A Rural Tale: November 2011

So many metros today,
and many a street by foot.
Paris is still warm but people and their babies have dressed in their full winter garb.
I say a little farewell to Paris tonight, and wrote a poem on the train.

Dear friends
Forgive me now, as I am half of me.
Half here with you,
in your garden of Europe,
your seasonal playground.
Forgive my heart and its waning and waxing,
its absence.
This time has been full, and Im tired,
I need my home again, it calls me.

Forgive my heavy bags,
the weight I carry to your door,
Am I seeming impatient?
Its important for me to be present now,
and to do this I may turn down your wine,
and enjoy you in sobriety,
for with a clear mind shall I paddle onto this next wave.

You are not seeing me in the full power of take off,
but the slow release of a prepared landing,
onto shores where my heart is known and shared and waited for.
Sit with me,
in this brief time dear friend,
as I am tearing myself from my tomorrows and yesterdays.

Im sitting in a little cafe, brimming with rainy-morning coffee drinkers and street artists flicking through the glossy pages of graffiti magazines. Some kind of excitable action goes on out back in the gallery and people gather and laugh amid colloquial Spanish and banter.

The weeks here have been a challenge!
I knew I would need to take it easy upon arrival to this wild city, and even though after these few weeks of exploring and drinking and eating and walking and drinking and eating and getting a feel for the place, its the pace of Barcelona which has sent me spinning a little. I find myself waking with disorienation, and feel the dramatic change from having so much space to myself on the island. Those wonderful walks and expanses and mountains and island air has been filled by the hectic pace of a city and only just, do I feel slightly adjusted. My poor spirit got a forceful blow by this place, cushioned by the love and companionship from being with friends. Living in a little space has also proved a challenge, but we get on well, and although I think we often struggle with finding some mental aswel as physical space, we have enough sense of humor to get by. Moments of claustrophobia are cured by walks, cooking, dreaming and disappearing into the world of the internet and all its desirables.
Or down to that mad wild beach, all filth and waves and choppy gulls, reflective skyscrapers, rainy afternoons.

Yesterday I went with a friend to buy some paints on a street close by. Where we found this little cafe selling art and paints and coffee. The day was threatening and we wanted to go and paint somewhere, find a wall or a building. We got on the metro, running from torrential rains. The metro took us as far north as we could go, then hopped off into the winds, and saw, towering above us, a big abandoned construction site, all fenced in and locked up. We jumped the wall and found ourselves in a perfect painting location! Climb 10 floors of that place and you will find ponies and pirates, and views of barcelona that extend both southward to the mountain-hugged valley of the city, the point at Mont Juic, and north to the wind and sky-whipped coast. A ghost town, we wandered around the big architecture and moody sky to the coast where we were the only ones around, covered in paint and bruises and waiting for the clouds to burst, and watching the wild chromey sea, the gunmetal playing with silvers and a big wet sky moving and churning above the big structures. We felt small and humbled by the imposing forms, and went home to watch Sin City on the couch, Perfect weather for it.

The idea of the trip ending is a seed that grows slowly in my mind, through the rubble of business and hangovers and planning and chatting. I hope to leave this place in a state of love and acceptance that its been a fulfilling time, which it completely has. I hope to jump that plane filled with the joy that Spain holds places and people that are submerged in my heart forever. And although the idea of going home daunts me a little, I hope to take whatever magic I have found here and cultivate it for future purposes. Im already writing like things are ending, but really I have three more weeks of maneuvering myself around this continent with all my lugguage and tales to the final departure gates.