Awaken the Senses~

I am what most people would call a "morning person." Love them (Or hate them), "morning people" are generally known for greeting the day with gusto! Hutzpah! Fanfare! Razzamatazz! (And if you are one of these chosen few, and it just so happens to be before noon as you are presently perusing this blog, then please do feel free to insert whatever * dazzling * emotion you are presently rockin' out here___________.)

This morning, however, was different. I woke up feeling...nothing. The eager anticipation of demolishing my "To See" list here in Barcelona, coupled with my darned diligence and frightening efficiency and go get 'em mentality, had seen to it that I had no plan or desired destination for this particular day whatsoever.

I thought to get up...* Meh *... (The day can wait). I thought of taking a shower...* Meh *...(Hygiene is sooo overrated I tell myself). I thought of making breakfast...* Meh * (Pancakes for one? No Thanks). I thought of calling home...*AAAAAND we have motion! * fanfare! *...rolls...slowly...grunts...rolls...thud. Pad, pad, pad...scuffle, scuffle....hum....dials...and, yes...*home*.

Home caught me up with their day(s), and home asked me about mine. Home shared with me, and home received my share in return. Home recognized my loneliness, and home met me in that ache. Home helped me to remember, yet reminded me in whispers sweetly of the blessed now. Yes, home got me out of that bed. And then...home lit a fire under my a** (with love of course). "Do you feel that?" I felt like I was being asked. "No" I replied....still numb. "Well then, FEEL this..." (a small nudge....okay, what then became a firm push, out the door).

The sunlight was blinding....I felt its warmth. Placing one leaden foot before the other, I stumbled towards the sea. I could sense the strain of my leg muscles with each new stride; the contraction of my calves with every step...I felt motion.

On the boardwalk, the waves of bikers blow past me...I feel the wind left by their wake gently rock my frame.

The adoring couple, unapologetic in their open affections...I feel connection.

The raucous children, launched into spastic motion with such eagerness and enthusiasm, trill their tinkling laughter--a holy chorus of angels more heavenly and spiritual than any church choir these ears have ever heard. I feel cleansed.

The nude sunbathers, baring all. I feel the heat of solar energy; its reflection dancing among their flawed, yet beautiful forms.

I feel it all. It is closing in around me...squeezing me until I cannot do anything but focus on each new breath. Pulsating. Throbbing. Bubbling up and spilling over. Unable to be contained within the vacuumed void of numbness, it will not be deterred.

I feel *life.*

I see it being lived.

I hear the beating of my own heart...in response and humbled recognition.

I taste the sweetness of partaking.

I touch upon truth.

~Awakened~

Funk-y~

I woke up this morning and was met with warmth and sunshine. I knew today was the day for my Parc Guell. I dressed with trembling excitement…fingers fumbling over zippers, buttons and laces; distracted by what laid ahead. Then…realization—I am alone. This beautiful, blissful experience…el solo~

I slumped back down on my bed and contemplated (not gonna lie….for at LEAST 5 good minutes) burrowing back under the covers in an Eeyore-esque pile of goo. Can we say funk?

I glanced over at my bag—my trusty little camera peeking out at me. I saw her eyeing me, judging me, taunting me in her cheery little chirp: “Pile of Funk!” “Pile of Funk!”…

I giggled despite myself (fully intending to wallow in my loneliness and “woe is me” mentality, thank you very much…) and dragged my arse across the room to pick her up gently. She hummed to life and began a delightful dance through the days of my past, stepping gracefully to the trilling tunes stored in her memory—the waters of home, baking/barista beauties, lions in winter, communal cups of coffee, bonfires with brothers, swimming with sisters, best friend beauticians, sunrises with mothers at Kahana Bay, English nerds, Club dancing divas, Contra comrades, bands of bikers, and Hawaiian hippies. Tears of remembrance and fullness stung my eyes.

I gingerly placed you all in the palm of my hand…grateful fingers stretching to receive the full beauty and breath of you. I curled my tiny fist around you tightly…and held on.

We go~

And to the loneliness and “el solo” mentality?..........

“ Funk That”~

Spanish Spelling For Futbol~

Tensions run high. Voices raise. Feet stamp. Fists pound, while hand gestures abound.

To say that the people of Barcelona get “excited” about futbol (American soccer) is like saying that the 13-year-old, angst-ridden, love-bitten drama-queen just “kinda sorta” thinks that this Justin Bieber kid is “cute”….HECK NO! She hearts him! He is DREAMY and she is smitten *with added swoonage *. Therefore, my simile stands…

It is the match of Barcelona versus Inter Milan. My ex-patriot companion has graciously offered himself to be my tourguide extraordinaire during my time here in Barcelona. He asserts that any visit would not be complete without witnessing firsthand the gusto with which Barcelona spectates sports (specifically futbol). He is most assuredly correct.~

Even before the first whistle is blown—talk is big, jaws are clinched, chests are puffed, shoulders are squared, legs are tensed, feet are fidgeting, and the air is HOT. To my right is seated an English sports journalist who is covertly cheering for the “others.” Brave, brave man, that one. The commentary shared by the journalist, mostly through smirking side-glances and whispers, kept me in stitches of laughter throughout the entire match. He informed me straight away of what to expect throughout the night, and he was right on the money in every prediction. Were his amazing psychic powers? (Or simply the experience of a seasoned spectator of the spectators?) *I’ll wager on the latter*~

As promised:

-Yes, The Barcelona fans would be a lively, loud, passionate and devoted bunch, filled to overflowing with hutzpah and machismo.

-Yes, I would be swept up in the swell of energy…completely taken with the tenacity with which “true Spaniards” revere this game…the mood(s) of the mob ebbing and flowing according to the waves rocked by each whistle….the refs causing a ripple effect that would fan out in a stirring rage, or one rousing celebratory revelry.

Yes, the referees (as far as Barcelona is concerned) would be one of two people by the end of the evening: 1) The keenest, most wise and astute men in the world, or 2) the most asinine, blind bats (aka scourge of the earth).

In this case, Barcelona lost. *Cue rage ripples * Stupid refs! An array of angry “OI’s!” heard all around, echoes. Those idiot referees probably don’t even know how to spell futbol!...

…(that’s “eff’-you-t-b-o-l" here in Barcelona when you’re making calls like that, buddy)~

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* I already cannot wait for the next game against Madrid. I really hope Barcelona wins that one…now that I have seen what refs revealed as dung look like…it would be interesting to see refs dubbed deity next go round…

Waken to Sunrise~

Although this is based alot on my personal experience...I imagine all you Adams and Eves out there...you lions and fairies...males and females alike, have all felt as I have; looking into the future and the unknown, and trembled...I hope you feel not so alone after reading this, and are somehow blessed and encouraged~

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Lions in winter,

Hawaii sun sells summer.

Remember Springtime~

You Fairies in flight,

Europe's moon whispers "Autumn,"

Remember Springtime~

Lions, you charge them!

Those waves of worry; self-doubt.

Our Mother, Reveals~

Fairies, you fly them!

Sunshine and rainbow-filled skies.

Our Mother, Reveals~

For strength and vigor,

Look, Lions, when you feel weak,

Our Father, He heals~

For peace and courage,

See, Fairies, the clouds clearing.

Our Father, He heals~

As evening tides rise,

Listen, Lions; Love lingers.

Waken to sunrise~

Through thunderous nights,

Hear, Fairies; joyful singing.

Waken to sunrise~

Selah~

Spanish Rainbows~

Spanish Rainbows * I Thank You *

-The old, weathered men who meet for their daily domino tournament…thank you fellowship~

-My favorite of the domino contenders…smoking his cigar like clockwork from 10 til 2…thank you consistency~

-The vendor at the market with the shy smile; everyday she anticipates my visit and has my favorite yogurt and cheeses ready and wrapped in special paper…most days there is a surprise something sweet she has slipped in from her oven at home….thank you generosity~

-The children in the park, gleefully terrorizing the pigeons on Place Catalunya; their shrieks of sheer delight as they chase and scare the bejesus out of the birds…thank you explosive exuberance~

-The gnarled, wrinkled woman who emerges from the water, and nonchalantly mounts her bike and continues to pedal proud as a peacock down the crowded boardwalk: naked as the day she was born…thank you self-confidence~

-The metropolitan tenants with their rooftop gardens, planting and cultivating life—bringing nature and all the beauty it beckons, into the city…thank you growth~

-The young man from the Metro, giving his seat to the young mother whose arms * not to mention her mind * were filled to overflowing, and heavy…thank you recognition~

-The American tourist who offers a hefty sum to the haggard, street beggar on La Ramblas, no questions asked…thank you compassion~

-The trusty Mac computer, providing the link to home, and all the love that was left there…thank you connection~

-The camera Lam blessed me with, snatching snippets of time—so that I may share these beautiful moments to those who cannot see what I see…thank you thoughtfulness~

-The cheery yellow bike that ferries me along my journeys—sharing miles and miles of memories…thank you freedom and flight~

-James, a Godsend, satisfying my starving soul with friendship and grace…thank you companionship~

-The hundreds of prayers, comments and emails offered daily…continuous reminders that I am truly not alone, and that “you go with me”…thank you encouragement~

-The amazing adventure and opportunity that is this journey—the seeking of perspective, awareness, growth, and light…thank you experience~

-The breath I awaken with, that carries me throughout the day…thank you life~

Cerrado~

Metro man

Furrowed, brow

Furtive, forward-focused eyes

Arms crossed

Legs together

Jaw clenched

Muscles taut

Tight, pinched lips *I can only imagine your bum cheeks are in the same strict state… *

Shoulders slightly slumped

Metro man…your body shrinks from me…its language telling of a concave creature, whose stature screams "CERRADO!"

Metro man, you are like a shop whose lights are turned off, yet the shopkeeper remains behind, smoking his pipe in front of the glass windows….fully aware that the dim glow beckons to passersby, teasing and taunting.

I wonder if you know how much they want to come and sit awhile with you…how they ache to hear your stories…to have the rich, velvet aroma of your stogie saturate their senses, sweeping them up in fellowship.

One of these days, Metro Man, I will get to you. When you are tired and weary. When your guard is down. I will catch your eye. I will cause your gaze to stray, and I will smile. I will smile unabashedly, and you will at first be embarrassed by my childishness---my inappropriate and brash behavior. Then you will realize you are too exhausted for embarrassment. Your day will have so beaten and bruised you, seeming to rob you of all joy…it is THIS day you will have left only the energy for embrace.

Blessings be, Metro Man. I await with joyful expectation, that day…when I can share smiles, or perhaps just sit and smoke with you~

Tears of Recognition~

I cried today.

I cried not when I awoke thousands of miles from home.

I cried not when my bare feet (so used to the Hawaiian warmth) hit the cold, marble floor.

I cried not when my greeting to the flat’s concierge faded into the air unmet.

I cried not when the front door opened to a decibel of howling wind that only dogs, or perhaps bats could intelligibly decipher.

I cried not when the taxicab blared its horn at my apparent inadequacy in crossing the road in a timely manner.

I cried not when the waitress at the restaurant refused to serve me, as I could not order in “proper Spanish.”

I cried not when the next waiter barely met my eye, as I seem to serve only in being an unwanted nuisance here...damn tourist.

I cried not when the "toast" I ordered really turned out to be something with ham and a yellowish sauce of sorts…on top of um, bread (I think).

I cried not when I left the café starving, too proud to return the unknown something in order to get what I really wanted.

I cried not when I, on my morning run, passed by the fellowjoggers, who I realized sadly were not my “fellow” anythings.

I cried not when my legs began to burn, my exhausted physical body beginning to slowly match the state of my weary heart and emotions.

I cried not when I stopped to watch the sea, my lungs seering in pain…protesting angrily at the pace I had pushed upon them.

Old man, off to my right. I catch a glimpse of you. Small in stature you appear to be….yet after my morning…you are menacing. Dare I meet your gaze…and risk my soft, thin skin being bruised yet again? I turn, despite my better judgment. I see you. You offer me not a smile….not even a full look in the eye…but you tip your hat to me—a slight nod of your head….recognition that I AM.

I cried today.

Anonymity and Acquaintance~

In a matter of 48 hours, I have uprooted myself from a small, sleepy community on an island in the middle of the Pacific, only to now find myself dropped amid a bustling, Metropolitan mega-city. To label this transition as “jarring” would be an understatement of epic proportions. For the last two days I have been immersed within thoughts regarding contrasting environments. I am still sorting through my many wandering notions, but if you don’t mind, I will share a few (with such hope and prayers that you will be challenged in your own thoughts, as well as add to these with you own ruminations).

I am convinced (without a doubt) that ingrained deep within the very essence of my being, I am a wide-open spaces seeking / country living / blue sky loving/ fresh water swimming/ mountain climbing kind of a girl. It is a common joke among my close friends that (if left to my own devices and inclinations) I would be happy as a clam living far, far away from most civilization (in fact, I actually do… J). They know I am, indeed, simply a “Hobbit at heart.” My great friend Lam often calls me on the telephone, insisting that I: “Emerge from the Hobbit hole (our loving term of endearment for my apartment) pronto!” So, yes, I do like my peace, quiet and serenity. I also know that I prefer to live my daily life operating on a smaller scale, and at a slower pace. Knowing this about myself, and finding myself here and now (in an environment in all points counter to that inclination) is quite the experience for this self-professed “country girl.” “Why am I so?” I have been exploring now…”Why do I SAY I am such…and what is it that big, bad Barcelona (or large cities in general) symbolize to me (at least from my perspective?) Maybe some of you have wondered the same thing(s)…

I am sitting here in a café, writing. It is a busy, buzzing beehive of sound and movement. The energy is intense, yet not overwhelmingly so, nor unpleasant by any means…just “charged,” if you will—like a renewable battery that you somehow know will just never run down. I find it odd, in light of this buzz, that I get the most work done in coffee shops and cafes, at least here in Europe. Perhaps it is because no one “bothers” me. I do not speak the language. I am foreign—unfamiliar, and an unknown variable in the regular patrons’ habitual routines.

My morning run produced a similar situation, awareness, and feeling within me. I left my flat and jogged through a particularly crowded industrial section of La Gran Via. Besides the few honked horns and animated air-kisses offered up with enthusiasm and gusto (have I mentioned yet that Spanish men are quite the charming lot?), I glided through the city streets in a state of surreal solitude. Once I reached the seashore and continued along the boardwalk, not much changed. Only a few smiles were obtained from passersby and fellow runners—each of which were greedily gobbled up by this starving Southern-bred “sweetness” and cordiality loving soul. I find this situation…anonymity (or what you want to call it)…not to be good or bad necessarily, in and of itself. It simply is what it “is.”

Anonymity is actually what I am loving about Barcelona most thus far. The fact that I can take a run, or venture out to a coffeeshop and literally be “bothered” by no one, I must admit, seems an almost sinfully selfish, although decadent and delicious, luxury some days. A sense of inexplicable freedom fills me when I think of this…a lightness of being of sorts. “Why?” I have asked myself. The best answer I can surmise is summed up in three simple words: UNFETTERED BY ACQUAINTANCE.

I will try and describe this feeling more clearly: An “acquaintance,” to me, signifies those relationships in my life that have no depth. They are new, or in the beginning stages. Or perhaps (sadly) they may even be quite old, yet remain immature and stunted in their growth. These “acquaintances” are the relational bonds that I sense will require much energy and exhaustive effort to “get there” in desired intimacy depth (if that goal is even possible at all…it is so rare to find that level of “knowing” and “share”). So, to me, Barcelona (or any place that offers me this “freedom from acquaintance”) is giving me such an amazing gift—the elimination/ cutting of those (loose and surface) “ties that bind.” (And so severely and bluntly doing so). I sense that it should hurt, yet feel only extreme relief and refreshment~

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This was just a small smattering of my thoughts so far on what I am experiencing within myself here…what this new transition and life season is all bringing to mind. I am aware this post is dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming entirely too long and tedious, so I will wrap up for now—leaving you with open-ended ideas and inklings (and hopefully a wide-open forum for dialogue!) on anonymity, acquaintance(s), and all things inhabiting among them~

And the Centipede Saga Continued...

And the centipede saga continued: We (Rainbows and I) got to the ER, saw the crowded waiting room, and resigned ourselves to the probable reality of a long night ahead. Upon checking in at the front window, I was presented with a Samson-sized stack of medical forms to fill out—mostly asking me to describe my presenting symptoms, my insurance, * OH! Or lack thereof! * and my medical history * what HAVEN’T I broken, bruised, or sprained….sheesh *~

I sat down to record all the details of my me-centric melodrama that had been taking center stage in recent days. My symptoms were nothing to shirk about…first of which being the centipede bite on my right temple * that’s right folks…an angry little scorpion-like bug bit me on the friggin’ face! * This bite was not only inconveniently located, but it also rudely decided * without consulting me, mind you! * to become infected—oozing all kinds of future scab-age and crustiness * ☹ Oh, and yes, did I mention that this bite, once becoming infected, had now apparently birthed little bacteria babies who appear to have a particular affinity for yours truly’s face?… * it must be the cheeks *~ Not to be mistaken for a lazy or unindustrious infection, this spawn of Satan had “shared the love” all over my entire body—hands, legs, shoulder, chin, etc …* the bawdy slut *~

I continued on recounting the pain and torture that was mine to bear… *angst, torment…NEOSPORIN. * After I felt that I had sufficiently soaked up every bit of sympathy that anyone reading later would have to muster, * or maybe when it was really just when I ran out of room/ lines on the paper for whining * I placed the pen down * cue hand to forehead in a grand sweeping motion of passion-filled, “poor me” proportions. * As I moved to return my own forms for registration, I surveyed the rest of the room, thinking of how each individual case/ client would fill in their charts specifically.

Directly adjacent to my line of sight, I saw a child clinging to his mother—wailing from the unknown, nameless pain. The mother occupied herself by looking around frantically for something ….anything—to ease her son’s suffering. A helpless frustration painted across her person. As she is called to the window, the young boy (well upwards of 10 or 11 years of age) clings to her. She carried his feeble frame across the room, as to not leave him alone in his misery. They are called into the inner sanctum of swaths, gauze and delicious drugs—while I resume my scanning.

A young Asian girl, only about three or four years old, is lying stretched out across the stiff, plastic seats. Her cheeks are flushed, and her legs and arms are splayed limply about her body. Her mother quietly strokes her face and hair, then closes her eyes. I imagine this mortal Madonna lifting up a silent prayer for deliverance and relief~

There were a few other couples that I couldn’t quite tangibly see what the issues of concern were in particular. However, the worry on the significant others’ faces were enough to let me know that each yet to be diagnosed duo was, indeed, serious~

Without a doubt, my favorite fellow sufferer was a tall, thin fellow who looked to be about my age…maybe a few years younger. As he strolled in with his two friends, he was upbeat and positive. I was so sidetracked by the smile on his face, that I, at first, did not notice the inflamed, red bites and scarlet sores that laced their way up his entire body. The infection’s sores licked their way up his leg like flames on fire—you could practically feel the searing heat from where I was sitting. I groaned with every step he took, placing myself in his shoes. I must have been staring, because I caught his eye, and what a smile * I think he showed me every single tooth that he possessed!* greeted me!~ The young man turned to the woman at the check in window and answered her question of “Checking in?” with a light-hearted quip along the lines of: “Yes, I have requested an oceanfront room with a Jacuzzi tub…reservations under ‘MosquitoMan.’“ …..he catches her eye as he shrugs his shoulders in self-deprecating, humble humor. *he even gets a slight twinge of mirth from Nurse Wratchet herself …I swear I DID see the corners of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly…*
I find this interaction to be…

FANTASTIC. AMAZING. SOBERING~

Giggling to myself, I thought back to my recently filled forms—those detailed descriptions of my dramatic health crisis….all the sores, the pain, the frustration, the humility—in a few small moments—firmly placed in their proper position(s). Thank you….again and again—perspective~