On this Monday

December 22, 2014

My head full of Maupassant mixed with the fading lacework of dreams, thoughts, feelings and bodily discontent from lack of sleep I am up for yet another day. It’s Monday morning. Right now Dhafer Youssouf is playing over the Chillout speakers, beautiful, haunting, mysterious. The light inside, permanently reddened by the “Chillout” neon sign, is wrapping itself around my cup of coffee and my skin as my fingers type. I went out a little earlier to the grocery store to get some provisions for the hostel. The cold bit me right out of the door but I continued on despite not wearing the proper clothes, I’ll warm up, I thought.


On the street, it’s an interesting conscious-unconscious stance, not looking at people in the eyes, a skill I now mastered, but inside the grocery store I am greeted with a warm “Gunaydin” from the clerk who by now knows me. Long skinny green peppers, tomatoes, onions, eggs, salt and a few more words to the cashier and I head back out. The wind has favorite street corners, it waits for us humans to come by unawares and he then grabs us by the ribs, leaving us shivering as he continues his swift course.

I raise my eyes, and I am once again, taken by the sights this city gives, the views, the character of this city. One only has to look up to forget all their inner-thinking vagabondage and remember how the tiniest moment counts. The sun is there, hitting some walls with its gold. All around at this time there are few if no tourists out but the locals are all there, hurrying to get ready for when they do come out. Deliveries, setting up of food in the Locantasi, unlocking, opening of business doors, the butcher is getting busy inside his shop.

After bringing my purchases back at the hostel I decide to go out and get simit. I make my way to the end of Istiklal, still a line up at the Swiss embassy. The street filled with thick hope. Drivers hurry in and out of Istiklal at Tunel, as the road will close to car traffic soon. Cats, many of them. One is shivering with pleasure as a poor man talks and pets him. The cat quakes from head to tail, eyes half-open in the thrill of the caress. Oh the poetry of this place.


Life, life, life.

For some reason, because of some trigger I have been pondering my own life these last 40 hours or so. Sometimes the seemingly complete meaninglessness of it all is too obvious. When one realizes that this idea of self-importance is a conceit, a creation, when we see that our lives, our selves are not the center of the universe, that there is no special purpose, task where we will shine and finally justify our existences through achievement (oh the Western illusion) a calm mind can see that this life we live with such gusto with all its rules and terms is something that we could do without. And the same with Love. All is construction, co-creation, a game played with such zeal and conviction, but when the soundtrack abruptly stops because of a different or a loss of affinity, in the sudden silence, vast chasm allowed by the absence of music, how clear it is then, that all, is a fruit of our rich imaginations.

I am about to leave for Amsterdam, then head south all the way to Portugal. Why? There wasn’t really a reason to decide to do this. There was a cheap ticket to Holland, a friend asked: “Would you go to Amsterdam?” and I said yes. Then we let our imaginations (again) run and created this vision (Yet again and always the imagination) of hitchhiking through Europe in the heart of winter.

My only wish is to stay very intensely sensitive and tuned in each of every instant of this upcoming journey. Be thankful for all the pure blessings and human gifts. Not expect anything. Give everything and not ever count or expect.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: