Wisdom from the Ages

I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... over-throws life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Paradise Lost.

Just another little snippet of something I wrote as a homage to Europe, from an entanglement of stories that, if you separated each memory, would encompass all the experiences of each one of my friends that I travelled to Europe with over the years...

Proust said that the only true paradise is paradise lost and once again I find myself anxious to book a one-way plane ticket in search of paradise with every intention of losing it at the end of another summer. Perhaps it is true that when we are young we love misery. There are so many more chances for absolute misery in foreign cities where days are a blur of cafes and espresso and the nights fill up the darkness with music and introductions. I cannot think of anything more miserable than the memories of all those beautiful strangers who encompass but a slight moment in your life but who, during that moment, hold the essence of your soul in their arms- when we travel, it is the only time when we are who we are at that very minute, we have no history and no reputation to the people we meet, all we have to offer is the present, there is no past and no future. It has the power to turn strangers into lovers. And so I turn to wanderlust to satisfy my thirst for misery and the raw emotion that only comes from finding something spectacular that can never be mine.

We need that fix of moonlight conversations with Danish boys named Anders and Anders. We need the thrill of slipping on a pair of heels from our overflowing backpacks and doing our make-up in compact mirrors getting ready for another night. We need the rush of stolen kisses on Moscow streets and the song of foreign languages in our ears. We need the crossing of paths with our kindred friends- the ones from Australia that realize it the second you walk into the hostel and the ones in Beijing who welcome you with open arms into the story of their lives.The best part is the worst part, the goodbye. It is the most spectacular feeling because it reminds us of being human and of how time flies. What is more human than feeling the slow ache of letting someone go with the knowledge that you may never see each other again? You find yourself wishing for one more hour, one more minute. You realize how some people just fit into our stories so elegantly. And so here I am again, eager to write more into my story, into the many travel journals overflowing with receipts, mementos, slips of paper with phone numbers from across the globe carrying the hope and prospect of being used someday. Someday.


  1. I could read your writing every day! It's so fabulous... I'm absolutely in love with it. On low love days I come here and rummage through your findings/writings. They always give me a boost. Thanks :)

  2. Oh thank you so much! I'm never sure who's reading and that's why I haven't written in a bit so I'm glad you left such a nice comment! I will try to update soon!