I'm opening my travel journal, yet again.
I’ll be wandering quite a bit throughout the next few months.
Here & There.
Barcelona, next week.
Although I adore the city, I may run off early and wander on to surprise friends with spontaneous visits.
I’m packing light.
My heart is open.
Ready for new journeys.
Experience is calling and the possibilities are endless.
I have a good friend who lives on the 2nd floor of my building. I rarely see him.
A close girlfriend lives 2 blocks from me. I saw her for this first time since Christmas, in another state.
My family lives 10 miles from me. I see them once a month.
David lived around the corner and I saw him almost daily. He died 2 years ago and I haven't visited his grave once.
My dear friend Christel lives on the coast of Brittany. The last time I saw her was 8 years ago when I visited her at her flat in London.
I traveled 10 thousand miles, 3 times in 2 years to see someone I loved.
Distance is a formality.
Only I create the distance between here and there.
I have made a promise to myself. I will travel where ever I must, to be with the people I love.
At 7am, for the past three mornings, I’ve been woken up by a fly. The first morning, I felt these six teeny tiny legs walking slowly across my cheek. He seemed to be traveling a mile. I tried to slap him away and instead, I slapped my own face. Not a good start to the day and not one of my finest moments.
The second morning, he was back. Just touching my cheek long enough to get me out of my sleep. I leaped out of bed and chased him. Try catching and swatting a fly the moment you wake up. Before washing your face. Before brushing your teeth. Before breathing in and out a few times. Needless to say, I didn’t catch him and proceeded to plot his death most of the day.
When I got home that evening, I found the fly. Yes, it’s the same one. He was sitting right next to me, quietly perched at the tip of my lampshade. I stared at him for a while. He didn’t take off. He just sat there. I stared and he stared back. I thought, what a short life this creature has. I must seem like this enormous moving object to him. I would be scared for my very small life if I was him. I felt compassion for the little critter.
The next morning he landed on my cheek. Same time, same spot. He brushed up against me and then took flight. He had become my personal alarm clock. I said a good morning to my little friend and started the day smiling. This was a lesson in acceptance.
Chapter 48
I don’t want anyone to talk to me. I can’t tolerate anyone’s face right now. I even manage to dodge Richard from Texas for a while, but he eventually finds me at dinner and sits down – brave man – in my black smoke of self-loathing.
“What’s got you all wadded up?” he drawls, toothpick in mouth, as usual.
“Don’t ask,” I say, but then I start talking and tell him every bit of it, concluding with, “And I can’t stop obsessing over David. I thought I was over him, but it’s all coming up again.”
He says, “Give it another six months, you’ll feel better.”
“I’ve already given it twelve months, Richard.”
“Then give it six more. Just keep throwing six months at it till it goes away. Stuff like this takes time.”
I exhale hotly through my nose, bull-like.
”Groceries,” Richard says, "listen to me. Someday your gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You’ll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing and you were in the best possible place in the world for it-in a beautiful place of worship, surrounded by grace. Take this time, every minute of it. Let things work themselves out here in India.”
“But I really loved him.”
“Big deal. So you fell in love with someone. Don’t you see what happened? This guy touched a place in your heart deeper then you were capable of reaching. I mean you got zapped, kiddo. But that love you felt, that’s just the beginning. You just got a taste of love. That’s just limited little rinky-dink mortal love. Wait till you see how much more deeply you can love then that. Heck, Grocieries-you have the capacity to someday love the whole world. It’s your destiny. Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.” I was actually crying. “And please don’t laugh at me now, but I think the reason it’s so hard for me to get over this guy is because I seriously believed David was my soul mate.”
"He probably was your soul mate. Your problem is you don’t understand what that word means. People think that soul mate is a perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your our attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with your soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave, and Thank God for it. Your problem is, you just can’t let this one go. It’s over. His purpose was to shake you up, drive out something that needed to leave, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform of your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job and he did great, but now it’s over. Problem is, you can't accept that this relationship had a real short shelf life. You are like a dog in a dump baby, you are just lickin at an empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you’re not careful, that can's gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable, so drop it."
“But I love him? “
“So love him “
“But I miss him “
“So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, and then drop it.
You’re just afraid to let go of the last bits of David because then you’ll really be alone. And you are scared to death of what will happen if you're really alone. But here’s what you gotta understand, if you clear out all the space in your mind that you’re using right now to obsess about this guy you’ll have a vacuum there, an open spot-a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with that doorway? It will rush in-God will rush in and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed.
So stop using David to block that door. Let it go.”
This fantasy universe is rich, even inexhaustible, and it often grazes abysses.
This dream is dizzy, it pulls me to the frontiers of the strangest forbidden. Toys with perversity, with death, with the sordid. Even though the scenarios which this imagination creates are sometimes terrifying and shocking, It knows perfectly how to draw a line between dream and reality, they are only an expression of my unconscious - an unconscious which is free.
The lover who haunts my night has a disquieting face. He's a powerful and solitary man. He wears a great black cloak and can brave all dangers - physical as well as metaphysical dangers. He's very often the likeness of a vampire - handsome but terribly dangerous. If he approaches, he'll drink blood and tear my soul away. In exchange, he'll give access to immortality.
He is a brother of doctor Faust, a magician or poet capable of signing a pact with Lucifer, a man hovering far above others since the time he sold his soul to the devil. He's a kind of black archangel who, if I dare come to him, will initiate infinite pleasures, only capable in my dreams.
I was laying in bed.
My body exhausted.
My mind racing.
I was thinking of a few words I put on paper. They were haunting me. They were just a couple of lines. Lyrics really.
They were undone.
Now I'm up at 1:30 in the morning writing lyrics.
I started something. I have to finish.
Until I do, these words won't let me rest.
I enjoy writing. It inspires me or rather I am inspired to do it. The words comfort me. Give my thoughts structure. My life appears meaningful when put on paper.
I'm not a novelist nor do I have my eye on a Pulitzer. But non the less, I have been writing for many years and I'm good at it. Poems, short stories and my specialty, lyrics.
I haven't been writing much the past few months. For many small reasons but mainly because I thought I hadn't had much worth writing about. I know better now.
I was in a crucial transitional period. I am always changing but this transition was different. It changed my life in ways I would not have imagined.
The past 6 years have been very formidable within me.
I have experienced great love, great loss and great change. I write great because there IS an intense greatness I received from all of this.
Most importantly, these past years have most definitely assured me of all I'm capable of feeling, doing and being.
There is much to say about my loves, losses and changes and I will touch more on the rest another time. Now the one I will share is what I cherish most.
I've learned to live without fear and replace it with love.
I am learning the process of this daily.
The larger, most common human fears have become meaningless to me. They are nonsensical in the grand scheme of this life and not to mention a huge waste of my time. I realize now how precious time is.
The tiny, daily fears are falling from the waist side. Like old friends you realize you have nothing in common with anymore.
If fear tries to creep up on me, I have the tools of awareness to banish this emotion and immediately replace it with a feeling on acceptance and love.
I am happiest about being without fear.
From this great breakthrough I've learned, I can forgive easily, I need very little, I can do anything I choose, and I like and love with a selflessness I've not experienced before.
Now all I want to do is live each moment without it.
I will talk with new people and invite them into my world. I will write extra ordinary stories and songs, travel to unknown cities and countries and do all of this without those annoying insecurities that are fear based.
Again, I will say, I'm learning this process on a daily basis.
The more I practice this the more I feel my life is limitless.
My little suggestion to you is to face and conquer one fear a day. Before long, you will have no room for any.
Maybe it's selfish of me to feel this but, it's comforting to know that some places and people are still exactly the same as when I was a child.
My favorite pizzeria in Brooklyn, still there, with the same old italian men behind the counter, happy, welcoming, shouting and prideful in the work they do. Same chairs, same booths, same gum ball machines. Most importantly, the pizza is still the best I've ever tasted.
I have been to Italy and briefly visited Naples. I've never had the pleasure of eating at Pizzeria Michele, which the Italians, Neapolitans, and most of the rest of the world, claim to have the best of the best pizza. Pizzeria Michele makes 2 kinds of pizza. Margarita and Margarita with extra mozzarella. They would cringe at the thought of a square pizza pie. In Italy, square pies are used with many other toppings, and have various names but they are not called pizza. Since the Neapolitans actually invented pizza, the Margarita, I have a sneaking suspicion this may be the ultimate.
But to me, because this humble storefront is the same in color, character and authenticity, and one bite of it's perfectly crusted, cheesy corner sicilian slice of heaven brings me straight back to the memory of absolute joy, I will stand by my belief that Da Vinci in Brooklyn USA is the ultimate pizza experience.
Io sono innamorato della lingua italiana. Sono stato in grado di imparare un po 'nel corso degli anni. Il mio italiano non è adeguato a tutti come si può dire con questo scritto, ma cerco ancora di pratica di parlare, leggere o scrivere ogni giorno.
Ho studiato spagnolo al liceo e fu in grado di parlare un po 'fino a quando ho perso interesse.
Italiano, spagnolo e francese sono tutte le lingue molto simili. Sono piuttosto sicuro che se io imparare l'italiano abbastanza bene poi spagnolo e francese verrà molto più facile per me.
Sono determinato ad imparare l'italiano abbastanza bene per avere una conversazione discesa.
Ho diversi libri, lezioni audio e il passo successivo è quello di iscriversi in classi.
Sono eccitato.
Auguratemi buona fortuna.
I had an early start to a great day.
Visited some new friends at there new apartment in my neighborhood. We talked for hours about music plans.
I've been receiving lots of offers to sing and write. Some offers are from pretty well established musicians that I really admire. I'm honored and humbled, and of course, I'm jumping on these opportunities.
The morning passed quickly.
Around noon, I hit the streets. I can safely say I traveled 30 miles around manhattan. Uptown east, downtown west, midtown along 5th avenue. I took good care of business until 7pm.
Drove to Montclair NJ for 8:30 dinner reservations. Had a fabulous dinner with good friends.
Drove back to the city about midnight.
Everyone came to my apt.
This amazing chance encounter happened. My friends and I had an offer to stay at a condo in the Miramar resort of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for free. We laughed and talked and booked the trip!
Exhausted, I'm going to lay in bed and read a new book that I can't get enough of.
I'm blessed.
I spent the day in Brooklyn with my dad.
He picked me up from the city at 9am. He's an early riser. We drove along the Gowanus as he told me all about his trip to Jamaica. He had rasta beads around his very tan neck. I tried not to laugh. I just smiled. He said Jamaica was hot and touristy. I thought, hmm isn't it suppose to be both of these things. I just listened as he seemed to talk a mile a minute. We turned off bay 8th exit and he drove straight to Vegas Diner for breakfast. I loved this diner as a teenager. We ordered eggs and coffee and he continued to talk. He smiled as he told me about his plans to do next to nothing when he retires, which will be in just about a week. I was happy to listen.
We finished our food and then went to visit my grand aunt Madeline.
She was done up in her gray suit, pearl earrings and red lipstick. Her hair was in a perfect bun. She is 90 years young. She said she just couldn't believe how beautiful I looked. She said I looked like a movie star. I almost wanted to believe her, then I realized she can't see or hear very well. When I was young, she seemed so tall and graceful to me. She is now a tiny woman yet still carries herself with an air of elegance. A warm feeling of melancholy came over me as I gave her fragile frame a hug goodbye.
My dad asked what I wanted to do. I said "I want to go shoe shopping and have a corner sicilian slice of Da Vinci's pizza"
That's just what we did.
After a while, we headed back to his house, watched the baseball game and talked. We talked about love, marriage, divorce, work, my niece and nephew, my grandfather, death, old age, traveling. It was a very candid, honest and heart felt talk.
My dad is changing. He's aging. Matters that were once light to him are now taken seriously. He told me how proud he is of the woman I've become. He said I was someone he truly admired. He said I made a great life for myself and I should never stop following my heart, my dreams. These were once hard words for him to say and now they flowed from him freely, openly and with complete sincerity.
The day went quickly. We ate dinner together. Salad, sausage and peppers. After dinner, he rested for a little while. He then drove me home. Back to my apartment in the city. I gave him a big kiss and a hug. I was a little sad to leave him.
It was a pretty perfect day in Brooklyn with my dad.
Well, it's done. I finally booked my trip to Barcelona today. I'm so excited to go back.
Yes, I've been there before, but this trip will be different.
I will go and see all I missed during my last visit. I missed so much last time because I, well we, had a large agenda. I was traveling with a girlfriend and our plan was 4 countries in 3 weeks via hotel train. It was a great, hectic, overwhelming, fun experience but I was a much less experienced traveler.
Now, I can say with confidence and several countries under my belt, I am a seasoned traveler.
I have a small list of places and people to see. I will do my research as usual. I'll brush up on my high school spanish. I'll pack light.
The main goal of this trip is to let each day take me where it will. I'll wake in the morning and enjoy the rich hot taste of my coffee. I'll take the moments slowly. Soak it all in. Find the newness in the city. I'll eat as much tapas, suckling pig and pastries as I want. Allow my eyes to marvel at the architecture. To take the entire day visiting the Picasso. Enjoy sitting at an outdoor cafe with the sun shining on me and the time passing, as I admire the people and there culture.
I may even travel on after Barcelona. The beauty of this trip is that I will choose not to decide this or anything else I want to do until the day decides for me.
Still smiling.
I just ate mushroom ravioli in a parma rosa sauce with sprinkles of thin sliced romano cheese spread lightly on each ravioli.
My eyes beamed at the colors. My nose switched with excitement as the sent danced it's way in. My tounge worshiped the fork. My insides satisfied before it even reached my mouth.
It was spiritual.
Smiling.
Life, as we all know it, is constantly changing.
For me, everything is new.
My eyes seem to be seeing everything for the first time. My senses are at the tips of my fingers.
My prayers are now sincerely heart felt and full of gratitude.
My tounge tastes like never before. I feel the hot, the cold, the warm, the cool.
I feel everything without fear.
I have an inner serenity I have not known. I have a deep acceptance of myself and the world around me.
I forgive and do not judge.
I no longer hold resentment. I know the danger it causes.
I wake in the morning in peace. I live the day on the days terms. I am thankful for the day.
I keep God close throughout the minutes.
I have set healthy boundaries.
I listen to my instincts, to my gut, to that pull in my soul. I've learned that pull is God and she only wants what's best for me. That feeling is my guide, and it takes me to a better decision, a better direction, the better place for me.
I'm happy to be writing again. I'm happy to be writing this. I'm excited to share my new life.
I'm smiling.
He said” I started to remember the day. I was talking with so much nervous intelligence I couldn’t stop. Your body was radiating a glow, a heat. It was charging my fuel.
I was unselfish. I was self-conscious. I remember how it began to warm, the night sky was hot, like an Indian summer. You looked angelic, like a light was radiating from your every move. I had never seen this before. I had been with women and girls and all around the city. But the city was yours alone. It didn’t own you. U owned the day and the night. And you were unaware of this. I thought, how can she not know the power she has. Why doesn’t she use it? Then the sky broke and it rained. Do u remember the rain? “
“Yes.” I said.
"From there you stood with me, feeling the drops. They were falling all around us. And I watched u become wet from the rain. And u where smiling as I talked too much. I was just coming down the street. I was minding my own business. No one was around to bother my thoughts. You glided by. Do u remember gliding?"
“Yes.” I sighed
"And I thought in that moment, I have to talk to her. I didn’t know about what. The stars. The cars. The mud on the road. My dirty pants. The shoes I was wearing. They all seem so vivid. I stared right into your eyes. Your eyes were like lightening bolts yet you didn’t care. You didn’t care about me. You were just out gliding across the street. Out to make the night brighter. It was a dreamy night on a hot city street."
I looked at him and then looked up.
I pointed to a star, or maybe a planet.
I said “Do u see how bright that is?”
“Yes.” he seemed puzzled
“Do you think that star is trying to be bright? No.... she just is. It’s because that’s her nature.”
He stared and smiled, “I’m a lost soul and I found your light.”
“Yes”, I smiled.
It started to rain again. He tried to cover me with his coat
I walked a little farther.
The rain falling on me gave me life. It fed my light. I stood in the rain with him. He was covered and smoking. I was wet and warm.
He took my hand and brushed my hair with his fingers.
“Let"s go home and lay together.” He said in a deep, soft voice.
I stared at the sky.
“Of course.” I whispered.
It was morning as we walked hand in hand, carrying my basket of lovely goodness to the open field. He picked the spot. I lay the checkered blanket spread on the grass under our favorite tree and placed the basket gentle on the ground. He was eager to eat. I was happy to feed him. I carefully arranged the fruits and cheese on a white plate, letting the freshly made bread rest on the cloth napkin. I whipped a small tub of herb butter in it's container. The smell of rosemary and dill put a smile to my face. I poured the iced tea, squeezing a wedge of lemon in. He sat next to me all the while watching me move about. He said he liked the way I move. He said watching me move made him happy. I handed him a cold glass of tea. He drank. I held a bright red strawberry to his mouth. He stared at me as he took a bite. He closed his eyes, smiled and chewed as if he and the strawberry shared a delicious secret. He turned and quickly grabed the homemade bread. He ripped off a chunck and stood up. He walked around the blanket, chewing and staring at the sky. He held a book. It's title was, Love letters of great men. He read Beethovan to his immortal. I spread the soft, herb butter on a small peice of my carefully made sourdough loaf. I nibbled as I listened to his words, so passionate. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. The smell of the fruits, the herbs, the grass. The smell of him strolling around me. He continued to read.
Letter 1 July 6, in the morning My angel, my all, my very self - Only a few words today and at that with pencil (with yours) - Not till tomorrow will my lodgings be definitely determined upon - what a useless waste of time - Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks - can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine - Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be - Love demands everything and that very justly - thus it is to me with you, and to you with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I -
I continued to listen. I thought of the time and place this love letter was written. I thought of the man's hand that wrote it. The woman's hand holding it. I drifted into a daydream.
I told him I had to go for a while. He asked where. I didn't know. We wouldn't speak and it was best. For now. So I went. The weeks went by. I was away. He knew where I was. He left the city too. He called for the first time after our last meeting. He said he was sitting by the water, breathing deep and thinking of me. I was happy to hear his voice, his words. He said he found an old wooden boat. He started to describe it. The waves were crashing in the background, the wind was blowing threw the phone. He asked if I would help him restore his new old friend.
"Yes, I will help you paint your old wooden boat. Ok, blue and white it is, and I promise to leave some weathered wood. Raise the sails and watch them flap in the wind. I will polish the rudder and make it shine. We can leave it washed up on the sand for a while. We can spend the day splashing and working and playing on land with your old wooden boat. Would you like that?"
He sighed and his heart warmed and he said, "Yes, I would love that."
He asked if he could see me soon. It was time to see each other again.
"Yes, let's see each other again. I'm coming home."
He came to me late in the day. His hair blowing in the wind. His shirt hanging just right. That little notepad in his back pocket. He asked if we could walk and talk. Yes, I would like that. We enjoyed the afternoon breeze, the sun peeking through the clouds. He asked if I would mind that he talked and I would listen. I liked to listen to him. I respected his words. He always spoke the truth. He spoke of his fears. He said he was lost without me. He stared into my eyes and said "I could walk with you forever." At that very moment, in my bones, I felt the same. He kept staring. He stared at my dress, he brushed my hair away from my neck as his fingers touched me gently. He raised his head and looked deep into me. He whispered to me, "Those eyes ... I have had a thousand dreams in your eyes." I blushed. A chill ran through me. He asked me to be with him. He asked me to stay with him. I smiled. He took my hand. He held it softly. I smiled. I looked down at the ground. I looked up again. I stared at him. He held my hand and we walked. We were together again, in the city, in the universe, in our hearts.
Sometimes we would sit on the ledge of the window and swing our feet into the open air below. He would hold my waist with one hand and a favorite book with the other. During the hot summer evenings, we would walk around the tin roof when the moon was high and still. He would point to the stars and tell me about different planets and there orbits. I would stretch my head up and watch in wonderment. He knew so much about so many things. He wants to drive with me through the desert. He wants to take me to a mountain he once hiked in New Mexico. He wants to show me cities he has visited and countries he has lived. This man who smiles at worries and laughs at fears and protects me when I'm not looking. This man, with his loose pants and comfortable shirt. His thick hair and steady hand. His pocket notebook full of poetry and prose all written in black ink.
I enjoyed cooking meals for him while he worked hard during the long days. I would experiment with different foods. He liked pizza and wine, which was simple enough. His hands were always still a little dirty even after a good scrub. I liked it. I would dance around the small kitchen while he read poetry and told me stories of his childhood. He would take out his little notebook and draw my figure. His pen was always black. His eyes were always deep. His touch was always true. He liked to just watch me sometimes as I was writing a letter or making dough for bread. He would smile as my hands squeezed the flour and eggs. He would gaze and daydream while he stared at me. I would never ask what he was thinking. I didn't want to know. I was happy with what I knew, what I felt. We drank wine and ate and laughed at the world.
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.
"I'm looking for a book... something that can help me deal with what might be an awkward situation. Something funny might be nice, but not necessarily big, 'ha, laugh' funny, and certainly not make-fun-of-other-people funny but rather something human-funny. And, uh, if it could uh, sneak up on you, surprise you, and at the same time make you think that what you thought wasn't only right, in a wrong kind of way, but when you're wrong, there's a certain rightness in your wrongness... Well, what I mean is, more importantly, I'm looking to be swept away."
He was not expecting this letter.
As it lay on the table, sealed neatly in the blue envelope, she grabbed her bag.
"Bye love." she said.
"So you will be home Monday?"
"I'll call you." as she took one look around and then a final look at him.
She walked out the door, and stood in the shadow of the window. She watched him walk to the table. He picked up the envelope. He looked to his right. He opened it slowly. She walked to the car.
My Dear Martin,
The last two years have been unforgettable. We have experienced things most people only dream of. I hold these memories deep in my heart. I hold you deeper. But I hold myself deepest. What we had was beautiful. It no longer is. I can not put us through this any longer. I am walking away.
With Deep Love,
Anna
He rushed to the door. She was pulling away. He screamed her name. She heard only her inner silence.
He called her sister. He was trying make sense of it all. Her sister swore to keep her secret.
He told her about the letter. He asked why. He asked where she was going. He asked a thousand questions. She just listened. After two days and many calls to her sister, she told him where he could find her.
He found her.
He stood next to her and held her hand.
He stared into her eyes. His eyes dripping with tears, he asked "why didn't you tell me?"
She said "because I wanted you to remember how beautiful it was. I hope you will always remember us as beautiful."
"You are nothing but beautiful to me." he whispered
He smiled. He held her hand tight. He kissed her lips.
She layed in the hospital bed and he watched her take her last breath.
