Editorial

Raphaël Picon

Translation Louise Thunin

Our gardens of eden are gone, and with them, our quiet sense of security, the permanence of a state of grace, with its irrefrangible links to others, to the universe and to God. Our paradise of luxury, tranquility and pleasure is lost. It cut itself off from us brutally and over time without our really knowing why. This exodus from eden has expelled us from our carefree world.

And now we have to make do. We have to make do with the inevitable loss of dear ones, of good health, of tomorrows insured by eternity. We have to make do henceforth with disorder, with confusing landmarks, with guarantees that no longer stand, the chaos of a life that can suddenly topple over, collapse. Yes, we have to make do with the loss of all our paradisaical gardens.

Yet from serene acceptance our greatest help may spring. Some, who believe it and who have the words to express it, decipher the trace God who clandestinely sows His seeds along His way. Others may see a lucky star. Should we tranquilly accept the loss of paradise as our ultimate saving grace ?

Yes, because to confront the world sanely, just as it is, means knowing it better, in order to face it better. Yes, because agreeing to the loss of paradise means giving up our claim to seizing it, holding on to it and holding it back. It means we resolve to be on the look out for the many signs of love that inexhaustibly show up in bits and snatches, the flashes of happiness that grab us so intensely that they prop us up. The readers of the Gospel know it : in the dark night there will always be a poet, a friend, a prophet to tell us : no, get back up on your feet, my friend; life goes on ! He will also say: your gardens of eden are lost but a few crumbs will always fall from the banquet table to revive in you a taste for life, a desire for relationship. And that then will be our paradise.

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