Ink stained hopes
struggle to speak
A dying dream
can find new life
Names call out
“Hear us now!”
Some wash away
others forget
A few hold true
to a lost belief
The door is open
waiting for you
Abbey Road, London, June 2011, c.b.w.
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c.b. 2012
Just as it did every year on this day, Malcolm’s cane rattles across the cobblestones. He knows where the walkway is uneven and how many steps it takes to get from the flower market to the clock tower. Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven. For the last ten years, the number has always been the same.
The roses smell stronger than usual, their sweet, musky scent hangs heavy in the foggy air. The treads on his old shoes struggle to grip the stones still wet from the street washer’s hose. He tightens his hold on his cane and feels for the wall behind him. A chill seeps into his spine as he leans on the stone bricks.
He knows he’s in the right place when he hears the soft tick-tock of the clock tower. The steady tempo calms his pulse and soothes his nerves. It’s been so long, but the thought of her still makes his hands clammy and his knees wobble.
Footsteps approach and they could be hers . . . but, no. Too heavy and too far apart. They belong to Jakob, a waiter from the café across the street. A large gentle hand squeezes Malcolm’s arm with the assurance of friendship. He says nothing, but gives Malcolm a warm cup of coffee before walking away.
The steam warms his nose and weaves through his thick mustache. It’s enough to warm his bones, but not much else. She said she’d be here and he still believes her. People get lost or wander away, but they always end up coming home. Don’t they?
As the minutes tick by and his coffee cup empties, he listens carefully for the sound of her voice calling his name and sniffs the breeze for a hint of her perfume. He would know her touch anywhere as there is nothing like the feel of her hand in his. If he tries hard enough he can imagine her phantom fingers caressing his skin. Though, he cannot see her face. The memory is no longer vivid and his eyes are a thing of the past.
She would come, he knew she would.
Side street view of the clock tower in Old Town Square, Prague, 2008, c.b.w.
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This is a little experiment in free-writing with the assistance of a prompt and a partial story it inspired in one of my journals. I played with both a bit more and filled in some blanks. The photograph comes from a trip I took to Prague a few years back.
Prompt: They’d agree to meet under the clock on Valentine’s Day. That was four years ago, but he still came very year on that date to wait for her.
Source of prompt: First 50 – I’ve had the prompt tucked in my journal for a while, but never checked out this blog until today. It’s an amazing source of writing prompts and I highly recommend it for any writer looking for a little inspiration!
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c.b. 201
Iron anchors
guard my sight
Thieving mists
loot the light
Strands of beacons
await the call
Flaring to life
when darkness calls
View of Parliament from the South Embankment, London, June 2011, c.b.w.
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c.b. 2012
On more than one occasion, I’ve uttered the words, “Oh, great. I have no idea where I am.” For a directionally challenged person such as myself, this is a common phrase! Back in 2005, I added Beijing to my list of international cities where I’ve been completely lost.* In a place where English makes a rare appearance and tourists from the West stick out like a sore thumb, it becomes vitally important to find the way back to home base as soon as possible, (nothing attracts a pickpocket or worse than a confused looking tourist!). What set this event apart from all the rest was the fact that I had a compass keychain dangling from my belt loop. Between a city bus map display, my street map, and the needle of a compass, I was able to find my way back to the hotel by matching up Chinese characters and traveling North and then East. My compass saved me that day by showing me where I needed to go and I’ve never forgotten that gift. Seven years later, it’s still my lifeline.
I’ve often referred to my recent journey to London as a life-altering experience, despite my struggle to understand the full impact it has had on my life. Some changes are obvious, but the deeper meaning dangles in front of me like a clue in a mystery waiting to be solved. I am different in a place so hidden and so deep I can’t see it or even begin to comprehend it’s significance. All I have is the unrelenting sense of a huge shift towards something. It’s a lot like standing at a fork in the road without knowing what the choices are or why they exist.
Essentially, I am lost all over again without knowing the language. Being lost in this way is both wondrous and frustrating. Sometimes I revel in the confusion and the inspiration it brings, but there are times I wish I had a road map that at least reveals the basic layout of my new landscape.
Upon returning from London, the feeling of disorientation was overwhelming. I couldn’t shake the duality of being excited to go home, while at the same time feeling as though I was leaving home. Torn in two, I oscillated between a life I loved and a life I didn’t know was possible, (and loved just as much). Nothing seemed real. In the months that followed, that surreality never left and I grew increasingly restless. My perspective had changed so drastically, it effected every element of my life and made even the most the familiar things seem foreign.
I remain directionally challenged and my reliance on a compass has manifested itself in an entirely new way. About a month after my return, I was out shopping with family when I spotted a necklace with a compass pendant. It was beautiful, not only in terms of design, but for the fact that it represented something very special to me. With every spin of the needle, I am reminded that as lost as I sometimes feel, I will find my way to true north.
My compass necklace wrapped around the place that changed everything.
I wear my compass necklace almost every day so I don’t forget to follow my instincts and listen for hints that will eventually lead to the answer I seek. All I know for certain is London taught me I am a lot stronger than I ever believed and that serves as my anchor. At the moment, I walk this path with a smile on my face and growing curiosity of what lies ahead. Just as it always has, my compass will point me in the right direction.
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*Oh, the stories I have from London, Paris, Rome, Prague, and Dublin! I suppose that’s another post for another day.
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c.b. 2012
Seeds to Ponder
Sunflower Seeds by Ai Weiwei is a profound work of art in both its simplicity and awe inspiring scope. At first glance, it looks like a pile of sunflower seed husks, but upon closer inspection the incredible reality of this piece becomes apparent. Each seed is handcrafted from porcelain and hand-painted. No two are alike and more than 100 million were created for the initial exhibition that covered the the Turbine Hall at The Tate Modern.
"Sunflower Seeds" by Ai Weiwei, Original Exhibition in the Turbine Hall at Tate Modern, (Photo Source: Wikipedia Commons)
During the initial run of the exhibition, (October 2009 – May 2010), people were encouraged to interact with the installation by walking through, sitting or even lying down amid the seeds, but that was short lived as soon as health, safety, and preservation concerns caused it to be roped off. I’m a little jealous of those who were able to tread through the seeds!
In 2011, the Tate put 8 million of the original seeds on display in response to Weiwei’s detainment by the Chinese government and subsequent disappearance¹. The display, which represents about 1/10 of the original installation, sits in a large pile in an exhibition room on the third floor. While significantly smaller than the original, the intent and deeper meaning of Weiwei’s work has not been lost.
"Sunflower Seeds" by Ai Weiwei, Tate Museum, London, June 2011, c.b.w.
While open to interpretation on many levels, the intent of Sunflower Seeds reaches into a dark chapter of Chinese history and the human spirit. During the Cultural Revolution, (a particularly brutal era in history where people lost basic human rights and were stripped of cultural traditions), Mao Zedong launched a massive propaganda campaign where in some instances he depicted himself as the sun and the people as sunflowers who turn their heads to follow him. However, the artist sees sunflower seeds as a traditional food shared among friends in China and is therefore a symbol of friendship and compassion. This duality of symbolism creates an interesting insight into the human spirit. Even in times of strife and struggle, kindness and goodwill continue to survive.
In addition, Weiwei’s installation offers social commentary on today’s society. The Tate poses several questions to consider while viewing the seeds:
I had the pleasure of spending some time with this installation last summer, but even after an hour of regarding the Weiwei’s work and contemplating these questions I am no closer to answering them. Though, I am reminded of a favorite quote, which sums up my general impression of the piece:
- Ivan Klíma
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¹He was released in June 2011, but remains under scrutiny.
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Sources:
Tate Modern Exhibition Pages
Ai Weiwei on Wikipedia
The Guardian – Detained Artist Weiwei Remembered . . .
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c.b. 2012