moods - where sadness becomes an empire and falls

“


Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.” Rumi

Sadness, blues, spleen, anger, fear, all those who settled in my mind lately in a kind of final assault of a soul under siege for a long time. They entered, triumphant, displaying their Trojan horse , that suitcase I had bought from the Chinese and that started to break up right at the beginning of my complicated journey from F. to P. via two other cities. No, you don't want to be in a big city taking the metro with two suitcases, the heaviest one having a broken handle. Well I felt that the whole universe had conspired against me, and I felt like drowning myself in the Guadalquivir out of shame (but even the Guadalquivir was gone), or just leaving the luggage somewhere in a corner, hell take whatever makes my life so horrible. It is probably my raging nature that made me hold on till my final destination with all that stuff. (cursing the Chinese industry all day long helped, obviously).
My arrival marked, though, my surrender to my invaders. Even the skies cried with me, or for me. Please get in, I'm one big wreck and my cheerful inner population, flooded in tears, hid in the ruins of its past grandeur. Fear was made queen, and her generals started to feast on my dark and uncertain
future.
However, my heart was still lit as a lamp bulb, and I could see, in the distance, the reassuring intermittent beam of a lighthouse.
Being from the heart of Europe and momentarily on site, my mood is only as consistent as the local weather can be. As fast as the skies cleared up, I politely asked my invaders to f*** off.  I went out, met a couple of friends, and had great fun. 
Of course, the bitches will be back as often as the weather changes, but they won't come to stay. 



“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi  


I couldn't have thought of a better quote. "Them there eyes, you better look out if you're wise, these brown eyes, they sparkle, they bubble, they're gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble.." One is now half brown and half grey, the one I share with a guest I learned to cherish, them there eyes, they're expecting another guest now. (http://manikita.blogspot.cz/2012/04/hospital-tales-or-about-getting-blind.html)
Afraid of opening a wound again, yes, but since it is to let the light enter again, what else could I do but take it bravely. They got me in some trouble these eyes, indeed, but what counts more than looking at this world through a clear sight.For some reason, I am quite sure my insight will improve as soon as I fully recover my vision. Probably because recovering sight on one eye has already changed my vision on many things, mostly personal issues. It is as if things were becoming limpid. Or as if I could suddenly see a larger part of the general picture. And I''m looking forward to see the full picture, cleared of dark stains.


"To achieve the mood of a warrior is not a simple matter. It is a revolution."  Carlos Castaneda
So here I am, in process  for my personal revolution. Summon the warrior in me and get ready for what will only be another battle on my way. Dismiss self-indulgence, self-pity. Welcome back sane self esteem, real will, and turn the anger into energy to move forward and make my dreams come true. 
Give away all the love I can, and open my arms to accept love and make it happen. 

Sounds like I'm trying hard to convince myself of all that? Yes!!!! for I need to believe now that everything will be alright, maybe not today, but eventually. And one thing I need to remember, too. Not to take myself too seriously. I am far too insignificant for the universe to conspire against me.

In solis sis tibi turba locis

In solis sis tibi turba locis (In solitude, be a multitude to thyself) Tibullus 

I surely have no problems with this. As much as I agree with Montaigne when he says we need solitude, I think that arriving to a new country or a new city is the best time for a retreat with yourself. 
I've always done that for a few days  at least (to entire weeks), in any new place I was settling for a bit longer than just holidays.
Is it to absorb the surrounding atmosphere, take a deep breath of the environment and appreciate it on your own. The timing is ideal, you are on site, but not really yet, which gives a kind of freedom that one gradually looses - voluntarily - while integrating a society. Once you'll have lost it , you'll seek to get it back again etc...
The first moments are magic. 
And here, in F. with the beach within bike reach, solitude can be a luxury.
Who needs people to go to the beach with? it's like going to the movies , or to a concert. It's as nice to have company as it is unnecessary. (I will not even comment about these people you have certainly heard about, exasperating bummers that go to a concert and keep talking all the time,  .......) 
Anyway, the ocean is a show for itself and strolling on the dunes is just as enjoyable. I do not speak to the sea, I just sing sometimes and whisper prayers. 
Thanks god for a few days of silence in my overtalkative all yearlong race. One million words a second, they said I could do that. How could they count that?  
The time I usually spend on blabbering I dedicated to soul feeding - reading, and for some weird reason I read two very distinct books, which plots have absolutely nothing in common except for the extreme solitude of their main characters. . 
In "The Tunnel", by Ernesto Sabato, we follow the evolution of a mind leading to a violent murder. The narrator, Juan Pablo Castel, notorious painter, perpetrator of both this crime and his emotional and social  suicide, since the victim is the only person he loves for understanding him, gained my sympathy right from the beginning with the following statement: 
  "Diré antes que nada, que detesto a los grupos, las sectas, las cofradías, los gremios y, en general, esos conjuntos de bichos que se reúnen por razones de profesión, de gusto o de manía semejante. Esos conglomerados tienen una cantidad de atributos grotescos: la repetición del tipo, la jerga, la vanidad de creerse superiores al resto."*
I so understand him! 
The character is trapped in his distorted, misinterpreting mania, he reasons with only himself and his own madness while explaining his motives, all constructed on very solid logical deduction, and the issue seems inevitable. Or say, in 136 pages he makes you fully understand and acknowledge there was no other possibility for him. The novel turns up being a masterly described voyage into the twists and turns of a tangled mind and a heavy criticism of art critics and more generally of the" me too" syndrome -see Louis CK -Awesome possum & indie coffee place vid on youtube for the latter. 
(And it is also the first novel I appreciated reading entirely in Spanish)
Here should come something about the second book, The heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, but since I have started to read it again to savour the author eloquence better, I'll leave it for another post. 

In deliberate solitude, you are  with yourself (already a multitude),  with the ocean, with artists singing in your livingroom, with Juan Pablo Casteles, Marlows and other fictional characters... In fact, you end up overcrowded!



*  "I will say first of all, I hate groups, cults, brotherhoods, guilds and, in general, these sets of bugs that come together for professional reasons, taste or similar hobby. These clusters have a number of grotesque attributes: the repetition of the pattern, the jargon, the vanity of believing themselves above the rest. "