Berlin: Culmination

Oh, there's a glow, warm, and just behind her head.  She's back-lit, and, accordingly, her features are soft.  If there is a slight breeze I don't feel it, but her hair dances and frolics and plays innocent and alluring so that the light from behind her splashes over my face in waves, like the waves of a lake ever so discreetly massaging the shore.  And so too do her locks.  She's above me.  She's so lovely.  My heart races with excitement and sheer ecstasy as the bed groans beneath us and I lift my mouth to her ear, "I'm gonna c-" Wait.  How did I get here?  To this place, this moment.  Where am I?  Fuck.  Mine eyes slam open and I sit up like a springboard.    There's a cold sweat on my brow, and just as my eyes find focus and familiarize with the unlit, first-floor Berlin flat, a deep, dark dread comes over me.  It's an immediate urgency, and my head races through the last few seconds, desperate for recollection.  It hits me.  Like a ton of bricks come crashing down on my balls, and I grab dick instinctively, bee-lining for the bathroom. But, ah! What's this? Locked?  And there's light trickling out from under the door (Max was writing a memo).  FUCK!  Now what.  The window! It's already open, and I get there just in time to spread my seed over the rose bush outside in one delirious culmination.

What the crap.  I lie back down on the couch.  That Berlin summer night was particularly warm, embalming even.  So I kicked the stupid blanket off.  What the hell just happened?  I can't remember the last time that'd come about.  And then I can't remember the last time I'd actually shot one off.  And now it's dawning.  In all the excitement and delight of these crazy, aloof travels I'd managed to forget about my main man, about his needs.  Ah, well.  Lesson learned.  Let's try and not let that happen again, agreed?  But of course.

Now who exactly was my back-lit companion...  I wrack my brain.  I can't remember.

Quote of the Day: Echo To Tower, I'm In Control

"The best years in your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own.  You do not blame them on anyone or anything.  You realize that you control your own destiny."

~ Albert Ellis

On the Train: Barcelona to France

Our train's finally here.  Finally.  We board in the early afternoon and there aren't any tables free or even four seats really put together.  Near the other end of the car there's an angel of a girl, alone, sitting by herself by the window at a table for four.  She's upright, reading a book, which she holds low and close in her lap so that her brown, Spanish locks fall in waves in front of her face, concealing her eyes before cascading down onto the shoulders of her worn denim jacket and her soft-red button-down blouse.  In no time at all we've slung our bags into overhead carriages and found seats.  Max beside her, and I across the table from her.  Grant sits beside me, and Mike's sitting who the hell knows where.   Who cares?  Maybe he's down and across the aisle somewhere.

She doesn't even bring her gaze up until we're well and seated with our headphones in, reading our own respective books.  But I'm intrigued.  Obviously.  And I think it's safe to say we all are, even Mike down the aisle who every now and again pokes his head up for a glimpse of who we're all discreetly obsessing over.

Minutes pass, slow, as they often do on the train.  I don't know how, but the dull-drum musing of All the Sad Young Literary Men has captivated me, but attention hits the deficit soon enough, and when I chance a glance up, her book's now higher.  Long, elegant princess fingers hold it like you held a hymnal at mass when you were a child, and her wrists rest lightly on the table.  She's leaning back now, so that now as my glance edges higher there's no layer of hair shrouding her eyeballs.  They're just there, all bright brown and innocently curious, gazing right back into mine.  She has a sharp chin and cheek-bone, a thin sharp lip that's curling up on one side, but her eyes, they're ever so soft; light brown, almost hazel.  Downy soft.  And so we're staring at each other across a two-foot wide train table, and I half-laugh and smile because, hell, I don't know what else to do.  And she smiles back, eyes never breaking from mine and vice versa.  I mouth a quick "hi" on impulse, soft and silent, just for her.  But my headphones are still in and heart's picking up pace now so I might have well yelled it for the whole car to hear.  Whatever the case, she closes her eyes and cranes her neck back to the left and to the right, pulling a tiny, inconspicuous ear-bud from each ear before leaning forward.  She has naturally long eyelashes that you especially notice when her eyes are closed, if only for a second before she's back, rapt with a polite, excited attention, smiling wide now, eyebrows perked.  "Que estos?"  It's European Spanish.  It's Catalyan Spanish and it rolls smooth off her tongue in a sultry, crisp lisp that tastes like honey to the ears.

"Uhm, lo siento?" I laugh a little at myself.  "Habla inglés?"

"Ohh, englesh!  Yess, I speak a lettle.  Where are you fromm?"  Her eyes light up and she shifts her weight, those glowing, brown orbs fixed on me, prying.

"Well, we're all from California.  We just graduated university."

"Ahh, California.  Which university is it that you have gone to?"

"UC Santa Cruz." She ticks her head to the side, confused.  By this time, I've had this conversation a hundred times.  "It's just south of San Francisco."

"Ahh, San Francisco.  I like this place."


Adorable.  We can barely understand each other, and it's enthralling.  Grant and Max have de-headphoned and joined the conversation by now.  It carries on in quite a charming, broken matter with as much to be understood as possible.  Grant's and Max's Spanish is just about as good as my French, maybe a little bit better, and that helps.  She tells us she's never actually been to San Francisco, but wants to go.  She tells us she's just been in Barcelona at a friend's for the week, and is going back home.  School's out for the summer.  She tells us she wants to study business at university, and that she's seventeen years old.  She tells us about her beautiful house in this Spanish town towards the French border, offering to let us sleep there the night.  Her father owns a club in the town and we should come with her tonight she says.  How absolutely divine.

But alas, we cann't.  We're supposed to be in Paris tomorrow.  And we only have two more days on our EuroRail passes; one to get to Amsterdam, and one to get on the ferry to London.  And we're broke.  We can't.  Eff.

The conductor calls out "Calella!" through the terribly grainy and small wall speakers.  That's her stop.  She doesn't have any luggage.  Max lets her out and as she readjusts her jacket and turns for the door, "Wait! What's your name?" I ask.

"My name?  My name is Elena."  And she breaths it out heavy, rolling it smooth and rich over her tongue.  Then she's gone with a smile and a turn of the foot.  Elena, the girl from Calella.

Quote of the Day: April Fool's

One day it occurred to a certain emperor that if he only knew the answers to three questions, he would never stray in any matter: 

What is the best time to do each thing? Who are the most important people to work with? What is the most important thing to do at all times?

The emperor issued a decree throughout his kingdom announcing that whoever could answer the questions would receive a great reward. Many who read the decree made their way to the palace at once, each person with a different answer.

In reply to the first question, one person advised that the emperor make up a thorough time schedule, consecrating every hour, day, month, and year for certain tasks and then follow the schedule to the letter. Only then could he hope to do every task at the right time.

Another person replied that it was impossible to plan in advance and that the emperor should put all vain amusements aside and remain attentive to everything in order to know what to do at what time.

Someone else insisted that, by himself, the emperor could never hope to have all the foresight and competence necessary to decide when to do each and every task and what he really needed was to set up a Council of the Wise and then to act according to their advice.

Someone else said that certain matters required immediate decision and could not wait for consultation, but if he wanted to know in advance what was going to happen he should consult magicians and soothsayers.

The responses to the second question also lacked accord.

One person said that the emperor needed to place all his trust in administrators, another urged reliance on priests and monks, while others recommended physicians. Still others put their faith in warriors.

The third question drew a similar variety of answers. Some said science was the most important pursuit. Others insisted on religion. Yet others claimed the most important thing was military skill.

The emperor was not pleased with any of the answers, and no reward was given.

After several nights of reflection, the emperor resolved to visit a hermit who lived up on the mountain and was said to be an enlightened man. The emperor wished to find the hermit to ask him the three questions, though he knew the hermit never left the mountains and was known to receive only the poor, refusing to have anything to do with persons of wealth or power. So the emperor disguised himself as a simple peasant and ordered his attendants to wait for him at the foot of the mountain while he climbed the slope alone to seek the hermit.

Reaching the holy man’s dwelling place, the emperor found the hermit digging a garden in front of his hut. When the hermit saw the stranger, he nodded his head in greeting and continued to dig. The labor was obviously hard on him. He was an old man, and each time he thrust his spade into the ground to turn the earth, he heaved heavily.

The emperor approached him and said, “I have come here to ask your help with three questions: When is the best time to do each thing? Who are the most important people to work with? What is the most important thing to do at all times?”

The hermit listened attentively but only patted the emperor on the shoulder and continued digging. The emperor said, “You must be tired. Here, let me give you a hand with that.” The hermit thanked him, handed the emperor the spade, and then sat down on the ground to rest.

After he had dug two rows, the emperor stopped and turned to the hermit and repeated his three questions. The hermit still did not answer, but instead stood up and pointed to the spade and said, “Why don’t you rest now? I can take over again.” But the emperor continued to dig. One hour passed, then two. Finally the sun began to set behind the mountain. The emperor put down the spade and said to the hermit, “I came here to ask if you could answer my three questions. But if you can’t give me any answer, please let me know so that I can get on may way home.”

The hermit lifted his head and asked the emperor, “Do you hear someone running over there?” The emperor turned his head. They both saw a man with a long white beard emerge from the woods. He ran wildly, pressing his hands against a bloody wound in his stomach. The man ran toward the emperor before falling unconscious to the ground, where he lay groaning. Opening the man’s clothing, the emperor and hermit saw that the man had received a deep gash. The emperor cleaned the wound thoroughly and then used his own shirt to bandage it, but the blood completely soaked it within minutes. He rinsed the shirt out and bandaged the wound a second time and continued to do so until the flow of blood had stopped.

At last the wounded man regained consciousness and asked for a drink of water. The emperor ran down to the stream and brought back a jug of fresh water. Meanwhile, the sun had disappeared and the night air had begun to turn cold. The hermit gave the emperor a hand in carrying the man into the hut where they laid him down on the hermit’s bed. The man closed his eyes and lay quietly. The emperor was worn out from the long day of climbing the mountain and digging the garden. Leaning against the doorway, he fell asleep. When he rose, the sun had already risen over the mountain. For a moment he forgot where he was and what he had come here for. He looked over to the bed and saw the wounded man also looking around him in confusion. When he saw the emperor, he stared at him intently and then said in a faint whisper, “Please forgive me.”

“But what have you done that I should forgive you?” the emperor asked.

“You do not know me, your majesty, but I know you. I was your sworn enemy, and I had vowed to take vengeance on you, for during the last war you killed my brother and seized my property. When I learned that you were coming alone to the mountain to meet the hermit, I resolved to surprise you on your way back to kill you. But after waiting a long time there was still no sign of you, and so I left my ambush in order to seek you out. But instead of finding you, I came across your attendants, who recognized me, giving me this wound. Luckily, I escaped and ran here. If I hadn’t met you I would surely be dead by now. I had intended to kill you, but instead you saved my life! I am ashamed and grateful beyond words. If I live, I vow to be your servant for the rest of my life, and I will bid my children and grandchildren to do the same. Please grant me your forgiveness.”

The emperor was overjoyed to see that he was so easily reconciled with a former enemy. He not only forgave the man but promised to return all the man’s property and to send his own physician and servants to wait on the man until he was completely healed. After ordering his attendants to take the man home, the emperor returned to see the hermit. Before returning to the palace the emperor wanted to repeat his three questions one last time. He found the hermit sowing seeds in the earth they had dug the day before.

The hermit stood up and looked at the emperor. “But your questions have already been answered.”

“How’s that?” the emperor asked, puzzled.

“Yesterday, if you had not taken pity on my age and given me a hand with digging these beds, you would have been attacked by that man on your way home. Then you would have deeply regretted not staying with me. Therefore the most important time was the time you were digging in the beds, the most important person was myself, and the most important pursuit was to help me. Later, when the wounded man ran up here, the most important time was the time you spent dressing his wound, for if you had not cared for him he would have died and you would have lost the chance to be reconciled with him. Likewise, he was the most important person, and the most important pursuit was taking care of his wound. Remember that there is only one important time and is Now. The present moment is the only time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person with whom you are, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future. The most important pursuit is making that person, the one standing at you side, happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life.”

~ Leo Tolstoy