Jul 11, 2011

Why do I really hate Paris?

If Paris was this nice museum of old architecture, cozy caf├ęs and fashion shops without all those ill mannered Parisians, it would be very more enjoyable.

I hate Paris because I hate air pollution, overpopulation, night light, round-the-clock noise, trashes on the floor. And that is Paris, real Paris, not postcard/tourist guide Paris.

But aren't these mere symptoms of a deeper problem?

Actually the real reason why I hate Paris, and London alike, and could not stand more than a day in Tokyo is a direct bypoduct of overpopulation: lack of space & time (think of time and space as dimensions of physical reality in a quantic way)

Where is the only place one can meditate quietly alone in Paris? Restrooms!
It fits better than "toilet" for that matter. But only if no one is waiting for you to finish your poo!
Seriously there are people everywhere, maybe not at home, but neighbors, close enough to be heard and felt, 24/7.

I've always needed solitude. Space wide enough not to be disturbed by other's activities in order to meditate and clear the mind for creative sprouts to later blossom, and time long enough to elaborate deep complex ideas.

It appears that solitude is the most common habit of creative people, as beautifully written by Leo Balbauta here.

Actually the second habit of creative people: participation, might explain why I'm such a traveler freak, and a polyglot!
And I will have to dig deeper on that later idea in another post.

Jul 5, 2011

Practice conscious feeling

I briefly introduced conscious feeling in a previous post
Let me show you a concrete example.

I was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor, not a pleasant news. So I was waiting in some hospital for a surgeon appointment and it took ages.

I was anxious about what the surgeon would tell me (even more about the surgery!) and beginning to feel really stressed by this waiting. Then I realized how vain these negative feelings were.

No matter how much distress about being stuck sitting under lightubes I feel, I would eventually get this appointment, so I looked at the beautiful flowers on the nurses's desk. I smiled because they were gorgeous.

No matter how much thinking and questions about this surgery were running through my mind, I would finally have to surrender to a surgeon skills (him or someone else) , and let go without control but hoping to wake up no more disabled. Then I opened a newspaper and kept on reading until the surgeon called my name, an hour later.

Jul 2, 2011

Becoming a stranger

Roughly from 15 to 25 years old I was chasing various passions wholeheartedly.

I embraced learning exotic languages and cultures, exploring remote world corners, meeting strangers, getting familiar with foreign customs and uses.

I jumped from dream to dream, as my passions waned and waxed.

Joshua Becker brilliantly describes one of his main lessons learnt from minimalism as "Life is about the journey, not the destination. Dreams come and dreams go"
So I enjoy that journey, but the destination was not expected: I am now a stranger anywhere I am.

I took the best from any foreign culture encountered on my marvellous lifepath.
It stuck in my ming as a kaleidoscopic ethnic puzzle.
My own unique culture.