Italy for 72 hours
Poets, writers, painters, musicians, a photographer, a dj.
Planes trains and buses. French, American Italian, Syrian and England. Ages of 50 to 22.
Spanish, Sing songy italian, francaise and british, New york and california.
I just have to write this here.
“I am not worried about you” he said .. “You are already on your way..”
::: L’avenir – returning to light. :::
An exchange I didn’t expect to have.
But, How could I have not expected to experience these things in this sort of atmosphere…
When you’re with artists, things happen. Haha..
This wasn’t about me. I came here for something else. I can to witness and share what I saw.
I didn’t realize I had put forth this feeling of restlessness and searching. He heard it, and gave me light.
“There was a softness there”. “I asked myself, is this what chemistry looks like, unfolding before me?”
I need to unpack my emotions.
I don’t know if it’s my biology or chemistry or what.
This is the thing about artists. We share the same soul. But Im not convinced we need to share the same space in order to maintain that. because what we share goes beyond presence. It is something we feel when we are living the way we are supposed to – what it is to be: alive, our best, free, light. And when we are together, we reflect back to each other, what we see, with our own voice, and even though it is a different language, we understand.
Standing amidst the chaos of noise :: the beat of the music competing with the pulse coming from the melodic sound of 200 Italian students vying for each others attention. Beer and wine bottles crashing to the cobble stone road, the myriad of clangs turning into one throbbing echo and somehow I am separate – like its a white noise . I am invisible. I am a witness. I feel the reverberations and yet I am not there. I am unaffected. People move around me but do not see me. Funnily enough, I am not drunk nor have had a drink. This is a real visceral experience. And among that is a voice, clear as a bell, repeating back to me all the things I’ve felt and seen, my journey repeated back to me, As if he read the book I never gave to him and yet he knew every page.
6 words to describe a memory – simple notes for writing later
Protecting your magic. Sweet souls coming alive. Separate journeys converging and sharing space for a while. It’s the sweetest drug and kindest fall off. My soul is happy to feel the sweetness for the moment. The high. The reprieve. The hangover. The souvenirs.
Cobblestones, cigarettes, voices, community, transitions, love.
