Final Destination

Dear Diary,

I imagine running away to Italy with Chenzo, getting lost in the winding streets stepping on shadows of chapels and stores.

Window shopping in Milan. Admiring the architecture and sculptures of Florence. Travelling by gondola in Venice. Sightseeing in Rome. Hiking in the Alps. Maybe not. 

 

I can see it all as if it were just outside my window. I can feel the wetness in the air, it was disgusting. But why?  Anyone would be ecstatic to be amongst the most luxurious material things that money can buy and the most beautiful sights there are to see. Never will understand that when I finally get around things that I think I deserve I always feel uneasy. Maybe deep down I still feel like I don’t belong.

 

 

I had to dig deeper.

Maybe a change of scenery would be better. The coasts of Tuscany would do me some good. Better yet flying to Isola Bella Beach. Down to the shore where I can relax and take it all in. The earth between my toes. The sun warming my body. The sound of the water splashing against the shore. At least I’ll be at peace even if only for a moment. It has to be paradise or a little piece of heaven.

Perspective. 

It’s all about the way you look at the things that surround you. 

I always had to dig deeper . . .

Dear Diary

Once the chores were finished we were able to go outside.  It was hot and miserable but it was still better than being stuck inside all day.  The rain drops started to fall one by one.  First on my arms and then on my face as I looked towards the heavens.  The children splashed around in puddles while I tried to gather them together to head back inside.  I noticed someone walking in the distance that looked kind of familiar. Who was that?  I managed to get the kids together and sent them in while I went to see where they were going.  The rain had stopped by now but this person was either drenched from the rain or sweating from the humidity.

I sat down on a nearby bench where I had full view of the restaurant.  The staff was preparing for the day ahead.  Someone was sweeping while someone else was putting the silverware in place and then there was someone preparing the food in the kitchen.  A gentleman walked in who seemed like he might have been a regular.  Everyone appeared to know him.  He talked to the person I had followed for some time and I could tell that they enjoyed each other’s company.  They eventually came outside for a smoke and some conversation.  I heard the older gentleman say, “What is all around me vis not home.”  He had a thick Italian accent but I was able to understand him clearly.  That phrase sounded all too familiar.

After they were done they said their goodbyes and parted ways.  I decided to follow the Italian gentleman who looked as if he would barely make to his destination.  I felt I needed to make sure he made it to wherever he was going.  About four blocks in our walk, he turned around and caught me in his footsteps.  I froze and couldn’t say a word but instead of dismissing me he introduced himself.  He told me his name was Chenzo and insisted that we walk together.  We arrived outside his building and he invited me in.  Maybe I looked like I was lonely or maybe it was my ragged appearance.  His home was beautiful yet modest.  There in the sitting area was the biggest bookcase I had ever seen.  When he came back with the tea I was looking over each book trying to file them in my mind.  He came over and pulled out The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction written by Walter Benjamin.  I told him that it looked like it would be too much for me but he assured me that I could handle it.  He said that it would be difficult but interesting so I decided to give it a try.  He told me to take as much time as I needed and to come back when I finished and he would be waiting for my return.  I left his home and promised that I would be back. 

 

 

On my walk I noticed that Chenzo’s server was closing up the restaurant.  The reflection from the streetlight hit something in their hand and I noticed the book Chenzo gave away earlier, Nadja.  I wonder what it’s about?  I really hoped that my book would take me away if only for a moment.  I couldn’t wait to get back and write in my journal.  I lifted up my mattress and found it right where I left it.

Dear Diary . . .Day Twenty Seven

“I imagine running away to Italy with Chenzo, getting lost in the winding streets stepping on shadows of chapels and stores.” 

Tomorrow

"Music is God’s gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven”
-Walter Savage Landor

 

 

She was listening to nature’s symphony.  The wind was whistling in the air.  The leaves of the trees were rustling against one another.  The water was pounding against the shore.  The birds were singing their own special tune.  Separately, this was just a bunch of noise but together it was music to her ears.

She saw a flash of lightning just over the horizon followed by a loud sharp crack.  Startled, she heard the rumble of thunder.  Then the rain began to fall.  This was a different soundtrack.  The music of She got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that her comfort zone was about to be disrupted.  It was now unbearable and she thought that she was not supposed to be here. She was not supposed to be in paradise.

She heard a familiar sound off in the distance . . .

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Where was that ringing sound coming from?  It was getting louder and louder and louder. 

Ding! Ding! Ding!

She woke up dazed and confused.  The book she had been reading was still in her hands.  Had it all been a bunch of Mumbo Jumbo?  It had all seemed so real.  If only she had some ruby slippers.  This place was not her home.  . .

But it was her shelter for the time being and it was chore time with the rest of the young ladies.

http://musicislifefsu.blogspot.com/2013/10/started-from-bottom.html

Music was her only release.  It made her forget that she had been abandoned.  It made her forget that she was all she had.  It made her forget that she had to clean up after everybody else. 

Is the glass half full or half empty?  No matter how she looked at it she would probably end up having to clean it.

“Perspective.  What an interesting word.  It really is everything.”

Bliss

Somewhere Calm.  Somewhere Peaceful.  Somewhere Tranquil.  Somewhere Serene.

Somewhere Calm.

No words could be spoken. She was in complete silence.  It was just after a major storm but her vertical climb had been worth it.  Every sacrifice and all of the struggles.

Somewhere Peaceful.

She was safe here. She felt at home here.  She was at peace here.

 

Somewhere Tranquil.

Here is where she wanted to be.  All alone surrounded by her thoughts.  Those thoughts would lead to dreams.  Dreams that only emerge when absolute harmony takes over you.

Somewhere Serene.

She was in a place where the trees sway back and forth with the calmest of breezes.  A place where the water moves to its own rhythm.  A place where the land and water combine and cannot be separated.  A place where just over the horizon heaven meets earth.  So close it seems only miles away.

Here is somewhere.

http://thiissismyblog.blogspot.com/

 

Somewhere she wanted to stay.

 

This was not what she imagined. No one ever described it like this.  There were no pearly gates.  She didn’t remember walking towards the white light but the feeling that she had was better than anything she had ever experienced before.  She knew then that she was in the right place.  There was one very important thing that remained the same . . . the direction she traveled to get there. 

“Society labels it paradise. She calls it heaven.”

 

 

Stairway of Life

She didn’t know why but she had to keep going.  She just knew that the goal was to reach the top.  With every step she grew more tired than the step before.  It seemed as if she had been climbing forever.  When she felt like giving up a force that she couldn’t explain came out of nowhere and pushed her ahead.  There were voices all around her all saying the same exact thing over and over again. “Don’t stop you have to keep going”.  Although she had no idea how far she had to go she kept forging ahead.  The stairs appeared to be endless.  However, she refused to look back. 

The overwhelming ringing was
beginning to drown out the voices.
She didn’t know where it was coming from but it was
getting louder with every ring. Then without any explanation
she found herself at the bottom of the staircase.  The very staircase she had
been struggling to climb.  All of her efforts had been in vain.  Her only option was to start again.

As she began to take the first step she had the urge to reach out.  There was something she couldn't see but knew was out there.  Then the telephone appeared and before she could say hello she heard an unfamiliar voice on the other end.  It whispered to her, “You have to keep going.  Don’t stop”.  Then there was a dial tone.
 

The climb was so much easier this time.  She got to the top before she knew it.  There was an old wooden door standing before her.  Her reward had to be waiting on the other side. . .  

 

“After climbing a great hill,

one only finds that there are many more hills to climb”-Nelson Mandela