Le Cimetère de Père Lachaise, Paris, 26th June 2014
Nice to meet you, Wilde. You too, Proust. Who's that you're listening to? Poulenc conducting Grappelli and Morrison? Oh yes, under that cedar tree. And is that Callas joining in? And who's that? Ah, Piaf, of course. What company you keep! So this is where the really rich and famous hang out.
But you're not who I came to... Ah, you've found me, Abélard. Your spirit is strong. I see now how this place was just rolling hills when you came here, not the sea of towers and tombs it is today. That was always how you liked it, wasn't it? Discovering new territory, always finding a fresh perspective. Scorning your fellow monks for their dogmas and doctrines. Creating a framework for intellectual rigour.
What did you call it? Logic. As if I didn't know. Where would Newton and Descartes be without the foundations you laid? Where would I be, without logic gates to herd my watch hands, pioneered by your vision a thousand years ago. None of us could have done it if you hadn't taken those first steps out of the dark ages.
Not much of a monk, though, are you? You old rake. People forget your deductive thinking but remember your testosterone. You really love that nun Héloïse, don't you? That kind of love you can only feel once in your life. Is that why are you making my eyes water for you? Is that why this bee drinks your tears so desperately? Héloïse, is that you?