The familiarity with which the supernatural occurrence was received was of course the consequence of such occurrences being normal at that time, before the real and unreal were segregated for ever and doomed to live apart under different monarchs and separate legal systems.

Reminds me how grateful I am to know people who are able to bridge that gap and bring magic back into mine and other people’s worlds.

Thanks for your time.

The passage spoke to me because I often spend time creating things in my mind, even if I don’t have the vision or willpower to bring them to life, proper life, like the emperor Akbar did with his wife Jodha.

Quite a few things have been said about the dangers of imagination, illusion, having your “head in the clouds”. Having always had an active imagination myself, I couldn’t help smiling at Minister Birbal’s argument that “it is precisely in the end that her victory will be apparent to everyone”.

The first minister and the emperor were standing at the Khwabgah, the Place of Dreams, looking out over the still surface of the Anup Talao, the monarch’s private, formal pool, the Pool Without Peer, the best of all possible pools, of which it was said that when the kingdom was in trouble its waters would send a warning. “Birbal,” said Akbar, “as you know, our favorite queen has the misfortune not to exist. Even though we love her best of all, admire her above all the others, and value her above even the lost Koh-i-noor, she is inconsolable. ‘Your ugliest, most sour-natured shrew of a wife is still made of flesh and blood,’ she says. ‘In the end I will not be able to compete with her.’” The first minister advised the emperor, “Jahanpanah, you must say to her that it is precisely in the end that her victory will be apparent to everyone, for in the end none of the queens will exist any more than she does, while she will have enjoyed a lifetime of your love, and her fame will echo down the ages. Thus, in reality, while it is true that she does not exist, it is also true to say that she is the one who lives. If she did not, then over there, behind that high window, there would be nobody waiting for your return.”

Thanks for your time.

I could riddle you what all these cities have in common, but then I’d have to wait for the answer to write the rest of this entry… These are all cities where I walked. I did other things there, but that’s not important today. I walked. I walked till I dropped. I walked for hours on end, until I had no idea where I was anymore, and didn’t care. Different cities, same walk.

Though I had memorable conversations with family and friends during some of these, most of the time I walked alone. I can’t really say whether that was the reason for walking. I’m sure sometimes it was. Sometimes I walked to shut out the thoughts racing through my mind, a kind of fast-paced tai chi meditation. Other times though, there was such an emptiness inside of me that my legs took up the challenge to get the hell out of there. And sometimes I just walked to see the sights. Maybe I did get a calling to go “walkabout”, and the truth is, whatever the reason, I knew myself a little better every time I came back.

It had been a very long time since I walked around in Lisbon like I did that day. Same walk, different city, it seemed. Nothing changes and yet nothing is the same. Graffitis are recycled from one politician to the next. Groceries, stationers, restaurants and banks have different names and different advertising, but their insides look the same. The people on the street look the same. It reminds me of the quote from the Benjamin Button film. It makes you realize how much you’ve changed.

I got home that day feeling better, or at least, not as disconnected from the world. I cooked a vegetable soup and baked some bread. Home is where you’re at, even if it does feel incomplete at times.

Thanks for your time.

“You know, there really isn’t anything you can do now, is there? No use crying about it.”
“There’s always something you can do…”
“Yes… but look, it’s dead! The only thing to do is give it a proper burial!”
“Well… we could go back in time…”
“Absolutely not! I just ate! You know how I get when we travel on a full stomach… Besides, it’s path was marked long before we’d crossed it. It wouldn’t change anything.”
“We won’t know until we try, will we? Worst possibility, we just get a nagging feeling of deja-vu…”
“And an upset stomach, thank you very very much! No good will come of it, I tell you…”
“Don’t try that ominous voice on me. It just makes you sound like you have to go… badly.”
“I will have to go, after this…”

And just like that, whether by chance or fate, they went back in time,  and took me with them.

In retrospect, I realize falling asleep in the scottish countryside was inviting strange events into my life, but the last few months had been strange in their own right. You could almost say I had been preparing for this moment…

(note: I have tons of beginnings a, bit like this one, scribbled on notebooks, loose sheets of paper and down the margins of school books and dossiers. This one has been pretty persistent in getting out and I’ll try to see where it goes next, but no promises…)
(another note: it really should go with a drawing… I can see it in my mind, but I just can’t put it anywhere else.)