Searching for Gaudi Part two

As I walked out the doors, I got it. It was
never about the stain in the glass, but the light that shone through it. With
each step I took down and away, some things left me. Like vanity.
Admonishments. Judgement. And many others that I cannot explain without, well,
becoming a redundancy in your life.

That evening we again walked the streets in the
ancient Jewish quarter. We met an italian brother and sister who were traveling
together after having both finished their disertations and school. Even through
our two broken languages, their intelligence shone through.

Gaudi, in every pause of conversation, was with
me.

On the ship we met a British couple, Natasha and
Richard, who I jokingly referred to one evening as 'Sir Richard the Empty
Hearted'. He was anything but. He was abrupt, sure, direct and without the
normal brakes when manners derail. He was beautifully honest, and in love with
his wife. One afternoon we sat at a cafe alone while everyone else shopped. He
spoke to me of his mistakes in his life, his divorce and how he met Natasha. He
told me in confidence of how he felt towards her, but because of the pain of
his failed marriage, did not have the confidence or bravery to tell her. As our
troupe was crossing the street on their return to us, Richard made me promise
to say nothing.

Three days later Natasha and i shared a glass of
wine and I told her eveything. A woman should know those things, and not to
tell her would have been a bigger betrayal to him than he could have
envisioned. Sometimes, a shared confidence between freinds is only as strong as
the hidden plea to expose it.

We said our goodbyes,  boarded our plane, and flew the twelve hours
home in continuos sunlight.

When all was said and done, when the unpacking
was complete and life gained its familiar rythmns, I made my way to my cabin.
It is the place I go to when the pages are blank for too long, and my mind
needs a cleansing.

That first evening I sat on the porch in the
dark, going over the events of the past three weeks. No matter where I was in
memory, Gaudi was there.

I lit a cigarrette and smiled when the breeze
fired its tip to dance. Its embers, newly fed by natures bellows, strengthened
in oranges and reds, and it took but a milisecond to catch the light it cast to
the glass in my hand.

It came to me that my life had been just that. I
had always looked to the redundancies, applying the seemingly ingsignificant an
irrelevance that was never true. In my life I had been guilty of viewing lifes
mundane minutes as the stain in the glass, and missing the light that shone
through it. I know the people who love me, and those who do not.

Taking things for granted is akin to re gifting
your life back to whatever creator you hold in your faith.

Now, I see the simplicity of things. For every
person or instant of discourse, I hold it closer. I see it now as the dead
rose, and I pluck its petals and breathe each and every one, and no matter how
much decay, the perfume is still there. And the rose lives again.

In the dark, as my cigarrette burned in Gaudi
light, I forgave my father. For everything he was, and everything he was not.

In The morning I made myself a coffee and stood
by the patio watching the sun break through the trees. The light splashed to
the ground in blends of colour I had never noticed before. I felt the candle
light, waver, then catch. I believe that artists gift us with their presence
just so long as their candle burns, and it is far too brief of a life.

But, a spark can light, a candle will burn and a
fire will rage, long after they are gone.

I watch from my window, and feel the candle of
him spark the kindling of me, and my soul is enveloped in warmth.

I guess, when the trip of your life comes to
you, we were all searching for Gaudi.

I

i