Thursday, September 13, 2012

Streets of London - Diary of a traveling man early September 2012


  I walked the streets of London. I’m walking them still.
  If I have a home, any home in today’s world, in civilization London is it.
  That is once again made obvious by the beyond pleasant wide range of emotions rising within me, the quiet joy filling me up. Small things make up a giant tapestry of immersion and birth.
  We came with the summer. People told us the weather had been lousy for months, but on our first day the sun and heat visited the city with a vengeance. It didn’t rain, not a single drop until we returned to the airport on the day of our departure.
  On Monday, on the first day of recreating myself I returned to the Pizza Hut restaurant where I had completed my masterclass poem «I shit my pants today». I made no fuss this time, but enjoyed a great, tasty pizza. We walked the broad road crossing Hyde Park, sat on a bench in the shadow and the burning sunshine. The heat sizzled in the air. We drank lots of water, but we and even our balls kept dehydrating. I had to pee, then I didn’t, then I did again, then I didn’t. Children screamed their lungs out in the silence.. A boy riding a bike crossed the white sand. I live deep and intense. I am sleeping. A horny dove is courting the females of the species, doing it loud just outside my window.
  Sometimes it takes a few days and nights for the London feeling to set. This time it did so after just a few hours.
  I have missed this!
  People whirl around me like wisps of wind. I chuckle happily among the moving shadows.
  One hour is far, far away and a day is an eternity.
  I returned to London after a 22 month absence and met with old and new kindred spirits. It is amazing how we speak each other’s mind and finish each other’s sentences, sharing excitement and grievances. My old kindred is still kindred, even after all those years since our youth.
  This is the life for me, living face to face with everything life has to offer.
  It was also encouraging to note how little influence the Olympic Games have left on the city as a whole. Except for a few flags and mementos here and there I hardly saw any signs of it at all.

  This in spite of the usual nationalistic bullshit I heard, some people telling me how proud they are to be British because of the Olympics, and repeating it like a chant and with empty eyes when I told them how much I loathe hearing such mindless drivel.

  I walked through Covent Garden and Soho late at night, hearing the clinking of glasses everywhere.

   - How are you today, sir? The clerk behind the counter asked me.
  The common and empty response would be: «Very well, thank you».
  I said that, but added, without thinking about it:
  - I feel absolutely great, it’s such a wonderful day»!
  And he knew, beyond knowing that I meant it from the deepest part of my heart.
  I watch and participate as countless empty tables are being filled.
  And then, in the book I’m reading, devouring, I see the poem (page 41) speaking to me across the ages:
  «To see a world in a grain of sand
  And a heaven in a wild flower
  Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
  And eternity in an hour»

  William Blake - Auguries of innocence
  An intense life is not for everyone and London is clearly… too much for some people, but I enjoy and thrive thrice over operating at an elevated level of existence. Inspiration keeps overwhelming a beyond stimulated mind.
  You forget, forget what joy, true joy is when you haven’t experienced it in a while. It’s never truly gone, but dormant, like your very self is when you don’t Live.
  No more lazy thoughts, I swear to myself, no more appeasing acts in my life.
  It’s Sunday already. The days and nights have passed like grains of sand in a dream.

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