olivet, just south of Orleans. We have made our way aross the backroads of France slowly and painfully as I’ve regained consciousness. Today was my first where I was recognizably human, with my mind working on other than the dim, prehensile level on which it had been serving. I was convinced by the the distress and visions of the Auvergne that my life existed on a one-to-one relationship with the universe. This created conditions of interrelationships of health and eating that drinking that convulsed me. It was impossible to sort out that would work and would not work, had worked and had promise. It was a constantly shifting process and I spun emptily in the confusion of lost senses.
Finally, PJ determined what had to be done and sent us to Olivet, the massive single hole in the earth that served as a source for one of the major rivers of France. When I was growing up in France, the source at Olivet was always one of the touchstones for my father, who was a military engineer stationed at Olivet. Throughout our lives his stories of the the massive waters were a living thing.
As we moved through the flat plains of central France, I lost the sense of this world of with all of its transient modernity. The lives of generations washed away like the miles the we drove. The land became part of a deeper and more profound France. We returned to la source, the deep pulsing waters that poured from the bowels of the earth. It was a place of health and healing, frequented by Celts and Gauls. Romans probably worshipped here and they, like the others, were newcomers. Today it is home to a hospital which has come to my rescue. Now, at 4:30 in the morning, the countryside is undisturbed by a Novatel sign at the hotel or a parking lot filled with the vehicles of commercial travelers, the river continues to heal, roiling up from the abîme.
I could have been lying in a moon-washed Celtic field in the middle of night, listening to the waters as they streamed endlessly from the earth and rushed to fill the river beyond. I am hoping that the healing waters can return me home with PJ, and pray that they can somehow wash the slim, suffering body of a brother in Massachusetts.