The Coffee Men Are Mad At Me

the coffee men are mad at me.
it is true.
i am at my usual joint, using the internet, sipping delicious caffeinated warmth.
just after arriving i took a few moments before purchasing my coffee.
but this, apparantly, was too long for the coffee men.
one of them comes up behind me : "va a comprar algo?" (are you going to buy something?)
"como"? (what?) why is he asking me this? don't i always buy something? don't i come in here EVERY day of the week to buy a coffee? don't i contribute quite graciously to your paycheck mister spanish barista man?
i did not ask "what" because i did not understand him, but rather because i could not believe his audacity at pressuring me to purchase something or leave.
& i understand they don't want me using the internet w/o purchasing something, vale.
but really. he could've been a little less of a nazi about it all. & let me point out that they need not worry about business as the shop is FULL of people at the moment.

ANYWAY,
grumpy barista men aside
(don't be bitter cyndi)
i am ready to set off for london in only a mere few hours.
& for this i am more than ecstatic.
my sweet friend Clare has offered me her couch for a week, free lodging! so very kind of her.
she is quite truly the most perfect english beauty that ever existed.

before i go: something to mull over:
i was eating dinner last night while watching tv with my senora, a time i was most thankful for as i usually eat all alone in the big empty dining room.
we were watching a program about how the government is paying for the remains of those anonymously buried after the war to be dug up & identified, so families may have peace.
the majority of these people were murdered for going against Franco.
one of these murdered souls happens to be my senora's grandfather.
she tells me, in new found confidance, that he was assasinated for being a communist.
he was taken from their home in the middle of the night, a night she'll never forget, & he never came back.
she tells me, over & over again, "just because he was a communist doesn't mean he was a bad person, he wasn't a bad person! he was a very good man! communism reflects nothing of his character."
i cannot tell you how many times she said this to me.

& so i think.
of her grandfather murdered for his political beliefs.
of the hurt she & her family, & countless others, have endured.
& the revolutionary comes out in me.
how do we justify such actions against others simply because we disagree with them?
when did political beliefs become worthy judges of whether to keep a human life or destroy it?
i think of this as my meg travles to rwanda.
i think of this as i observe the presidential race under spanish skies.

"& how did the world become,to have such an absent love?"

"father of love & mercy
because of your goodness towards us
we want to cry out with joy & praise
through the prayer of your servant,
be with all those who lead us in praising you
in choirs & as musicians
may the praise on our lips
find it's true expression in deeds full of love
we ask this through Jesus Christ Our Lord
Amen"
- St. Denis Sebuggwawo

i'll be singing you songs of love from london,
love ethereal,
cyn

breath of toledo

I Wasn't Taking Art History Notes

stop blocking yourself
let it pour freely
allow the breath to indulge your hope
the sweetly dirty river sparkling under the morning sun
the spicy smell of the street carries me away
don't worry about tomorrow
such an easy thing to say
such a hidden thing to feel
the birds will sing their song
the roses will wither & die before bloom
and you will wake
to feel the breath of hope
carry you through another sweetly dirty, sparkling, spicy day.

"all is well on the hippie front"

chocolate always helps:)

Here I Am, I Am Here

so it has indeed been quite a long time since i've posted anything new.
the reason being i've been swamped with test week.
they do this crazy thing here where they cram 3-4 400 level tests into only 2 days.
i might not be so frustrated with this if
a) the tests were in english or b) the teachers even spoke english.
i studied all weekend, pausing only to eat & drink coffee & beer
but now?
it's alllllll over. & i can relax. i can sit at my computer & do whatever i please w/o worrying about the reconquest of spain, the perfect preterite of the subjunctive tense, or gothic architecture.
& that is a beautiful thing.
i sit in a dark room all alone listening to amazingness that is The Kooks & indulging in chocolate.
it is wonderful.
& i think.
i think a lot about my time here.
am i making the most of it?
is there anything to make the most of?
i try so hard to live & love so deeply here
yet cannot ignore the moments when the sound of my mother's voice brings me to tears
or the time of day when all i can handle is a Beatles melody & a walk through the park.
anything more would destroy me.
why does Spain do this to me?
why am i so weak in it's presence?
i mentioned two days ago to my roommate we only have 2 months left. "thank God" i said.
"thank God?" she repeats. "you really hate it all that much?"
"yes" i said. "yes i do". & i think back now to that short exchange & wonder at the truth of my words, the cold & broken truth. "yes". why? i don't know. i don't feel the same way now. i'm back to feeling my good old indifferent self.
but still, that truth frightens me.
i spent some time last night wandering around Sevilla giving coffee & food to homeless people, talking with them.
i realized while talking with Pilar, a woman who lives outside the train station, that i would settle for the less rather than the more. i would settle for a life of broken simplicity.
& i know she is not without her demons. i know this.
but somehow i was comforted by her & her world, standing in the rain with her.
i was so thirsty. & she had two bottles of cold water.
i never thought i would live a moment wherein i am the one in need,
& a homeless person is the one who provides.
mind-silencing, joy bringing, & soul-wrecking at the same time.
i cannot comprehend it, i don't think i ever will.
all i can do at this moment is wake up in the hope of a new day.
today's hope arrived in letter from Africa. Meg wrote me words that have impacted me so deeply, she will never understand how greatly. the winds of Spain carried my brokeness to Africa & Africa sent back words of healing and comfort on the wings of hope, paper smelling of earth & beauty.

next week i venture to london, my dream city.
until then & hopefully always i will keep pondering that broken truth, keep hoping for hope.

"shine, shine, shine on, 'cause you're not done"
-The Kooks

toledo you've won my heart

windmills of Don Quixote







fairytale streets of Toledo