Writing Scrap # 1

I often think about the sun in Montreal. The sun can disappear for weeks at a time, a layer of grey clouds walling the sky horizontally. After a month of repetitive grey days that vary only in their temperature, windchill, and dampness, everyone gets the Sickness. They walk around with their heads to the ground, hands in pockets, no longer looking at each other but within while outside their skin and breath turn to tedium and despondency. But even weather cold enough to bake you through competes with the sun for your attention when the sky is blue to the ceiling of heaven.

The sun does not beat down in Montreal nor does it melt things, even in summer. Mostly, the particles and the waves that ride sunbeams pass directly through solid surfaces, even pliant ones like skin, and filter into the bloodstream, into the solar plexus and the interstitial spaces of the body. The sun finds the Sickness and vaporizes it on the spot, filling the spaces with possibility.

I like to watch the sun, which is a simple thing. I watch it filter through leaves in trees of spring, or light up the cavern of snow covered branches on the mountain. I watch it paint the rooftops of St. Henri or reflect downtown in the mirrored surface of a building. I watch it kiss the faces of every pedestrian on St. Laurent and St. Dennis. How I love the sun of Montreal, as I have never loved the sun before.

The sun of Montreal, however, is also a liar. The sun tells you that your bad days are good because she is present, whereas your good ones unimportant in her glory. The sun is the ultimate egoist, the centre of attention no matter what else is occupying your mind. She is a narcissistic parent, demanding your attention at the expense of your own life and growth. The sun will tell you that it is better to spend time in her all to brief presence than returning a phonecall, filing a folder, writing a piece of music, making dinner, or doing the laundry. The sun will coax you from responsibility. While in general society does not place enough value on easy pleasure, ignoring too many commitments can be detrimental and maladaptive. The sun will take your productivity from you and transform it into atopic joy. You are in the land of the Lotus eaters. Days pass and nothing has happened. But, there is no escape from Must. When you come back down again, the sun will not allow you to blame her for the things you shirked, for the things you have not finished or started. © RL 2006