To move, to breathe
To fly, to float.
To gain all while you give.
To roam the roads of lands remote.
To travel is to live.
Hans Christian Anderson
France Mayes ” A Year in the World” http://www.francesmayesbooks.com/books/ and I am sure other books created a feeling of seeing deeper and experiencing more, communicating with the world, opening the window and letting the world in. I am sure what I read has a stronger influence on me that I expect. All in all it was a good idea to celebrate my Birthday as my father put it “on wheels”. I have experienced freedom,I am tempted to say freedom of movement but do not want to sound too much like the EU although there is nothing wrong about that, I did experience the freedom of movement.
In her book France Mayes is traveling around the world, I managed to reproduce something similar only in miniature, taking time and resources into account, although I am thinking about it now as I am writing, I did not think about time and resources really, I took three days off and went. I bought tickets at the spot, I was not sure about my destination till after I had reached the bus station. You can find adventure in everything. Be it a small city or a big town, a cruise or a short crossing by ferry. The world is everywhere, carpe it!
Traveling always inspires me so what is it exactly about? The need to explore and move, the feeling of the unknown, curiosity… no need to go on, it is the feeling of exploring the world and brining your world with you.
Looking at the sleeping city from the window that is cutting the wall horizontally I am looking at some roof tops of the city I don’t know.
He looked very displeased, I am still not sure what the reason was. I gave him 20 cents but he refused to take it maybe I insulted him by giving too little expecting too much. He did not turn, did not walk the rope, did not do the flips, he kept sitting motionless looking even more displeased. Was there any way I could help him? Maybe just by setting him free and tearing him away from the ball. He shook his head as if saying then I would lose my purpose in life. I considered putting him on a different table but he rightly noted that the view won’t make much difference. He still swallowed the 20 cents but did not react in any way. There was no mechanism inside him to trigger any feelings, he was permanently glued to the ball with a permanently glued annoyed impression on his face.
What’s your problem? The weight of the world is too heavy? He held my look as if he was trying to pass this weight on to me. But you are not holding it on your shoulders, you are sitting on it, that makes a big difference. He did not respond. His position made him important and his role gave him privileges, that’s why he had a right to be annoyed because of all the work he has been doing, without any break and without thinking about his own needs. So you are not happy about your purpose? What is it anyway? Do you know?
I guess he did not have to answer all the questions or maybe 20 cents could pay for only two answers. I didn’t put more money in and I did no ask more questions counting on his generosity to answer, after all work is work.
They brought me here to catch mice and now they are complaining that I sleep all day. As if they have never seen cats before!? and by the way, mice are out only at night, so when am I supposed to catch up on my 23 hours of sleep?! Nonsense!
- Do you think it was a good idea to get that cat after all? It has crazy eyes and a cat in a church?
- We need it for practical reasons, let’s not attribute any holy qualities to that cat. It is just there to catch mice. That cat is just a cat, it will sleep and catch mice and we will not even notice it.
- It is difficult not to notice it, it stares at me and when it does not, it sleeps which is all day anyway.
I hear them talking about my sleep patterns again. Do I stare? I am rather observant but I never stare, it is rude and people have never really learnt any manners.
That night as the cat was out in the garden, the life of a little Italian church on a hill fell into its usual peaceful state of mind apart from the disruption created by tiny squeaky noises that could be identified as mice.
- It is no good, we need to let him behind the altar otherwise we will never get rid of mice. Let’s just put him there and close him. Then a day later let him out and hope that all the mice are gone.
- You want to leave a cat behind the altar? What if it makes noises during the ceremony, you know that the big holiday is on the way and a lot of people will come, we cannot have a priest giving a sermon and a cat mewing in the background.
- Yes, that will not be proper. But we need to try it out at least.
- All right, let’s try it out tonight.
The closed me in a closet tonight thinking that mice knowing I am there will run around jumping into my mouth. Instead they went into the kitchen and created havoc there, of course. Stupid people. I fell asleep on the grain and in the morning they looked at me and just let me be.
- This does not work, now we have mice in the kitchen, should we get more cats, so if they are everywhere they will be certain to catch them all.
- And turn our church into a farm?
- You have heard that the priest is thinking of getting chickens.
Chickens? That would be nice. Those I think I will hunt and eat first and then go for a mice desert.
So the holiday was approaching and the mice were still in the church. I did not have any desire to do much and no one pressed me, after all how much can you ask of a mere cat.
The whole town was there and the church looked festive and beautiful in the holy yellow light of the sun rays.
They did bring more cats and now there are five of us wondering around with no particle purpose apart from eating and sleeping.
The altar was the place where mice liked to gather the most so smart as it maybe they put us there. The sermon has begun. At first it felt like the priest has mistaken his notes for the grocery list but it was passionate nevertheless. Who am I to judge, I was listening only with half ear. My outmost concentration was focused on how to get from behind the altar and enjoy my freedom. So I scratched and mewed a bit and scratched some more. Later on I heard that the parishioners were terrified by the sounds the priest was making saying that he was either mewing like a cat or barking like a dog. I am sure the sermon was memorable. We escaped later though the back door and for once they were happy about the fact that the mice were gone for at least a week but they had to put us back in. Of course to repetition of the same sermon was something everyone wanted to avoid. Conveniently, they cut a little hole in Holy Virgin’s robe so we can walk in and out as we please from behead the altar. No one complained about my sleeping habits anymore as I have been regarded as a holy cat who can balance piece on the outside and inside of the altar.
Joanne Harris has a story which can be connected with the one written above http://joannechocolat.tumblr.com/post/52540193752/the-pied-piper-of-hamelin-i-posted-this-some
I love museums every room has a sounds of a rustling page of history. How curious it is to look at some museum items in one place while they are still being widely used in a different place. History leaves some places behind and some advance faster, is that it? Maybe some places are more particular about their history than others, can that be? I do not want to leave too many unanswered questions, after all setting out to wrote one has to answer at least some.
The train of history does not wait for its passengers, as a matter of fact you are always on that train, if you get out, you get picked up by another. You are always a traveller, looking out from your compartment window sipping tea. Some people get on and some go off, you might do the same and continue traveling in a company of different people. The view outside of the window changes or have I seen that before? I do not want days to blur, so I focus on what I see, I look at colours, shades, lights, words, shapes, angles. I look at people trying to place them. I do not want my scenery to pass by. I snapshot it and photograph it, I catch it, I put it between the pages of books and countless notes that I make, I phrase it in words, emotions, writing.
Railroad museum did not seem a lonely place from the inside as it seemed from the outside. It was cosy, it had an atmosphere which made you want to stay and travel in this company until the next stop at least.
I do not make jam or pickled cucumbers but with the same skill and passion I preserve sounds.