Full Immersion

The word "immersion" has been knocking on the door to my consciousness at unexpected moments this week, like a persistent but uninvited guest. Of course, being human, I wonder why... and the search for meaning draws all kinds of elements into the mix.

For me, the word "immersion" conjures up the story of my English-speaking father, when we first moved back to Quebec, choosing to immerse himself in the language and culture of our new home by living with a French-speaking family in Quebec City for three weeks. Looking back now, I'm not sure why that made such an impression on me, but I think his positive experience smoothed the path to my own choice to enter the French immersion program at high school, years later, with the fervent encouragement of both my parents. 

When I think about immersion, the idea of baptism is another image that comes to mind. Full immersion baptism is symbolic of dying to the mistakes of the past in order to live a fulfilling and meaningful life. The words of one of my brother-in-law's songs—Baptism by Fire—have been running through my mind since last week, too; sometimes we find ourselves in circumstances where we must sink or swim, where we are called to pass through a refining fire in order to come out better than before.

We can become immersed in our work, in our thoughts, in our reading... and in the lives of those we love. In these times, we choose to flow with something beyond ourselves. The recent journeying of one family in our circle through the final illness and death of their loved one is a prime example. All else falls away, and eternity can be found in the depth of connection, in the holding of a hand and a story shared.

I think it's important to remember that immersion is not the same as submerging, drowning, or killing off any part of ourselves. It is about letting go of what we don't need (including misconceptions about our own abilities) and finding how to live and breathe and have our being wherever we may find ourselves, of being part of something bigger and better.

Most of us live our lives as air-breathing creatures of the earth; it can be scary to move beyond the elements we think we know and immerse ourselves in the creative realms of water and fire... to become mermaids or dragons or some other form of being that transcends the elements by becoming part of them and dissolving false boundaries.

So what does immersion mean for artists and makers? I think it means the choice to give ourselves over to something beyond our current understanding, to be willing to be "out of our element" at times; an openness to admitting that we don't know it all and to asking for help; a decision to let go of the past and to start fresh when necessary—cleared of preconceived notions and past mistakes. Immersion is about belonging, relationships and being part of something; it means letting the walls down and using the stones to build bridges. 

Salt and Pepper

A friend and I were discussing the results of the recent Quebec elections over coffee last night, and reflecting on the language policies that have come to define so much of our political identity. We shared thoughts about how the French language could continue to prosper and thrive in Quebec—and beyond—without the punitive approach of laws designed to diminish and even exclude the use of other languages within provincial boundaries.

Nobody reacts well to having something shoved down their throat; what if we could be invited to a feast instead of forced to sit at the table until we swallow down the same old dish? What if we were told how delicious this meal would be, instead of being told, "eat it because it's good for you... and because I said so"?

What if we had language ambassadors instead of language police, promoting the opportunities offered by learning French (much as our anglophone parents did for us, enrolling us in French immersion or even sending us to French schools - not because they HAD to, but because they realized that it was a good thing, that it would open doors for us). These ambassadors could share the romance and poetry of the French language as much as the practical benefits it offers.

Learning different languages is like using different spices for our food; imagine if salt was the only spice you were allowed to have on your table.

My family is anglophone, but with roots in Quebec going back to the 1700s. One of the treasured recipes passed down to me from my maternal grandmother is her tourtiere recipe. Tourtiere is a traditional French-Canadian dish. I love it, and I make it often, especially at Christmas. I give it to friends and family, and we all enjoy it tremendously. But none of us would want to survive on a diet of tourtiere alone; sometimes we want to eat spaghetti or couscous or samosas or even steak and kidney pie (not one of my favourites, but some people like it!)...and the more we are told that we can't have those things, the more we will want them and miss them.

So, instead of building Quebec as a prison with a forced diet of pea soup—I do actually like pea soup, in case you were wondering—or baguette and water, let's turn it into a five-star French restaurant where people line up at the door because of a varied menu packed with delicious choices. Que pensez-vous?