the prophet.

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."

Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. 

just like yesterday.

For a Travel Writing course-assignment, I was asked to record three journal-esque entries from a frequently visited location.

Here are my thoughts:

Day 1…

The sun shines blindingly bright, both in direct gaze and in the liquid reflection off the river. It is so bright, that I have to squint my eyes just to write. I imagine that the tree stump I’m sitting on is much like Shel Silverstein’s “Giving Tree,” and I wonder who all has received welcome from his generosity over the years. When his branches thrived, who sat in his shade? And now as an old stump, how many residents or tourists have appreciated his nature-constructed seat. From the tree’s riverside perspective of Florence, I am sure he absorbs countless stories throughout the passing ages…

The sun makes it nearly impossible to open my eyes, but I appreciate its warmth and decide to embrace the natural blindfold it's rays create. 

With my eyes now shut, I hear more than I did before. I hear a basketball beating the pavement behind me, with an occasional swish of a made-shot. I hear the wind filter through the branches above, like a long, deep exhale. I also feel the chill it carries on one side of my face while the sun bakes the other cheek. I hear cars and vespas and bikes, and finally, an ambulance. 

Yet, even with closed eyes, little changes. I still easily picture the now-familiar scene, and the new crisply perceived sounds and feelings only sharpen the images of daily riverbank routine within my memory. 

Day 2…

Today, I want to eliminate another sense. Yesterday I blocked my vision, now I try to mask my hearing.  Using my iPod, I make sure I can audibly perceive nothing but the music streaming through each headphone. 

The stronger wind and silver hues of the sky and water complimentarily produce a less triumphant aura than the day before. I think I can smell rain.  And it feels much colder. Yet the seemingly rehearsed act of habitual life carries on. People cross the bridge, busses and bikes wheel by on the opposite embankment and rowboats glide along in a daily workout.

The most apparent contrast deems a more introspective analysis. With my eyes closed yesterday, I felt as though I still somehow participated in the rhythm of this venue. But today, I strangely feel like a mere observer; disengaged with a sideline view of the world in front of me. 
           In a casual “would you rather” conversation, I’ve been asked to if I’d prefer to lose my sight or hearing. I always chose the latter. But after today’s intriguing discovery, I may have to reconsider.

Day 3…

On this third day, I had hoped to remove yet another sense. However, I can not determine how to thoroughly accomplish this, so I simply allow my thoughts wander... 

I think about the continuity of the life around me. Despite slight alterations in weather or personally modified circumstances, life appears to progress in similar manner every day. People still saunter or drive to their destination, and the details I noted on previous sittings persist. The river still flows, and the Giving Tree stump-seat still remains. 

The inevitable awareness of life's habitual repetition oddly fascinates me. I know life is prone to evolve, for I have experienced more change in the past few years than I can keep up with. Yet simultaneous to its evolution, it also carries on similar to the day before. I suppose I will always attempt to reconcile the tension between change and constancy. But today I acknowledge a continued story- a continued stream of occurrences that that connect to a vaster meaning. And as the years pass, I hope to discover what small but significant role I get to contribute to this ongoing reel. 

adventure.

"And thinking of life as a journey reminds me to stop trying to set up camp and call it home. It allows me to see life as a process, with completion somewhere down the road. Thus, I am free from feeling like a failure when things are not finished, and hopeful that they would be as my journey comes to its end. I want adventure, and this reminds me that I'm living in it. Life is not a problem to be solved; it is an adventure to be lived."

-John Eldredge

alpine bliss.

Winter’s prelude held back its usual curtain of cold rain and low-draping clouds for one last weekend, much to our surprise and delight. The long-anticipated trip to Interlaken welcomed our weary bodies with crystal clear skies and 75 degree sunshine. Not far from a Durango-esque summer (only trimmed with Sound of Music Swiss Alps) the weekend articulated perfection, in a ‘this-cant-be-real’ kind of way. With a utopian facade, the place felt completely out of harms way, and Maegan and I found ourselves laughing in the absurdity of the dream-like encounters that graced our time.

Beginning with an evening in the “hammock” room of our mountain-town hostel, and ending with a spontaneous headphone, team-MAIT dance at the Brig railroad station, Switzerland sandwiched an incredible line up…

-Canyoning, clothed in 4-inch thick neoprene (a 4 hour excursion through melted glaciers’ deep cut ravines…repelling, cliff jumping, floating, sliding and swimming through icey Alpine waters).

-Hiking a serene, Swiss heartland-valley surrounded by wooden cabins, babbling brooks, grandma gardeners, musical cows, glistening waterfalls and turf-colored grass.

-Lying, face up, in Stechelberg, as flying humans jumped off the 1,000+ ft. cliff above our heads. (somehow we found ourselves at a professional, World-Tournament for Base Jumpers?)

-Devouring chocolate truffles, with the “Mochatine” as a first-place contender.

-Sipping coffee while communing with our Maker’s presence at the famous Mountain Hostel in Gimmelwald, at the highest altitude of our climb.

-Listening to a private concert (upon request) from a friendly, Lauterbrunnen yodeling group en route to their next village concert…my favorite birthday present.

-Yoga-ing in the park near an aqua river before embarking on our charming train rides home…

As Maeg noted, the ease in which our mentalities fell into a subliminal, awe-struck appreciation of the beauty around us, proved refreshing. We have seen and touched some of the most monumental art in all of history during our stay abroad, yet still nothing compared to this natural panorama.

Human hands have re-constructed and re-created exquisite splendor over the years…learning to profoundly re-order what already exists…

Yet only One crafts and creates out of absolute nothingness…and His work cannot be rivaled…

alchemist.

"The boy felt jealous of the freedom of the wind, and saw that he could have the same freedom. There was nothing to hold him back except himself."
-Paulo Coelho