Spring in Marseille is decent. Warm evenings in our garden, confusing Canadians, getting ready to leave.
Leaving holds it's own magic. With the view firmly fixed on the new shores, or the confusion ahead the here and now becomes light and easy and beautiful.
Even as the last month or two of your stay become tinted in autumn colours, and as you return to your familiar songs and poems that have always accompanied you during these times. And as the old thoughts and emotions return and the act of leaving feels like a true coming home, you are heading to the central moment of this metamorphosis.
You turn around one last time to look upon the place where you will soon have 'have lived', and feel for the past, trace it's outlines with the slightest touch of your thoughts.... and you walk on, and with each step the reality of a time spent turns more and more into the impossible, the monstrous and unimaginable 'I lived there'. What a sentence! I can not 'have lived there' for I am now! That sentence is now devoid of meaning, it's place filled by the gaze the reaches forward, the mind that expands to fathom the new and unwritten sentences to come. And thus out of the long process of ending a beginning is born, fresh, fearful, curious, naive, bold, battered and bruised with a running nose and a determined grin.
And it begins anew.
---
My best friends from Germany visited last weekend. We had the best of times. Intellectual brain fuckery until sunrise and with far to much wine every night.
On Saturday I'm off to Waterloo, Canada for a research trip. Of course I didn't even get half the things done I needed to get done. I'm dreadfully inefficient with things that don't interesst me but are crucial for survival.
Leaving holds it's own magic. With the view firmly fixed on the new shores, or the confusion ahead the here and now becomes light and easy and beautiful.
Even as the last month or two of your stay become tinted in autumn colours, and as you return to your familiar songs and poems that have always accompanied you during these times. And as the old thoughts and emotions return and the act of leaving feels like a true coming home, you are heading to the central moment of this metamorphosis.
You turn around one last time to look upon the place where you will soon have 'have lived', and feel for the past, trace it's outlines with the slightest touch of your thoughts.... and you walk on, and with each step the reality of a time spent turns more and more into the impossible, the monstrous and unimaginable 'I lived there'. What a sentence! I can not 'have lived there' for I am now! That sentence is now devoid of meaning, it's place filled by the gaze the reaches forward, the mind that expands to fathom the new and unwritten sentences to come. And thus out of the long process of ending a beginning is born, fresh, fearful, curious, naive, bold, battered and bruised with a running nose and a determined grin.
And it begins anew.
---
My best friends from Germany visited last weekend. We had the best of times. Intellectual brain fuckery until sunrise and with far to much wine every night.
On Saturday I'm off to Waterloo, Canada for a research trip. Of course I didn't even get half the things done I needed to get done. I'm dreadfully inefficient with things that don't interesst me but are crucial for survival.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
Anyhow, if you have a chance, go to my fav restaurants in Waterloo (I will skip Kitchener restaurants, as they may be out of your way): Bhima's Warung (Indonesian Canadian, best restaurant in town IMHO... at least, about 3-4 years ago!
Enjoy!
LF