The Faces of Infinity

There’s a spirit that moves through some homes and families, some places and people. It’s a spirit that wraps others with gratitude, but moves without prentention. Those who have it, act like they don’t. It’s that kind of gift. The kind you don’t know you are giving. The gift that is who you are.

For the past 2 months I’ve traveled. I’ve stayed with a number of different hosts. At times they’ve invited me and at other times I’ve invited myself and they have warmly welcomed my visit to their country or city or town. Every day throughout this trip, I knew where I was going to stay at night or had someone preparing that for me. When I arrived in Amsterdam, I came with a plan to stay in my brother’s old flat, one that was going to be half-empty because his old flat-mate had just married and gone on honeymoon. Brilliant plan, the Breitenberg brothers taking in the city in a brilliant bachelor pad on the Plantaage Muiderlecht. Lekker.

But best laid plans…so they go. By the time I caught up with Andrew at the café post-train from Switzerland, he informed me that we would be off to different accommodations. For the first four days, we were generously welcomed in to a community home. Most everyone from the house itself was traveling in Russia on a missions trip, so we laid low on the Elandsgracht, taking in the beautiful area of town over my first weekend in town.

On Sunday, we needed to move out. Not only that, but we had another 10 nights of accommodation to find. We asked Andrew’s design partner and friend, Harmine, if she could take us. It happened that her house would be very open for about two weeks and she welcomed us in without question.

I don’t pay much lip service to hosts. I usually thank them graciously for their spirit and invitation. I trust that my spirit of gratitude means more than the words that often seem to trivialize it. This relationship, however, felt different. I felt welcomed as a member of the family; brought in close like a nephew or a little brother. She hosted with personal style, attending to my needs while giving great freedom. If living with someone else can feel liberating, that’s what I felt. “Wow,” I thought. “What’s the story here?”

It turns out that not long ago, Harmine came to a realization that she needed to invest in life and things that were alive: relationships, moments, adventures. Instead of staying tuned into work all the time, she wanted to carve out space. The space that is the difference between a coffee-on-the-run with a friend and a two-coffee conversation. To not pass on dinner, but make an appointment and scope out a new restaurant. To take people into her house with whom she had spent little time and knew little about. These small decisions, she might say, have brought a richness to her life.

Over a week, I began to feel this tangibly. Harmine and I would sip bierches on the canal and talk deep. We would light candles and spin Jeff Buckley’s “Grace” and Bob Dylan “Live at Royal Albert Hall 1966”. She helped design a shirt for AfL. We became fast friends from the moment I arrived.

Of course, what I had felt personally moved to a new level when I told Harmine that I had an old friend coming to town (“Ulla, from Lativa”). She needed a place to stay for two nights and again, she was welcomed just as I had been a week earlier.

We all met on Friday night (along with my friend Marielle, both friends from the 1st adventure to India) and had bierches on the Niu Dyk before a rendezvous on Saturday morning. It rained in fits and starts, but we enjoyed a mammoth apple tart and drank coffees, walked through the open air market in the Jordaan and grabbed Indonesian to-go, taking turns to sneak out from the café to fill our chopsticks and mouths in turn.

As we discussed dinner plans, Marielle suggested we cook. Without another word, Harmine invited over 6 guests. We broke from the café. Ulla and I took a long bike ride, got lost and found our way home. The others greeted the Dutch sense of social schedule and arrived at a leisurely pace to the hostess’ flat hours later. Upon arrival we shook off the dust of a chill afternoon and warmed to the inside. Gezellig.

The kitchen absolutely buzzed as the four Dutch put together a massive spread. They worked with the kind of fluency you might expect from a kitchen with a packed dining room, zipping here and there and commanding their respective stations with authority. Within an hour, three kinds of fish and an enormous salad with hors devours along the way. The rest of us played records, spinning the vinyl as Led Zepplin and Simon and Grafunkel soared to my ears as if brand new. It turned into a brilliant dinner party, one we couldn’t have had anywhere else. It blazed.

It’s not hard to welcome others into your midst, but in my mind, it requires sacrifice. For some, it doesn’t require anything other than “yes”. They have a natural predisposition to it. For other it’s learned. Like Harmine, they turn a page and make a decision to engage in the moment, the magic, the eternal potential of engaging in relationship with people, of sharing a meal or a conversation. The infinity present therein.

In school, I marveled at Levinas, the French philosopher-rabbi who wondered on the faces of infinity – the face to face connection. The meeting of the eyes, he believed, was the source of ethics – the foundation of human relation.

Now I marvel at those who can look into the eyes of the Other and say: “Welcome, friend.”