twenty-two

With all that I was learning from Claude, I tried hard each day to live more aware of myself, even when I was doing the most mundane things. Brushing my teeth or chewing my food became new and interesting experiences and increased my sensory awareness. I understood the saying “To live in a dream world” much better now. It was true that you could go through life disconnected from yourself, with the annoying consequence that you were never in the only place that really matters: the here and now.

The previous evening, Claude had sent me a text message with a formula I really liked:

Today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.

But the more aware I became, the harder it was to see my family continuing to live in what I now saw as the wrong way.

So that evening at dinner I exploded.

“No, Sebastien! Get off your laptop—we’re eating. That’s the flippin’ limit! We don’t see much of you as it is, and if when we do you’re not really here—”

“But I am here! I’m sorry, but I’m expecting an urgent e-mail. It’s work, so don’t get mad up about it.”

“In other words, you’re not paying any attention to what you’re eating.”

“Who puts these ideas into your head? That guru of yours?”

Breathe calmly. Don’t play the game. Don’t get angry . . . Think kind thoughts . . .

“Exactly. I’m working on how to become completely aware, and it’s life changing.”

“I’d like to see it,” he said sarcastically.

“OK, I’ll take you at your word. In fact, I was about to propose we do something interesting together in the near future.”

“You were? What?”

“You’ll see.”

I said nothing more: I wanted it to come as a complete surprise.

I was following Claude’s method of directly experiencing something that would teach a real lesson. I had found a very special place in Paris that would help me make Sebastien realize, in a concrete, empirical way, what it meant to be fully aware, and its benefits. I was very pleased with myself and was rejoicing in advance at how my surprise would affect him, imagining the amused, sexy look on his face.

However, when the day came and he discovered where I had taken him, he seemed worried rather than pleased.

“So this was your big idea?” he muttered so dubiously that I had a sudden moment of panic. What if this evening, which was meant to be a celebration for just the two of us, turned into a fiasco before it had even begun?

I wasn’t having that, so I tried to cheer him up.

“Come on, Seb, trust me. It’ll be great, you’ll see. It’ll be a laugh.”

It didn’t work. While we were waiting for our allotted attendant, I could see him casting a skeptical glance at the entrance where we were standing, trying to see through the heavy curtains hiding the room where our “festivities” were to take place. The curtains looked like those heavy rubber ones at the start of ghost-train rides at amusement parks.

Our host, Vincent, finally arrived. He instructed me to stand behind Sebastien and place my hands on his shoulders. Then he took Seb’s hands and placed them on his shoulders, inviting us to follow him through the curtains.

We entered a room that was in total darkness. And when I say “total,” that’s still not strong enough. I chuckled, feeling Sebastien’s back trembling under my hands. He wasn’t exactly enjoying it.

We groped our way until we found our chair backs and sat down for this blind-man’s lunch. I have to admit that at the start I didn’t feel very comfortable either. Enveloped in this complete blackness, the only way we could get our bearings was to judge how far away the sounds were that we could hear around us, and that made me quite anxious. Was I going to be able to survive two hours like this, with no visual input at all, clinging to the table like a life raft in the darkness?

We began to fill the dark space with disjointed conversation, both of us equally lost in this unusual situation, clumsily attempting to learn this new sensory alphabet. And yet to judge by the lively talk and laughter from the other guests around us, it seemed we would soon get over our awkwardness.

Fortunately, the arrival of the first course helped us relax. Vincent, a nonsighted person, took great care of us and served us a surprising dish. In this unaccustomed universe, we tasted it as much with our fingers as with our palates. We also rediscovered our mouths’ ability to distinguish different flavors: it was as though we each had 1,001 taste buds. The fact that we were deprived of sight seemed to enhance our other faculties, and the result was an explosion of sensation.

“Well? Now do you see what it’s like to eat while being fully aware of what you’re tasting?”

“One point to you.”

“Admit that this is a nice surprise, isn’t it?”

“I admit it. Good plan.”

Our voices and words acquired a new resonance. Not being able to see each other’s face and expressions, the rhythms of our breathing and intonation became much more important.

The meal continued with one taste adventure following another, punctuated by different wines, all of them subtle delights that detonated in our mouths as our senses continued to reveal their hidden talents. Ordinarily, we only use less than 10 percent of their potential. Just like our brains . . .

By the end of the meal, I could sense that Sebastien had been won over. He talked enthusiastically about his feelings, tried to define as accurately as possible the nuances of the dishes and wines we were offered and to guess which herbs or spices had seasoned the sauces. This new awareness affected him even more than I had expected; awakening his senses seemed to give him a taste for more.

“Thank you, darling. This has been a wonderful initiation. But aren’t you afraid that all this might give me ideas about other equally interesting ways we can become fully aware of what we’re sharing?” he said warmly, grabbing hold of my bread roll rather than my hand and then knocking over my wine when he finally made contact.

I laughed.

I knew perfectly well what he was talking about. And personally I had absolutely no objection!