A Walk in the Park

6:45am. Sleepless. 

Too late to catch the sunrise. Too early to be thinking dark thoughts. 
Home feels more like a trap. I am reminded of Tennessee Williams: "We're all sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life."

I walk out in a cool, misty morning. Leaves par terre due to a recent storm. I stroll to my park - a place that has always brought serenity and joy. Stray dogs and pigeons. Wafting cigarette smoke from the occasional dog walker whose main purpose seems to be to poison (oneself and others). 

I reach an old slab of concrete (which some call a 'monument') - history has denied its right to exist. Yet there it is, solemnly anachronistic, impenetrable, unbreakable yet conceptually broken. I am comforted by the sun which, at this very moment, appears from thick clouds as if to remind us its light will always shine and that one day it will give no more of its light to that which should not exist. One day this will be earth again

I walk forward and away. This time I have a destination. It's not even 8am. What time do churches open? Early enough, it seems. I hold an unlit candle and sit at a bench under the dome. I think not about faith, but about belief, my own. In myself. 

8am church bells. Chanting. Soft footsteps blend with the vocal harmonies. I observe the faces and movements of the few people who complete their rituals. For the first time I feel not indifference, or even slight perplexity, but humility and respect. They look for meaning just like everyone else. Once one ignores the absurdity of religious dogmas (created and propagated by humans), one can recognize that those same humans dedicated their lives to building a haven, a place for contemplation and searching. The paradox. 

Here and now. Here and now. Here and now. I close my eyes and repeat that phrase. I realize what I am doing is a mental exercise to shut off my brain, to dismember the anguish of the past and the uncertainty of the future. 

Have strength. Have strength. Have strength. Here and now. Here and now. Have strength. The power of repetition, words resonating in my mind, amplified by the chanting. 

Be well. Let go. Don't be anxious. Don't be scared. I reach across vast lands to communicate those words. Will they ever reach their intended recipient? 

I allow myself to think back to whatever memories decide to creep up. Regrets. Reconciliation. Redemption. Perhaps it is not that difficult to let go. 

The chanting ceases. Hurried footsteps in the distance echo, the memories gone. I light the candle and let the flame melt away the anxiety. The church is a peaceful place. I make a pact to let go. That's the easy part. 

Here and now. Here and now. Have strength. Have strength. Here and now... 

I walk away serene. I know what I have to do. I don't know how. Where there's a will, there's a way. And then I hear a street musician playing Bach's Ave Maria. I remember having played that same piece at a piano contest some twenty years ago. I remember sitting behind my old piano, learning it by heart... Might it be that the Virgin Mary should have never given birth? Love for oneself, love for humanity, love for the one you spend your life with - that love knows no celestial boundaries and springs from within, not from above. 

On my way home, I pick up some "баницаand "боза". The taste, the smell - this is my madeleine - am I home? 

Wherever I am, I have to find the way. 

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