Down the road from where I live is a church called Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs. Outside the church is a statue of Jesus, arm outstretched with two fingers poised to anoint somebody's forehead. At least I think that is what he is doing. I've not had a chance to further consider his actions for reasons I'm about to reveal.
Just over a week ago, the statue of Jesus disappeared. All that is left is the stone plinth upon which he once stood. Although I rarely give much thought to Jesus these days, I do think about that missing statue. Where has he gone? Will he come back? It's been over three days now!
Over the weekend, I had a dream in which my parents had visited me at my home in Verdun. We were walking out of the metro station and on the verge of beholding the magnificent sight of Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs. But something terrible had happened. I looked up and saw that the spires were gone. The twin spires -- those beautiful white, gleaming fingers of stone in the sky -- gone.
I was shocked and slightly traumatized.
It must mean a lot to me, that church. I think it has come to symbolize the beauty of Montreal and my love for it. The idea of my own parents not being to see it in the state that I have come to know it -- this, apparently, is horrifying to my dreaming self.
Fortunately, when I woke up and finally stepped out of my front door, I could see that the spires were, in fact, still standing tall. Jesus, however, is AWOL to this very day. Any leads as to his whereabouts would be much appreciated.
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