Emoceans

What it is that truly dictates our emotions? How much of the past, present, and future contribute to our daily gain or our daily pain? As human beings we possess something so powerful - minds - minds that not only think, but question, remember, reflect, analyze, create, and destruct. Our minds are capable of so much, but are they capable of truly understanding our emotions?

A wise man once told me that emotions were like the waves of the ocean, they move, they change with the seasons, with the wind, like the tides. It's impossible to stop a wave, you cannot fight the force and if you stand still without trying to dodge it, eventually it pulls you under. Perhaps that is why it is better to jump over the waves as they approach us one by one instead of jumping into it to see where it is going - because it is merely going to end. The life of a wave is short just like the rise and fall of our emotions.

So when it comes to emotions, much like waves, it is better to stand on the beach, enjoy the sound and constant movement of the waves and let them rise and fall and never ever try to jump in and make sense of them. We get nowhere because by the time one wave ends, another is beginning. As soon as we "think" we understand a feeling it is much too late because that feeling is already gone and another on its way in.

Memory.

I look around me. I see so many things that remind me of so many people, places, and moments. It is a cold night, that kind of cold that nestles its way deep inside of your bones. It is quiet, except for the occasional car passing in the distance and the murmur of household appliances.
It’s strange to sit alone in nobody’s company but your own and to resist the temptations that technology now dangles in front of us. If we want to feel “close” to anyone, anyplace, or anything … we do not have to turn far at all, in fact, all we have to do is turn on the computer.
In such moments, if we are able to resist that desire to feel “connected” – we sit and we think and when we think what we are doing is recalling anything and everything that has played a part in our life experience up until that day.
Each day we wake up. Each day instills something into our memory. Memory is fascinating, the mind’s ability to store, retain, and recall information…and not only do we recall names and numbers, but faces, places, smells, sights, sounds, feelings, even tastes.
Perhaps without realizing it we have personal relationships with our computers because essentially, they are like us – they are a place where information is stored, retained, and recalled. They have random-access memory as we do short-term memory, and they have virtual memory as we do long-term memory.
We navigate our computers as we do our own minds … we look at old pictures, old emails, old files – we sift through them from time to time – and even have the power to delete those things we no longer want to see with one push of a button. Something disappears – whether a letter, a picture, a song, a program or a game - we send it off into cyber-space, and it’s never to be seen again.
Why then should our real memories differ from that? Why isn’t the human mind equipped with a “delete” button? Could it be that we as human beings can actually discard things from our memory?
I have found that when most people think of “memories” they immediately recall something good. Therefore, we are more inclined to keep the good memories accessible to us and we tend to store away the more unpleasant ones. Much like computers – we can bury what we don’t want to see into archives where they sit untouched. Our memory is our entire life stored away in a place only accessible to ourselves. We walk around with every waking experience both good and bad stored inside of our minds as they become a gigantic search engines where we ultimately choose what to retrieve and what we discard.
From the moment our memories begin to form in the womb, we grow older and our memory grows with us. Our memory is our life companion, that person who has witnessed and recorded every sight, sound, smell, taste, and feeling that we have experienced and to whom we will never have to find the words to explain any of it. Yet I think what makes life worthwhile is the pursuit of sharing what our memory records with others whether family, friends, or even strangers. Each memory – like hearing a song and immediately calling up a friend, walking into a place whose smell reminds you of something from your childhood, or sharing a glowing orange sunset with complete strangers…
It is undoubtedly the common thread that unites us all.

2009

A new number is upon us. I say "number" because the shift from 2008 to 2009 is merely that and has very little to do with the beginning of anything "new". Nothing creates or makes this a time for "newness" other than the fact that the year in which we are living ends in two different numerals. In many ancient cultures and civilizations, the mark of "new beginnings" had always been the Spring Solstice. When the Spring Soltice arrives on March 21, marking the end of winter and the emergence of Spring - triggering rebirth and energy more adequate for new beginnings and most of all for: change. As I opened my booklet to write - I contemplated for a moment what to write about. I pondered the "New Year". The more I sat and stared at the blank pages before me, I realized that each day of the year is exactly that: a blank page. Each morning we rise, we open our eyes and in front of us we have the possibility to make it whatever we want. When we sit down to write, words emerge from a place deep within us as they pass through a careful selection process. Hence, we choose how to bring our thoughts, emotions, and desires to life. We make our selections with such tact to assure ourselves that we have come as close as possible to immortalizing what is in our hearts and minds. As writers we must be inspired and often we let ourselves be inspired by the smallest things. Why should each day of the year be any different than that?

Happy New Year Everyone. :)

The Power of Words ... or Silence

Let us say, then, that Man, when he begins to speak, does so because he thinks that he is going to be able to say what he thinks. Well, this is illusory. Language doesn’t offer that much. It says, a little more or less, a portion of what we think, while it sets an insurmountable obstacle in place, blocking a transmission of the rest. It is rather useful for mathematical statements and proofs, but the language of physics is already beginning to be equivocal or insufficient. As soon as conversation begins to revolve around themes that are more important, more human, more ‘real’ than the latter, its imprecision, its awkwardness and its convolutedness increase. Infected by the entrenched prejudice that through speech we understand each other, we make our remarks and listen in such good faith that we inevitably misunderstand each other much more than if we had remained silent and had guessed. ”

- Jose Ortega y Gasset

Treinta

Nunca nos paramos a pensar ¿en realidad qué significa un número?. Como homenaje a los 30 años que voy a cumplir en 4 días, el número 30, o la palabra "treinta", nació en el año 1413 del inglés antiguo. En su comienzo nació de dos partes, "tres" y "grupo de diez".

Alrededor de 1895, el número 30 se utilizaba frecuentemente en los códigos telegráficos para indicar el final de una comunicación. A comienzos del siglo veinte, la palabra todavía formaba parte de la jerga del periodismo también señalando "el final".

Entonces, si 30 significa "el final" ¿qué ocurre cuando llegamos a esa edad?

El final de las preguntas y el comienzo de las conclusiones. El final de las dudas que nos abrumaban durante las primeras 3 décadas de la vida y el comienzo de las certezas. Tal como lo utilizaban los telegráficos, señala el final de una larga comunicación con nosotros mismos. Es una despedida de incertidumbres, la última página del primer cuento donde cerramos un libro para empezar el próximo.

The Other Cide

Suicide. The act of killing yourself. Matricide. The killing of one's mother. Patricide. The killing of one's father. Sororicide. The killing of one's sister. Homicide. The killing of a human being by another human being. Genocide. The killing of a racial or cultural group. Regicide. The act of killing a king. Deicide. The killing of a God.

Decide. To arrive at a final conclusion or choice by "killing" the other options.

What is the first real decision you ever made? How old were you? And what kind of impact did that decision have on your life? When you look back, was it a good decision or a bad decision? A friend of mine always says "There is no such thing as a good decision and a bad decision ... either way, it is just a decision." Any decision will lead us down a path we will follow until the next one comes along.

Why is decision a word that carries so much weight? Decisions only exist because we stop to think. We give "previous consideration to a matter causing doubt, wavering, debate or controversy". If we didn't stop to think then there would be nothing to ponder, hence, nothing to decide, no "weighing out the differences" of the options. We would simply go one way without thinking of the "other" and what it "might" be like. But that is what decisions are, essentially a survey of various possibilities until ultimately one of the possibilities gets the victory - and the others get left behind.

Decide is derived from 2 parts. c.1380, from Old French decider, from Latin decidere which were born of de- "off" + cædere "to cut". Literally then, "to cut off". We decide, hence, we keep one option and cut off the rest.

Decisions are not always easy because if we think about it literally, we are ending the life of the option that we do not choose. Perhaps it is an option that could be chosen in the future, but no two time frames are identical, circumstances change - so often we know deep inside that it may never be an option again and it disappears forever.

Wings of Change

Time passes and our lives move through the inevitable changes. Changes that we are unaware of, changes for which we are unprepared, changes that are so unfamiliar to us that when they arrive we do not know whether what we feel is excitement or fear.

The origins of "change" date back to 1225, from the Old French word "changier" meaning "to exchange, barter". In essence then, change means trading one thing for another. If we replace something old with something new, or something familiar with something different...where do the old and different go? Do they disappear forever? For example, a caterpillar once transformed into butterfly can never go back to being a caterpillar. A caterpillar on the first day of adulthood wakes from its shell with wings and instincts that guide it through the changes of habitat and behavior. The butterfly does not fear its new wings, it adapts because it has no other choice.

In human beings, however, change is a more complex thing. It can move over us like a cloud that covers the ocean, like an unexpected storm that blinds us from the path ahead, leaving us unable to navigate. When the path isn't visible, we fear we may get lost. And getting lost means running the chance of landing somewhere foreign and unknown. That kind of fear makes change incredibly difficult for the human being.

Nevertheless, change is inevitable. From the moment we are born, we change, our bodies change, our minds evolve, it never ceases until the day we die. And interestingly enough, unlike other animals, we can control our habitat and behavior. We can choose to change what we want to change but often we just don't know what we need to change.

When Infinity Happens

6,605,008,933. According to the US Census Bureau International, this is the number of living human beings inhabiting the Earth at this very moment. How do they come up with that? How can we ever know how much it fluctuates in a world where thousands of people die in a given day? One person dies, another is born. It is the perpetual cycle of life. We are born, we die, and in between...well, we live.

6 billion seems like a big number until you look up at the sky and think that there are an estimated 400 billion stars in our galaxy the Milky Way. And beyond the Milky Way? How many other galaxies exist and how many billions of stars exist in those unknown universes?

Tonight I looked up to see the North Star brilliantly dominating the night sky. For a moment I remembered a night when I slept on the top of a sand dune in the Sahara desert, I remembered staring up at that sky, a sky with billions of stars as far as my eyes could reach. For hours, unable to sleep, I pondered infinity. I felt the weight of the universe over me as my thoughts raced unparalleled to my emotions. In that moment, the vastness of the infinite desert around me was the only thing that could mirror the space above me in the black night sky. An infinite sky that greets us every night, a space that makes everything around us so utterly insignificant.

Space and Time. Both elements are part of the fundamental structure of the universe. Time can be measured, they say, as it is a dimension in which activities occur in sequence. Six billion people move everyday through this time on Earth. The perpetual cycle of time on an Earth that is living, an Earth that was born 4.5 million years ago, and an Earth that will one day die. One day, light years away, someone, something, somewhere will look up at their sky and make a wish upon something that was once planet Earth, and they will do it without even knowing its name.

Strangers Among Us.

The word stranger is defined as "someone who does not belong in the environment in which they are found". Lately I have been having those kinds of dreams that are so vivid and real, the kind that when you wake up you have remembered every single detail and every single occurrence, well, except for one thing: the people. The people in my dreams are strangers, faces that I have never seen before in my life. Where do they come from? How do we create these people in our dreams? Why are they there?

Think for a moment about your dreams. More importantly, think about the people who most often appear in your dreams. When you meet somebody new, somebody you have exchanged words with, it is only a matter of time until they appear in one of your dreams. You are conscious of who they are because you have already met them in real life. But what about when that person is somebody who you have never met? Somebody you do not recognize. Somebody totally created from the depths of your subconcious. If we have to meet somebody before we can dream about them, does that mean that these strangers are not strangers after all? I asked a friend and he seemed to believe that these "strangers" are people who we are going to meet in the future. Even more bizarre is the theory that these strangers are other dreamers that you run into while they are dreaming simultaneously (like the person who lives down the street from you).

So which holds true? ... Are these strangers in our dreams people who we are going to meet in some future, or are they people with whom we have already crossed paths? If being a stranger means you don't belong somewhere, then why do we let them in? Do we have to know someone to dream about them...or do we end up knowing them because we have once before dreamed about them?

I guess I am not surprised that the word stranger dates back to 1375 from the Old French word étrange derived from the Latin extraneus. For something to be categorized as étrange, it must be "from elsewhere, foreign, unknown, unfamiliar." A simple truth is that fear usually accompanies those things that are foreign to us. We cannot control what we do not know. Perhaps the strangers in our dreams personify all of those things that are unknown and unfamiliar to us. Until we know what was once unknown, we cannot overcome it. There are strangers among us everyday and they are not only people whom we haven't met yet...they are new feelings, new experiences, new places, new opportunities, new responsibilities, new decisiones, new challenges, and new fears. The unknown is filled with things that we have always dreamt of doing as well as the things we wish we never had to do. But in the end, it doesn't make sense to fear these strangers; it doesn't make sense to fear something we don't even know.

AirPorts

Tonight I took a friend to the airport who had been visiting for the weekend. I left momentarily to go to the restroom and as I walked down the stairs and took in a breath, something all too familiar came back to me. I thought to myself “I’ve always loved the smell of airports…” So I then proceeded to ask myself… “What does it mean if the smell inside of an airport is so familiar?”

When we think of an airport, the first thing that comes to mind for many is an airplane. But what about the AIR in the word airport? Isn’t it funny how all airports have that same similar smell? What distinguishes the air inside of an airport than that of the air outside? It is the one thing that every single airport has in common…it is where different people and cultures collide, that momentary fusion of hundreds of airs from all over the world. Travelers bring with them air and take with them air --- whether it is the air that graced them at the beginning of their trip as they arrive at their final destination, or the airs they take with them from home to a foreign land. . . either way - we breathe it in, we breathe it out. . .air all around us, an element we must all share in order to survive.

When Something Breaks

We all know what it feels like to break something. We’ve all in some point in our lives broken something whether it be a glass, a piece of furniture, an electronic device. But what happens to these things when they are broken? Sometimes they can be repaired, and sometimes they can’t. Much like we break material things such as those, we can break a nail, a bone in our body, we can even break a promise or a friendship. These are also things that are most often repaired but sometimes are also unable to be repaired. But how is it that something so hidden and internal as our heart can be broken? Perhaps we are not capable of actually seeing a broken heart, but what undoubtedly sets it apart from the other things we break is that we feel it.

What exactly happens when our heart breaks? My curiosity led me to the knowledge that the term broken-hearted dates back to 1526. Further on, our beloved Wikipedia defines a Broken Heart as: “when a human being suffers from an emotional or physical loss of another person or living being to the extent in which they began to ache and hurt inside.” And interestingly enough it goes on to say: “A human heart once 'broken' can be mended, time heals a broken heart, a new relationship -in some cases- also heals a broken heart. But a human heart can be broken more than once and the symptoms remain the same.”

If we take a closer look at the verb break we find it has nearly 28 different meanings. Take a look. I spent a long while glancing over the definitions of this word to try to understand, if we know that our hearts are so susceptible to breaking, and we understand what it means when something breaks, why do we even take the risk? We take the risk because that is how we live. We take the risk because we know that is is worth it. How can we ever understand completion if we haven't experienced separation? If we don't know what it feels like to lose something, how can we ever appreciate what we have?

Where Are You From?

I remember being young and never knowing what to say when I was asked where I was from. Do I say I’m Belgian? Italian? American? I would say that still until this day it is the most difficult question of all – but perhaps the one thing that has changed with age is that I can now ask myself… “What does it mean to be from somewhere?”

When somebody asks you where you are from, what is usually the first thing that comes to your mind? For some people the answer is simple and they think no farther than the place where they are in that very moment, which is more than likely the place where they were also born and where they know they are going to stay.

For others, however, it is not so simple. The question is asked and we think “Well, I was born here, and then I moved here for a while, but now I live here. . .” Does living somewhere not grant us enough to say that we are from there? What needs to exist for us to say that…how much must we identify with the place where we are living in order for us to say that we are from there?

One Word, One Moment.

6:15 am, something awakens me, not only does it awaken me, but it causes me to get out of bed.

Suddenly, sleep is no longer an option. I have to be awake, I have to find something to do that isn't sleep, and a few minutes later I find myself cleaning in the kitchen, and before I know it, I'm rummaging through the refrigerator looking for something or anything that has to be discarded. As I unscrew the already-opened bottle of Coca-Cola that had been sitting almost full in the refrigerator for who knows how long, I watch my hand as I voluntarily pour out the drink into the sink, and I think "Wow, some child, somewhere, would have loved this Coca-Cola". For me, this was a moment of pure inspiration.

This thought ignited an enormous curiosity and I began to comtemplate the word privilege. What exactly is this phenomenon and how did it come to be? Has it always existed? Who is to say what is or isn't a "privilege" or who is or isn't "privileged"? What causes me to feel more privileged than the Cocacolaless child? Why was I drawn from my bed at dawn? To contemplate this? Privilege comes to us from two Latin words: privus meaning "individual" and lex (legis) meaning "law", hence... "law applying to one person". Perhaps we have moments ordained by the Gods to be ours. Perhaps my moment pouring out the Coca-Cola was meant for me. Perhaps those are our privileges, our own individual laws.

The word privilege was recorded in Old English as a Latin word, and also in Old French, both in the 12th century. Curiously enough, the word underprivileged did not emerge until 1896. Imagine living through nearly 7 centuries when the word underprivileged did not exist... Why does the word underprivileged exist today?

Today it is no surprise that privilege denotes a "special advantage or immunity or benefit not enjoyed by all" OR "a right reserved exclusively by a particular person or group". Notice the careful choice of words..."special" "advantage" "benefit" "enjoyed" "reserved" "exclusive". Wow...you tell me...which definition makes more sense? Definitions aren't meant to make sense, they are merely there to define the world we live in. Think of how much the world has to have changed for this definition to have changed so drastically.

The Distance Between Two Points.

Apparently I have a fascination with Old French words from the thirteenth century. Today it is the word distance whose French derivative came from the Latin distantia meaning "a standing apart".

Distance is interesting because it can be defined and understood in terms of time, space, and emotions. The latter is one that interests me, it is defined as: "indifference by personal withdrawal". This is the definition concerned with emotional distance. How do we measure emotional distance? If so many equations exist to define distance, why is it so difficult to understand?

We use distance to free ourselves from the things we don't want to feel.
We express indifference to take ourselves out of an equation.
What is an equation exactly?

An equation is a mathetmatical statement, in symbols, that two things are the same. Perhaps we are all just that: part of not one, but many, many life equations. Isn't the point to make an equation balance? Taking ourselves out of an equation can only create an imbalance...and we are then stuck with a missing factor, and the equation remains unsolved. It is so easy to distance ourselves from the things we are afraid of. . .factors that, if plugged into the equation, will make the answer incorrect. We are all afraid of making mistakes. But sometimes you have to plug in as many factors as possible, in spite of the fact that you may err. . .only then will you know what works at balancing the equation and what doesn't. We might even be pleasantly surprised at how simple balancing the equation can be.

Some equations are obvious, while others are meant to be solved.
But in the end, they are merely that:
equations, figures representing that two things are equal and represent each other.

Thoughts For Sale.

"Thought or thinking is a mental process which allows beings to model the world, and so to deal with it effectively according to their goals, plans, ends and desires. Concepts in our language, which are akin to thought are cognition, sentience, consciousness, idea, and imagination. As of yet, the English language has not coined more specific words for the exact experiences and endeavors people do in their minds on a daily basis."

Thought. We cannot escape it, but we can control it...if we cannot control it, we try to change it...if we cannot change it, we ignore it. But it's always there, incessant, it never really goes away, no matter what it is about it is there - the one thing that most distinguishes us human beings from other animals - the fact that we are thinkers.

Lately there have been so many thoughts. I'd like to sell them to the highest bidder.

The Would-Haves.

An all too common occurrence, I have a terribly bad case of the Would-Haves. In case you are not familiar with this ailment, let me enlighten you: Symptoms can include asking oneself such questions -- any question for that matter -- beginning with the words

"What would have happened if..."
or
"Perhaps it would have been better if. . . ."
or
"If I would have . . ."

Oh my, to regret or not to regret, that is the question. In fact that word has existed since c.1300 ("to remember with distress or longing" from Old French). Interestingly enough, the word would be is also first recorded c. 1300 meaning "wishing, pretending". Intriguing, no?

So is there a cure for the Would-Haves considering they have everything to do with past events? It is only proof that we only notice the things we wish we had done...and that we usually never regret the things we did do. But the would-haves is more than that because not only do we think about what would have happened "if it had been" we also think about what would have happened if "it had not been".

Continuidad Sobre Agua.

Ante mis ojos tengo un mar inmenso, pero hoy está tranquilo, tan tranquilo que uno podría caminar encima sin molestar a ninguna ola. Hace poco alguien me sugirió que la vida era como una ola en la que hacemos surf y que tenemos que intentar hacerlo con elegancia a pesar de lo que nos ofrezca la vida. Ahora mientras observo las olas y sus movimientos, noto que hay miles de ellas. Si pensamos que la vida es como una ola, podemos pensar en la gente que hace surf…y cuál es el propósito de este deporte? De mantener el equilibrio sobre una ola y transferirlo a la siguiente ola como si no hubiera ninguna separación entre los dos, para que el movimiento sea continuo, sin cambio, y elegante. Entonces, ¿qué sucede cuando se rompe la ola? ¿Qué hacen? ¿Se rinden? Claro que no. Los que se mantienen fieles al deporte vuelven a subirse a la plancha, observan el mar, buscan la próxima ola, e intentan de nuevo. Porque como cualquier cosa, no hay dos olas iguales. Los que lleguen a ser los mejores se atreven a subir una y otra vez y mientras van superando las pequeñas olas, pueden pasar a otras más grandes. Buscan otros mares, buscan olas más grandes y más difíciles a pesar de que hay más riesgo. Supongo que en la vida tenemos que superar las pequeñas olas antes de que podamos llegar a las más grandes. Supongo que en la vida todos necesitamos buscar nuestro mar, aquel donde mejor mantenemos el equilibrio sobre las olas, donde la separación de las olas se convierte en continuidad y el caerse significa una oportunidad de volver a intentar - hasta que lleguemos a ser íntimos amigos de nuestro mar elegido.

Barriers.

Circa 1325, an English word emerged from the old Old French word barriere meaning "obstacle". Today we may hear the word BARRIER and imagine a wall, a fence, a roadblock...in the end, what are all of those things? In today's dictionary, they are...

1. structures that impede free movement
2. anything serving to maintain separation by obstructing vision or access
3. any condition that makes it difficult to make progress or to acheive an objective.

In other words, BARRIERS = OBSTACLES.

So, if obstacles are meant to be overcome, why are we constantly putting barriers around ourselves? Barriers here, barriers there, barriers everywhere. If the barriers we put around ourselves are obstacles, who is supposed to get through them, us or others?

What many of us don't even realize is that our little "barriers" are not actually protecting us, but are in fact a problem in themselves. We put up a barrier to protect ourselves, when actually we take away our own ability to move freely, we maintain separation, we obstruct our own vision, and we make it that much more difficult to make progress. How ironic...right? What we think is our protection actually blinds us from seeing our own destruction.

remind Airs

It is a phenomenon that has fascinated me since I was young. My fondest childhood memories of Belgium occur in a single breath. It happens because of a smell. "The Proust Effect" states that "whole memories, complete with all associated emotions can be prompted by a single scent or smell. Apparently, we do it unconsciously and can in no way be prompted voluntarily to experience this. In fact, many studies have shown that this "memory recall through smell" is enhanced if learning was done in the presence of the odor that we recognize in a moment of recall.

As I grabbed a washcloth the other day to wash my face with, the smell of the detergent was so familiar that suddenly I was not in fact standing in front of the bathroom mirror washing my face, but instead hugging one of my relatives in Belgium good-bye and forever engraving the smell of their clothes in my memory.

As I dined with friends two nights ago, I walked past the bar area of the restaurant to go to the bathroom. And suddenly, I was six years old again running around my aunt's bar - again in Belgium. If I had to describe the smell, you might all say I'm insane. . .but actually it makes perfect sense - - - a combination of cigarettes and stale beer.

Even the smell of exhaust combined with the right conditions reminds me of Europe or Morocco or even Venezuela. . .places where at one point I was surrounded by the same distinct air. It could be anything - somebody's cologne or perfume, the smell of certain foods, the smell of a certain soap, the truth is, even fresh air is reminiscent of something. Perhaps what amazes me the most is that - these memories triggered by smells - they are uniquely ours. If it has ever happened to you, I'm positive that the most you've been able to say is "oh my gosh, that smell reminds me of . . ." But as much as your friend would love to share that memory with you, nothing can instill in him or her the same feeling that rushes through you in that very moment when you breathe in and suddenly you recognize that smell. It is not merely a smell, but a reminder - "an experience that causes you to remember something".

It has been happening a lot to me lately, so I can't help but ask myself... Why does it happen when it happens? Is it really just a memory? If so, then why do we hold on to certain memories more than others? Why do we remember certain smells more distinctly?

Is there some mystical explanation? - - is something out there trying to remind us of something that we have abandoned? or is it reminding us, trying to bring us closer to something that has abandoned us?

Sink or Swim?

I want to write. So, I thought “write what”? . . . always thinking before writing, always thinking before speaking, always thinking even before thinking.

It’s not late, but it feels late. Don't think Corina, just write. How can I "just write" if I have the choice? In the end, doesn't even a writer choose what to put on paper?

Still, nothing. Then, just when I needed a little inspiration, I received a comment following the post "The Choice". It is from my cousin Sarah who is currently living in Belgium. She wrote the following in French which I have translated into English:

Sarah, thank you for the inspiration and for sharing this with us. I loved your comment, and I think it deserves to be read by all of those who visit The Sirius One.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I’ve decided to tell you that it’s so nice to know that we are not alone in asking ourselves such questions about life. I cannot say that your blog lifts my spirits, but instead I would even go as far as saying that it only adds more fog to the surface of the water in which we are obligated to swim if we are to stay afloat and not drown.

Sometimes the current carries us, events clinch onto us and we have no need to reflect, no need to make a choice, and it is easier.

Most of the time, we simply have to swim, to swim without stopping.

And then other times, we get caught in a whirl of questions which forces us to swim harder, battling against the current so that we don’t drown. It’s possible that these whirls appear more frequently around the age of 30...

But finally, perhaps the impression we get that every decision is so important is only a vision of life that corresponds to maturity...

As a child, we have no concept of time as it passes.
As an adolescent, we are eternal.
As an adult, every decision could turn our lives upside down.

However, just maybe 20 years down the road we will tell ourselves that it isn’t the decisions we make that are important, perhaps it will be something else, another thing of which are not even conscious of today. . .

At least, I hope so . . .

The Choice.

Yesterday I found myself in a familiar place, both physically and therefore, mentally. I started to think about these past weeks, and suddenly that turned into thinking about the past months, and then the past years. So what then. Life presents and has always presented its challenges. It is we who see these challenges differently with each passing year, different today because we are more mature than we were then, because we are getting older - not younger - and with youth always came the luxury of bypassing though innocently our real responsibilities. Now we are different. We are getting each day older, we cannot look back and the only difference is that we know it. We are conscious of our decisions and their respective consequences. . . we know that we must be held accountable for them. Perhaps that is why a challenge sometimes feels like a crisis, because it means change, it means adapting, it means making a choice and sticking with it - and all of the terror that comes with taking responsibility for that choice. I say terror because we want to believe that our choices are "right" not wrong. But in the end, a choice is a choice, there is no right and there is no wrong, it is merely life in motion.

So, where is it that I find myself physically? - on an airplane. And mentally then? - in touch with the world at my deepest level of understanding. Clarity. So then I think to myself for a moment about choices. Everyday we wake up and we have a choice: positive or negative, happy or sad, indifferent or caring...whatever it is, it is there and we face it everyday. Sometimes we choose negativity, sadness, or indifference, and we allow those feelings to torment us, we let them in, we welcome them with arms wide open. In the end it is something we choose. Why would we deliberately choose to torment ourselves like that? Do we enjoy it? What do we gain from that? Only pain. Only questions. Only doubt.

I look out at the magnificent sky and its powerful immensity. I think about the airplane that has carried me here, the airplane I chose to board, the airplane in which I am flying. Then, I remember, I am a dreamer, a person who loves to spread their wings and fly. But even flying is a choice. Before we fly, we must have learned to walk, while we are flying we have to know how to handle the turbulence, and once we have flown, we have to learn to land firmly on our own two feet. But most of all, before we fly we think about all of the terror, all of the risk, all of the things that could go wrong, and yes, we think about the fact that we could die. If we make the choice to fly, we might get lost along the way, encounter turbulence, or even crash; but in the end it is but a choice that we hope will lead us to a new place with a safe landing. . .a choice that will help us learn to fly even better the next time around.

alterNATION

The older I get, the faster life seems to come at me. And the faster it comes, the more I want to slow down, I don't understand the race to get ahead - why run? when we are not even promised a tomorrow.

It seems that everywhere we turn there is something there trying to alter us. Something that makes us feel pressure to be the best, to have the best, and above all to follow a "norm" that is completely arbitrary. Even the word freedom is arbitrary these days - - - does anybody actually know what true freedom feels like? (If so, please enlighten me)

Successive change from one thing or state to another and back again - that's the definition of alternation. And lately it seems like that is the only thing this country bestows on us all. At least for me, it is an alternation of emotions. One day you feel like you belong in it, the next day you want to pack your bags and disappear. This post emerged from the latter. Sometimes you feel like you just don't belong anywhere, and the only freedom you find is in the company of your own breath.

ADAPTability.

Today I was pondering this word for a long time. My curiosity led me to its definition, and I must say I was hardly surprised when the word "CHANGE" appeared three times in a definition containing only eleven words. Hmm.

Adaptability: the ability to change or be changed to fit changed circumstances.
So, what is Change?

An event that occurs when something passes from one state or phase to another.

The result of alteration or modification.

To make or become different in some particular way, without permanently losing one's or its former characteristics or essence.

Adaptability is the essence of being human. In fact, that's what I love about living in a place that has four seasons...because it is a constant reminder that there are many things above us and beyond our control. There is just something that feels right about feeling the melancholy that comes with winter and the euphoria that comes with the summer. The seasons change - and we adapt. So, when the seasons change, what is this change that occurs in us? Are we then constantly passing from one state of being to another, our feelings being the result of an alteration in our surroundings, becoming different in some particular way without losing our essence?

I love this quote.

Always in big woods when you leave familiar ground and step off alone into a new place, there will be, along with the feelings of curiosity and excitement, a little nagging of dread. It is the ancient fear of the unknown, and it is your first bond with the wilderness you are going into.

What you are doing is exploring. You are undertaking the first experience, not of the place, but of yourself in that place. It is an experience of our essential loneliness; for nobody can discover the world for anybody else. It is only after we have discovered it for ourselves that it becomes a common ground and a common bond, and we cease to be alone.

--W.Berry

Roots With Wings.

1956 Nobel Laureate winner in Literature was Spanish poet Juan Ramón Jiménez.

These are his words:

"Raices y alas.
Pero que las alas arraiguen y las raices vuelen."

"Roots and Wings,
So that the wings grow roots
And the roots fly."

After days of slaving away at research, I thought I would give the tension headaches a rest and actually enjoy Thanksgiving Day. It was a breathtaking day outside so my sister and I decided to go for a walk in the woods behind our house. It brought back a lot of memories. I couldn't believe that such beauty rested in my back yard and how long it had been since I revisited it.

As we walked further and further next to the small creek, I looked up at the blue sky and just watched the trees blowing in the wind. I had stepped into a forest only 50 feet away from my home and I already felt reconnected to nature and disconnected from everything else that we left behind.

I started to remember something that I had thought about while staring out the car window in Venezuela this past summer. I was thinking about Trees and how they are so much like us. There are big ones, small ones, weak ones, strong ones, pretty ones, ugly ones, and there are those that are surrounded by a million others like them, and others that stand confidently alone. So, I started then to think about Roots. The old, majestic trees are always the ones with strong roots which they spread as far as they need to to survive. On the other hand, trees with weak roots are more vulnerable to disease and the elements.

Being born in Europe and growing up in the United States causes me to reflect a lot on my roots. As time passes and I grow older, I realize more and more the importance of them. Just like the Trees, they are where we get our nourishment, our strength, and more than anything, our stability. Much like Jimenez said, we must let our roots fly and let our wings grow roots. . .in short, we must never let go of our roots - because in the end it always comes back to them. Roots are one thing all Trees have in common, and they simply cannot grow without them.

Oh November, where have you been?

November. In Old English, it was Blotmonað meaning "month of sacrifice," literally, "blood-month," the time when the early Saxons prepared for winter by sacrificing many animals, which they then butchered and stored for food. Hmm. I don't foresee myself sacrificing animals nor butchering them, however I do see myself coming face to face again with the same old friend. I don't know what it is about November, perhaps it's the suddenly gray skies, the bare trees, and the more frequent visits from the rain. I suppose that in a sense, all of these are things that make us go inward and in a slightly depressing way help us to prepare ourselves for the winter.

If I had to describe what November meant to me in one word it would be: Nostalgia. During the few years following 1999, November would come around and the inevitable would happen - -there was something about my life that just wasn't right...either I was living in the wrong place, had the wrong job, was dating the wrong person, or was just plain and simply being the wrong person. I would always compare my present life to some other day, some other month, some other year when I seemingly was happier than in that very moment. I had myself convinced that anything that was in the past was better than whatever I was living in the present.

Then comes that one striking moment when you choose to open your eyes to who you really are, to what you really have, and to the fact that you just cannot sink into such deep nostalgia that it paralyzes you in the present. This November is different. For once there is nothing that I want to change about where I am, what I'm doing, or the direction in which I am headed. However, I would be lying if I said that that tiny inkling of nostalgia didn't come knocking at my door every once in a while...especially in this very month of November.

A few more highway sunsets . . . .

The Sirius One Unveiled

As I was heading home on I-40 Westbound the other day, I looked ahead as I approached the top of a hill and thought to myself, "Wow, there must be a lot of traffic ahead..." thinking that brake lights were the cause of the burning orange light I saw ahead on the other side of the hill. To my amazement, I came over the hill and there staring me in the face was a burning orange Sun (above picture) slowly making its way below the horizon. It was the most beautiful sunset I had seen in a long time and the fact that I was on a highway facing dead West only made it a million times more intense. In its most literal sense, I felt like I was riding off into the sunset.

I think what makes both the sunrise and the sunset so special is that they are very short-lived. We get to cherish them for only a few brief minutes and then they disappear. I wish I could immortalize all of the sunsets that I've seen in my lifetime - but that would be impossible...well, until now! Why oh why did they have to put cameras in cell phones? So yes, I'm guilty. I take pictures while driving, but only of the sunrise and the sunset. And when I go back and look at these pictures, I don't remember the day, nor what I was doing, but I never ever forget what I was feeling. The sunrise and the sunset are two phenomenons that from now until the end of my days will bring me inner peace in their one fleeting moment.

On a more Sirius note... Because I personally feel such a celestial connection with the Sun and the Sky, I started to wonder if every human being felt the same way when face-to-face with these phenomenons. I thought about it for the rest of the way home and for days after that. Finally I concluded that the answer is: NO. I believe that we don't all feel the same peace or the same connection. I truly believe that there are human beings in this world that are living the only lifetime they will ever live, people who are not blessed and will never be blessed with the capacity to see the world in its other dimensions.

Who are we then, we who have been given this gift? We are human beings who are living their 5th, 10th, even 13th lives, people who have a capacity to see these other dimensions because we have once lived them in a previous life. We are the people whom they often call old souls. Not long ago, I met and had a reading with a woman who is a past-life healer. I do not wish to disclose all of her findings, except for one in particular: In my 15th past life, I was an entity from the star Sirius. At first, as it probably also sounds to many of you, the idea seemed quite absurd. Deep down inside though, it is not absurd to me. The more time passed, the more I pondered this star, this sky, this earth, this universe. And in that time, I have grown to believe in it all.

So as I continue living this life, I will continue cherishing the sunrise and the sunset. It will continue to remind me that there is an undeniable connection between who we are now and who we once were. . .and that there is an undeniable distinction between those who will live only once and those who have already once lived.

Ode to Autumn

There is nothing that I love more than driving on a highway lined with trees in their most eloquent display of Autumn. The cohabitation of hues - orange, red, and yellow intertwined with the evergreens sends a rush of serenity through me in a way that no other aspect of nature can.

Although, Autumn (c.1374) is defined as the season of the year between summer and winter, lasting from the autumnal equinox to the winter solstice and from September to December in the Northern Hemisphere, it also has a very interesting second definition being A period of maturity verging on decline.

A period of maturity on the verge of decline - Wow...I am offically captivated. The more I ponder this definition, the more inconclusive it is to me. I guess that's why this post ends right here.

Happiness: Easier Than You Think

Last week on my usual 7 am commute to Charlotte, I heard something intriguing on a morning radio show. They quoted an author that claims the following

- "In life there are three (yes only three) things that we need to be happy:
1. Something to do.
2. Somebody to love and to be loved by.
3. Something to look forward to."

This intrigued me more than anything because of the simplicity behind it, and also because I believe that there is an incredible amount of truth to it. I began thinking about people that I know or have known throughout the course of my life, especially myself. I began thinking about those moments of unhappiness that we sometimes go through...and not surprisingly, the cause always comes back to the absence one of those three things just mentioned. Either we have nothing to do, hence, too much idle time to overthink; or we have nobody to love and we are constantly focused on finding "the one" that we are meant to spend our lives with; or we simply have nothing to look forward to.

I think the equation works. I think if everything stays in balance, we are complete - and we have no more excuses to not be happy. So to all of you whose equation isn't in balance, find something to do (preferably something you love), find someone to love or let them find you, and most of all - always give yourself something to look forward to.

Waking Up to Adulthood

I awoke from my nap to a gloomy afternoon, and gloomy afternoons are perfect for thinking. The rain had ceased but the sky remained cloudy and gray, and as I struggled to open my eyes and I thought to myself "Man, I just can't stay up until 3 a.m. anymore...I'm getting too old for this." Needless to say, it was then that I began contemplating adulthood.

I started to wonder, where and when was this word created? When did the human race begin to observe this state of so-called "maturity"? The answer: 1531. Adult is derived from the Latin word adultus which is the past participle of adolescere meaning "grow up, mature". Hood is derived from Old English meaning "state or condition of being", hence, Adulthood: 1. the state (and responsibilities) of a person who has attained maturity and 2. the period of time in your life after your physcial growth has stopped and you are fully developed.
Hmm. Now it's all starting to make sense.

The only thing that still bewilders me is - how exactly does one measure adulthood?

By...
A. the fact that every day you have more and more responsibilities.
B. the sudden inability to sleep less than 7 hours a night and still function the next day.
C. the realization that you are 5'2" and will stay that way for the rest of your life.

The answer: All of the above.

It Rains and We Change

After spending three months in Venezuela during the rainy season, I became quite accustomed to those torrential tropical afternoon downpours. It was amazing how the sky could change in a matter of minutes, denoting that at any given moment you had better seek shelter. . .or else.

Since I returned to North Carolina two months ago, it hadn't rained a single time - until today - until still now. The rain hasn't ceased for a single second and I love it. The rainfall is constant and unchanging. Yet, how can something so unchanging change us so much?

Perhaps the rain nurtures us just as it nurtures the Earth. Water - the ultimate Purifier, one that forces us to look inside of ourselves, a sort of moral and spiritual cleanser.

The Internet: ¿Are We Addicts?

Have you ever gone somewhere for a prolonged period of time where there was no internet access? How long did you last until you went absolutely insane? Being nagged by that constant curiosity of knowing that it´s out there, that someone has emailed you, that there is breaking news to read, and you just can´t get to it. Here´s my question...what measures have you or would you go to in such a situation for just five minutes of internet?

This is what I recently encountered during the past two weeks while staying in a house with no internet connection and worse...no computer at all. There I was, surrounded by an abundance of books, DVD's, even my iPod mini, yet miserably and utterly bored to death. Sleep was my only remedy and the fastest way to get through the day.

So I´ve begun to ask myself...is this a generation thing? Hmm, maybe. But if we were to look at an example, like my mother, then it´s definitely not a generation thing. The first thing she does in the morning is check to see who is online that she can chat with as she sips her coffee at 6 a.m. I think it makes her feel connected. Because that´s what we all want - right? To be "connected"?

So then I wonder. Are we really that connected or is this connectedness just an illusion? What are we connected to...work? friends? the rest of the world? Wouldn´t it make more sense to spend more time working away from the computer, to spend more time with friends in person, and to spend more time actually traveling the rest of the world instead of just reading about it?

You decide - are we really that connected or is this connectedness just an illusion? Or, have we actually reached an era where the one thing that gives us our daily peace is in fact, the internet?

Same Place, Different Eyes.

Despite my fatigue and semi-state of delirium from God knows what sleeping pill I took on the plane, I found myself overcome by emotions. I was undoubtedly excited but the most powerful one of them all was an emotion of sadness mixed with a bit of anger. Next to Venezuela, it was difficult to look around and see so much progress as I took the taxi from the airport to the bus station in Madrid. When I boarded the bus for Salamanca, it was so familiar yet something so different.

Some days passed and I spent them visiting friends and all of the memorable places I frequented years ago as a student. One night around 3 a.m. as I walked from the Gran Via to the Plaza Mayor...I looked around, I looked down at my feet as they moved swiftly one in front of the other. In fact, I remember thinking the very same thing to myself when I was living in Salamanca. I thought of how many footsteps I had taken in those streets.

Then it hit me. They were the same streets, and the one that had changed the most - was me.

TransAtlantic

Everytime I board a plane that is Europe-bound, I am overcome by such a surreal feeling. I am never actually aware of where I am going to be when I step off of the airplane. And I mean this not in a physical sense, yet in a purely mental sense. Coming to Europe for me is never just an ordinary trip...it overwhelms me with a feeling of belonging, of connectedness, and the sensation that quite simply the largest piece of my heart remains there.

Places That Change Us.

In life there are places where we live, places that we go to escape the places where we live, and then. . .there are places that change us. The places that change us usually involve overcoming some kind of fear within ourselves in order to connect with a part of ourselves that we never knew. The places that change us are usually the experiences that petrify us in the beginning, places where we are totally detached from the normal surroundings that we feel comfortable in.

Last weekend I went to one of these places, Hato El Frio. Sitting eight hours southwest of Caracas in "the lowlands" of Apure, called "Los Llanos", Hato El Frio is a 150,000 acre cattle ranch combined with a research station and ecotourism center. The farm was named "El Frio" or "The Cold" by its original owners not because of cold weather, but because of the icy chills that would be felt by those who had caught Malaria there in the past. Trust me, the weather there was very far from cold. Around 1974, Spanish biologists discovered that the farm had one of the richest eco-systems in the world and together with UNESCO worked and succeeded in combining programs of conservation, research, environmental awareness, ecotourism and traditional cattle ranching.

One week has passed. I sit down to eat lunch and stare at the food on my plate. I think about all of the people who made it possible for that food to have arrived on my plate. From the person who planted the seeds, to the person who harvested the vegetables, to the person who unloaded the vegetables off of the truck in to the supermarket, to the person that shelved them in the grocery store...and from the person who raised the cattle, to the person who slaughtered the cattle, to the butcher who it was bought from. From this I realized that an act so simple and essential as eating does not only involve myself. If it weren't for those who wake up when the sun rises and finish working at sunset, having the food we want all the time might not be so easy.

Seeing the people in that place made me appreciate all of the things I have that to them are considered a luxury. Like what? Hot water, electricity, a washing machine. I had never witnessed such a way of life before. I felt as if I had gone back in time to the Wild West.

Speaking of the Wild West, the most exhilarating part of the trip was the cattle drive. I will always have engraved in my mind the image of one of the llaneros running after loose cattle on his horse at full speed and at the same time leaning over to grab the cow by the tail. When it was over - it was just like a movie...everyone rode off into the sunset.

The most magical thing about El Frio is simply witnessing so many different animals living harmoniously on the same land. If you ever imagined a place where Cattle, Crocodiles, Thousands of Birds, Anacondas, and Wild Horses can bee seen all at once...it's here.

La Madrugada

The alarm clock rings at 5:30 a.m. Although slightly blurred, there they are staring me in the face, DISABLE or SNOOZE. If I disable it then I run the risk of oversleeping, and if I snooze, well, what am I actually going to get out of 4 more minutes? Really, all I have to do is think about what awaits me in the next hour as I head to work and the answer is then very clear: Just turn the damn thing off and get up.

6:00 sharp. I leave the house. I am walking down the street to the corner where I catch the bus...the bus which my sister, after once seeing it in a picture, coined the Scooby-doo bus. As I wait for the bus to arrive, I watch the sunrise behind the Avila mountain. . .it is beyond words. I think I enjoy the sunrise so much because in my lifetime I have seen so many more sunsets. More than anything, sharing that moment with the sun in the morning gives me energy to get through the day and reminds me that we are all in fact only human. As the bus approaches, I take in a deep breath for I know that the most peaceful moment of the day has just ended.

Wake here, sleep there.

The idea of waking up in one place, getting on a plane for several hours, and then going to sleep in another place has fascinated me ever since I was a little girl. Especially when you wake up in a small North Carolina town and after a mere 6 hours, find yourself falling asleep in a capital city such as Caracas, Venezuela. This is precisely what I am feeling right now. The serenity and calm that surrounds me at this very moment will not be felt for another three months as I embark on yet another trip to South America.

Love is like the Wind

Love is like the wind, you can’t see it, but you can feel it.

It’s everywhere. In the flame of a candle, in the words of a book,
When we see a stranger, it’s in their stare, in their look.
In the food we eat, in the songs we hear,
It’s in the death of laughter and the birth of a tear.

It’s in the wine we drink, the letters we write,
And the pictures we take on an unforgettable night.
It is in the songs that we sing and the songs we create,
An eternal search, a longing, and an uncommon fate.

It’s in the hugs that we give in eternal good-byes.
In the soul that you see when you look into someone’s eyes.
In the sound of water emerging from a fountain,
A feeling so rare so serene, like reaching the peak of a mountain.

Like the wind of the sea, like the wind of a storm,
In the end it is wind, wind that keeps us warm.

Forces of Mankind

It’s raining, and in the event that I had not told you before - rain can be an uncommon thing in Salamanca. As I walked to the bar where I sit writing you, comfortable and dry, I came to a lot of heart-melting conclusions.

I looked around, I listened, I took in a deep breath of air. . .

The air smelled thick from the rain, but refreshing at the same time . . . in one breath you could smell the fog that lingers over the cement after a long-anticipated afternoon shower. . . and the grass and trees are rejuvenated. I looked around, at people, at buildings, at the movement of life around me. My senses heightened, along with my awareness and my sorrow.

Perhaps what is happening in the world is trying to teach us something. Half-way to the cafe I crossed a plaza, ironically called "Plaza de la Libertad" (Liberty Plaza), where I saw a woman sitting, holding a cardboard box, a look of emptiness on her face. I couldn’t really tell what her look was. It was so void, inexpressive, thoughtless. "What is her story?" I asked myself. A part of me wanted to ask her if she wanted to have a cup of coffee with me. So why didn’t I? Then as I kept walking, deep down I thought...that is exactly what is wrong with the world today . . . I thought perhaps if I began doing more to make a difference it will come back to me in ways unimaginable. Does that essentially make it an act of selfishness? Continuing to ponder the world, I realize, after all I have seen, the places I have been.....there are madmen everywhere, there is poverty everywhere, there are kids and elderly everywhere, wherever we go there are sunny days and rainy days......THAT is something we cannot control....and all the rest has been created by our own species, by the human race, by man.

And I do not mention love. What is happening to love? With the forces and elements of life we have created we grow more skeptical of our neighbors. It becomes more difficult for us to trust others, and when we are unable to trust, we are unable to love. In Western society what man has created is self-love . . . .the form of love many seek seems to revolve around their own happiness. But do we love what we do for a living? For many, does it matter? Are they happy as long as they are making money? Do we work because we love it? or because centuries ago a system was created by which we were pre-destined to live by?

Capitalism is thought to unify the world, instead it is tearing it apart. There can only be unity among the civilized nations, and in certain ways they are indeed unified, they push ahead, often not looking behind them, leaving the rest of the uncivilized world disconnected and lingering behind.

And as I walked through the rain, bare-headed without an umbrella nor a coat, the sensation of the raindrops on me, the smell of the air around me. In that moment, I felt so incredibly human, yet like an animal who had lost its habitat and natural environment.

What has man created? Can humanity return among us? What is humanity? Is it based on doing good for others ..... then again...... what is good or bad? Are they also phenomenons that have sprung from society?

Everyday new minds will be born, hence, new geniuses, new terrorists, new philosophers. People will continue to be born into a certain fate, destined to be rich or poor, drug-addicts, or wealthy businessmen. New minds born into existing circumstances and culture , circumstances that in the brink of their upbringing cannot be controlled. And when new minds reach adulthood how easy is it for them to escape the pressures and influences that have surrounded them up to that point? If the world were uncivilized would there still be schizophrenics? would there still be poverty? would there still be cancer? would there still be hatred? Would we start to break down, would the Earth as we know it still come one day? Is it inevitable? Is that what results from the power of the human mind??

My comfort lies in one thought: we know at least there would still be rainy days and sunny days.

When you think of killing, you think of the reasons why people kill. . . . not only money, but emotions and beliefs as well. A free mind can do powerful things, an opinionated mind can do powerful things. So long as we have the ability to think for ourselves, someone next to us may always think differently. If we cannot respect our neighbor, we cannot trust him, and when we cannot trust, we cannot love. When we cease to have compassion for those different than ourselves, we cease to be human. And we lose touch with what is truly important. Respect, Honesty, and the willingness to make a positive difference, for all of mankind.

Sahara.

I’m searching for the right words…because I’m definitely not lacking the thoughts. I woke up this morning on a sand dune in the Sahara desert, turned my head as I woke up to see nothing but the sun rising above the sand…all along just wondering when the next time I would have my eyes fixed on such a glorious sky and my mind fixed on such an amazing moment, not wanting it to end, wishing we could make time stand still.

Someone once said to me, “You must go to Africa so that you can here the sound of silence”. Well, he wasn’t kidding – the night Jenny and I sat on the dunes the first night, and last night as we fell asleep under billions of stars, there it was…silence. Except here they say “You come to the desert and you can hear the NOISE of silence”. I contemplated the thought for much time. Makes sense to me, the presence of such silence evokes in you so much thought, such profound thought, they scream in your mind…that’s the noise. And the only thing you feel is freedom and serenity, and the only things you think are immeasurable, and the only thing we hope is that someone next to us, close to us might partly understand the depth of the moment, the profoundness of our thoughts. I felt that when we all were laying under the desert sky, surrounded by silence, we all were connected yet our thoughts still remained our own which we ourselves are only capable of understanding. I’m attempting to capture the magic of the desert and this experience in words but the majesty of it all remains in me. No matter how hard I try or even if I don’t try, words sometimes do no justice.