Paris has stolen my heart, which is at times dreamy, and at other times–like my waking hours–a bit of a pickle since the rest of my body parts dwell on the North American west coast.
La post premiere absolutely must be about Paris. Any other topic would be delusional and ill-recommended.
Curiously, even though I have a stone’s throw view of the Pacific Ocean, close enough that if I venture onto the balcony the seaspray stings my eyes on a windy day, I still long for a centuries-old view across mansard rooftops and out toward the iconic tour Eiffel. Yes, my heart dwells in the City of Light. At times I imagine I actually do live in Paris (all of me, arms and legs included) and I have a whole other life being lived out there. I’m sure psychologists have a fancy clinical name for this ‘condition’, but I see it as multiple aspects of self, and Jean Houston agrees with me.
Jean calls this polyphreny (?) although I’m not sure if her definition goes so far as to imagine (believe?) parts of your soul are living out other lives in other places… And to quote the quipping Peter Watts, “…how much truth there is to that story is surely irrelevant. It feels right.”
Indeed, perception is everything. Perception is entirely individual and thus, it’s precisely one’s truth. Therefore, everything I perceive (believe?) must, by definition, by true. Glad we cleared that up. I think another aspect of me (Rene Descartes) just got hold of my keyboard there for a minute. Alas…. onward. To Paris.
The Paris Affair began in the indelible autumn season of 2005. My fiancé and I stepped off the RER train and by perfect chance found ourselves in the terribly charming Jardin du Luxembourg. Our first deep breath of Paris, truly, was a gasp. Luminous crimson and gold leaves whirled down from the meticulously trimmed trees. On the ground they made that crisp rustling sound you hear in romantic comedy movies when the confused love interest walks alone in the park… The sky was exactly the way a movie director would want it to be in this scene – bright cyan blue without a cumulonimbus to be found.
We drifted past the evocative Medici fountain and I felt my heart start to waltz in step with the ivy-leaved swags dancing around the reflecting pool. Red geraniums spilled out of mossy stone urns.
The beauty I breathed-in during those few minutes sustains me still today. Evidently so, since my heart is still there in Paris, and yet the rest of my bits somehow stay alive even though they spend most of their time on the North American west coast.
I’ve lost count of the trips back and I’m covertly cooking up a way to go there on a one-way ticket. No doubt this shall be an exercise in manifestation skills; the power of belief; logistics, and all those other far less romantic, scratchy bits.
Along the way, I’ve decided to cultivate my eccentricities and practice BEING who I wish to be in the world. Wise ones, (like Bhreah) forever remind me that first it (Life, I suppose) is about being, and then the doing follows. Focus on who I’m being… then I’ll find myself doing certain things.
That said, I’ve noticed of late (as you will soon see) that I tend to concentrate my so-called beingness in a few areas… namely, writing; any kind of personal expression (hence, the word to describe myself: Expressionist) which includes art and opinion; and the betterment of the world (no small task, but what’s the point of anything if we don’t correct our current trajectory?) which includes evolving humanity into expanded awareness (or consciousness, if you’re not afraid of big words).
Welcome to my journey (actually, it’s OUR journey, now!). I think it’s so damn cool that we can share our inspiration, opinion, hurt and feverish passion with the whole world just by clicking the “publish” button on these blog things (why, oh why does that word have to be so gobby and thick?! It lands with a thud, non?).
While it terrifies me to a certain degree which I shan’t disclose, I do invite you share your unfiltered self with me here. Exposing one’s self is so refreshing (not the trench coat way). Onward!
. . . . . . or . . . . . . David Suzuki live on stage #Occupy... »