Paying Quiet Homage To Notre Dame

I sat with my eyes closed, slowly going inward, deepening my breath and letting the peace of the surroundings gently permeate me.

It was Paris last October. Right smack in the middle of an incredibly busy tour, shepherding 120 lovely, smart, curious public radio listeners. There was a bit of free time in the schedule, my husband was sick and I was miraculously alone.

It was almost noon. The line was moving swiftly so I joined it, entering the gloom and hush of Notre Dame de Paris.

I was suddenly 18 years old again, living in Paris as a student and au pair. I was terribly lonely, on a strict budget and homesick long before the days of the internet and cell phones.

A free organ concert had drawn me there for the first time. Bach. A composer whose keyboard music I had practiced over and over at the family piano.

The organ pipes filled that enormous space with beauty beyond words; the sound swirled around and vibrated the seat, my flesh, my bones. It moved me, comforted me.

I left that first visit to Notre Dame lifted up from the music and from the sacred space. I felt as though I’d been with kindred spirits, visible and invisible.

I returned many times that year, mostly for free music, but also for the soaring architecture, intricate and stunning stained glass, candles and hushed voices.

Last October, nothing had changed. The vibes were still there. I sat quietly for nearly a half-hour, enjoying the art, meditating a little, and simply soaking up the ambiance.

Watching the fire consume Notre Dame, I wept — for my 18-year-old self who found comfort there so many times. And for the woman who returned 40 years later to slip into the cathedral’s unconditional embrace once again.

One more photo is below, and here’s a piece I aired in honor of Notre Dame:

Here’s one of my favorite Bach organ pieces:

Below is a photo I took last October. As the full moon rose, a sea of blue and silver stars were projected onto the cathedral.