I Think

My mind has been cluttered for a few days, shifting from one thought to another. Even the dreams are beginning to mingle between themselves. I recall one in which a dozen men sat around a large oval table and discussed what they called ‘evacuation’ of all Jews from their so called purist race, giving me chills even in my sleep. I remember opening my eyes to realize that it was only a dream and then I remembered something like that happening in a film I had seen not too long ago. I was furious then but the same realization in the dream appeared far more frightful. Later my heart ached even more realizing that it was neither a dream nor a script from a film but rather a smeared black history itself.

Hearing the sound of a mild snore coming from my dog close by, I went back to sleep, thinking now of a story I had heard before. A boy in his teens was abused physically and mentally by his cruel drunken father most of his life. The mother on the other hand did everything in her power to give her child the love he was denied from his father. A few years later, the mother passed away and at the funeral the boy remained quiet and somber but there were no tears in sight. The father lived a very long time, passing away when the boy was himself in his sixties. At the father’s funeral, he cried with no end in sight, the tears flowing uncontrollably. I woke up wondering if people need such pain in their lives to have a reason to live.

Leaving the bed with sleep in my eyes, hair all over the place, I took the dog out finding myself suddenly staring at the shafts of morning light streaming through the trees, the dappled shifting shadows, the mist rising off the silent grass. We walked, feeling the scent of purity resonating with authentic power. While the dog sniffed around, finding another territory to mark, I noticed several bees hovering over a bush filled with yellow spider like flowers. I saw one who seemed glued to the center of the flower, the wings flustering rapidly as if the bee was far too excited having found something she desired. Another one just hobbled from one flower to the next, unable to decide which one to settle on.

Back inside, I sit with a pot of tea, looking at the forest and seeing it drizzle again, as if defying the sun. There are no clouds in sight, sharp sunlight streaming through the trees yet a mild drizzle. My mind wanders to my recent experience living in a big city for a while and compares it to the serenity before my eyes. Some would say that the city changes constantly while this forest would remain the same. I found it just the opposite. The city remained the same in my experience, different people yet the same sounds, the same activity repeating itself. This verdant land somehow shows signs of change all the time. There is indeed a sense of constancy, one hardly forgets the quiet nature of rural life, yet the experience varies even with the time of day. One day’s walk through the forest is entirely different from another day’s. A solitary walk along the beach at night with the chilly wild gently running itself within you remains one of its kind. The next night doing the same walk is somehow just different. My own experience of being here is one of being ‘alone’, and as much as I am beginning to crave city life once in a while, I remember having a sense of being ‘lonely’ in spite of the rush of a major urban setting.

Images after images, the unfinished canvases sit with a story of their own. A boy walks on the beach playfully. In his tiny hands he holds some sand he desires to take home. A total sign of distress soon appears as he watches the sand slip away. The harder he tightens his grip the less sand remains in his hands. Quique runs through the field chasing his butterfly. Time after time he falls to the ground unable to catch it and just once when he was able to he sits there stern, fearful of the fact that he might crush it he finally catches it. I see and hear all these images and more, calling me at times but I wait for something within to show a sign of its own.

After days of mist, drizzles and cold chilly mornings, the sun rose today like a gift - an invitation to get out and live. I shower and dress in pure white cloths and walk to the nearby village. On my way I walk thru some old ruins, images of ancient churches rushing through my mind. Reaching the village I notice the decorations and sparking little colorful lights, the smell of freshly baked cakes and puddings fills the soul with authentic bliss. The heart just dances away to the gentle music that settles all around and I think. I think.