All´s Well in España

I think God, or whoever, let´s say the Muse of Karma keeps a special eye over me.  I spent most of today in awe of myself -- perfect hair day with my new interwoven-gray/red Spanish fisherman's sweater, navy chinos rolled up and gray vans sporting a devilish grin that says "hola" with all the flare of Cirque Du Soleil--  the world just right and with me in it.  There had to be some justice levied for this ridiculous level of narcissism.

The last hour I´ve been clumsily searching for this damned `Geographic Club´, taking immediate and wrong turns eagerly as if I was a dog impatient for a treat (taken from a journal entry, and tonight is chilly too to put it in perspective); the prize cannot come soon enough.  By the way, there is a special frustration for knowing where you should be, topographically speaking, looking at the cross streets and not seeing either on the map within an 8 block vicinity of where you want to be.  I hope my earlier transgressions might have been soothed by the fortune of my night.  I have also found myself at odds with every object I come into contact with.  I knock over change trays without caution, run into things and sport a confused look of dread that says "I´m lost."

After finally getting to my destination, I end up sitting at a cool but mostly empty bar drinking a frothy, but mostly empty, 8 dollar Murphy´s Irish Red.  I sip out of determination rather than enjoyment in the hopes to validate this long pilgrimage.  Even in the barren wasteland of beer that is South Korea, I would´ve found abstinence and turned down a Murphy´s for that much money.  In fact, I would´ve guffawed at such a prospect as this.

I must say, though, the enchantment I have had today extends beyond just myself.  I´ve been bowled over by the beauty of my surroundings all day.  I s´pose that´s what Madrid´s Jardines del Buen Retiro is liable to do. Beautiful parks and people, men and women; mortal, marbled and plastered.  I think Madrid´s parks would drive an atheist mad.  Of everything magnificent - myself included - it pales in comparison to the weather.  Today´s weather provided the stroke for which every other element has realized its potential.  To quote Haruki Murakami, it was "the scratchy stuff on the side of the match box", giving light to the park, myself and all its inhabitants.  It was the perfect collaboration of a warm, high sun, starkly differentiating itself from the cloudless blue sky, with a cold breeze on a cool day.  Though I doubt fall in Korea will ever be topped, I tip my hat to you, Madrid.  It was the perfect, most perfect landscape to finish The Pillars of the Earth for the second time.  I might have wondered the same thing about the Taj Mahal, but how can one not feel a higher presence on a day like today? Be it whoever, wherever or in whatever form, these being the minor details of a grand, peace treaty (can´t wait to find out from my Mom whether it´s `whoever´ or `whomever.´ My 16-year conquest to avoid permanently learning this rule of tongue wages on).

Let me tell you about the highlight of my day.  I took such joy in walking by two friends who were presumably meeting again with a long stretch of time in between.  They hooted, dance and spun towards each other´s arms.  It was quite the Love Actually airport moment, and somehow I felt like a member of their reunion.  Somehow I remembered that my Mom, as an English teacher, used to give a particular assignment that called for her students to choose a word, their favorite word, and give the full scoop.  I recalled her telling me that one of her former and favorite students chose joy.  Don´t ask me how or why that moment came back to me, but I thought; `this must be the realization of that word.´

Of course, it was more than mere chance that I took such a special interest in the this meeting when I´m due to arrive home in the US in only two days.  I just with I had the foresight and patience to dance and stride my way there.

The Gist

So I guess I'll shake this thing off now when I see fit.

Tonight I started to make a list of the "accomplishments" I've completed while on holiday in the hopes that when the details begin to slip my mind I will know where to find them. I assumed that once this list had been completed (it ranges from those of grandeur all the way down) I'd have a fairly descriptive view of my long road home to the US. This, however, was not the case a'tall. Getting hung up on the dirty details would be missing the wood for the trees. I won't include the list - partly to avoid embarrassment - but just assume it follows an Indiana Jones'ish itinerary, minus the Nazi's.

*Quick note! If this sounds too indulgent (your cue to stop reading), you can blame my out-there Murakami kick of late (currently his running memoirs). Though I guess you'd appropriately just blame me; at least now you know the reasoning.

This list of notes, my "accomplishments", may be neat details but only I know the full story. Taken separately, they relate to each other as much as blue does to red and fail to convey the big picture. The true accomplishment, above everything, is growth. They (details) may contribute to but don't constitute that growth. The fuzzy stuff that happened in between the respective bullet points was equally important, if not more, as the spotlight items.

My trip is a total workout; mind, spirit and body (lots and lots and lots of walking), but I can not describe the strength that I feel pouring into me every day. Lots, but not all, relates to self reliance.

Of course, this strength isn't a humanitarian cure-all; nothing is. But, it, travel, is inside of me and it runs through every part. Surging and strong, like a spotlight that is connected to my center and shines on every inch. This light scrubs away weakness, bitterness and ignorance. It finds the faults I didn't know I had - realizations that can be a humbling experience - before it attempts to clean the blemishes and leave them anew.

What I might be most grateful for is that the spotlight illuminates the things I hold dear too; who & what I truly love. This process has stripped down the walls and has been like a peek at the foundations of a house; what makes the Temple of Evan stand.

I realize in hindsight that Indy without the Nazi's might not make for a very compelling story after all. I also realize that if I'm going to refer to myself in the third person I'm going to need cooler coinage than the Temple of Evan.

Easy-E Out