I'm Wide Awake; It's Morning

My Giant Goes With Me.

I spent a good deal of time yesterday reading through Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay, Self-Reliance. It deals mostly with the idea that humanity does not put enough faith in itself. We have ceased to see the power that exists within each of us. We do not proclaim what we believe and feel, we do not show the world our truth, because we are timid. However, the essay also discusses many other things, and one of these I read yesterday and found to be fascinating, especially as I am, at present, abroad.

“It is for want of self-culture that the superstition of Travelling, whose idols are Italy, England, Egypt, retains its fascination for all educated Americans. They who made England, Italy, or Greece venerable in the imagination did so by sticking fast where they were, like an axis of the earth. In manly hours we feel that duty is our place. The soul is no traveler; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance that he goes, the missionary of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign and not like an interloper or a valet. I have no churlish objection to the circumnavigation of the globe for the purposes of art, of study, and benevolence, so that the man is first domesticated, or does not go abroad with the hope of finding somewhat greater than he knows. He who travels to be amused, or to get somewhat which he does not carry, travels away from himself, and grows old even in youth among old things. In Thebes, in Palmyra, his will and mind have become old and dilapidated as they. He carries ruins to ruins. Travelling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go.”

“Traveling is a fool’s paradise,” he writes, and though it goes against everything we, as young, adventurous souls believe, I have to admit there is a kernel of truth in his words. So often we search outwardly for things that have no location. We look for happiness in a foreign land when we should look inward. We look for breathtaking beauty across the globe, when we can find it in our backyard. What I’m coming to realize is that one’s enjoyment and fulfillment has to do entirely with one’s perspective and mental state. If I am not happy in one place, joy will surely evade my grasp in another country. If I am content and know my truth here, then, undoubtedly, I will also know it there. “My giant goes with me wherever I go.”

Barça

Untitled from Denny Moody on Vimeo.

Este Momento...

A Love Letter to the World

Sometimes I’ve stood alone, on a cliff overlooking a great sea, only to see… nothing, nothing but an empty ship or an unridden wave. But when I stand with you, the earth fills, and the sun rises and sets on bustling cities alive with the pulse of humanity.

I won’t deny my being. I am something, but that something, when combined with your something, is so much greater. I am larger with you. We are larger together. Together, we see so much more.

On the tips of my fingers, there are planets, planets full of life and color. And there are planets on your fingers too. So that when we touch, a universe is born, and our fingertips are only the start.

Let’s create something together. Let’s create a world together, a world where we share things. Let’s share things like ideas, conversations, embraces, and cookies.

There are many things I’m proud of. Some things I’m too proud of. But nothing I’ve done alone comes close to the things we’ve created together. The sound of our laughter is my greatest accomplishment and proudest moment. That memory we share of that one time together is worth more than anything else I’ve done in my life.

So let’s create something together. Let’s create a world together, a time together, a space together, and let’s fill it with beautiful things.

Where Are The Hobbits?

For most of you, the picture below illustrates a park, a simple patch of grass, nothing incredibly special. But after you live in Spain for a while, finding a small piece of dirt with a decent amount of grass on it is like stumbling upon the Shire. This is by far the most lush grass I've seen since leaving the States.

Just another beautiful building in Barcelona.

After haggling in Spanish with about 12 different Pakistani souvenir shop owners, I finally acquired a jersey for the Barça game tomorrow.

Sweat Therapy

I sweat. I ran through the night and sweat. The rain had formed little pools on the concrete where the lights of passing cars and tall buildings were reflected. The city was loud but I didn’t hear it. There was a pounding in my ears, but it wasn’t the sound of cars and gawking tourists. And there was a pounding in my feet as each step struck the ground. And there was a pounding in my head, but not the kind Advil could kill.

I sweat, and in each drop that fell from my skin there was a bit of a burden leaving. In this drop a bit of pain. In this drop a bit of frustration. In the next drop an ounce of unfulfilled longing, so that scattered through the dark streets of Barcelona were pieces of my burden, left on the pavement to evaporate, to leave me, to die.

And I returned home, lighter, but not yet buoyant.

Today I Saw God

This morning I finally made it to an authentic Spanish mass. I went to Barcelona's magnificent La Catedral. The silent prayers and melodic praises of the parishioners filled the stone edifice with an attitude of somber reverence. Light filtered in through vibrant stained glass windows adding a seemingly divine luminance.

When the service was over I stepped outside into the sun and was greeted by loud, joyous music being played in the street. Gathered in the plaza were hundreds of people, mostly elderly, holding hands in circles and dancing in a kind of Spanish, folk style.

Stepping so quickly from one world to the next was a brilliant reminder that all humanity is holy, the silent mountain monastery and the rambunctious town square, the priest at his pulpit and the dancer in the street; there is God in all of us.

Bits and Pieces of Humanity

I spent last weekend in Prague. We saw castles, monuments, greasy food, and many beautiful things, but what shines brightest in my memory are the images I have of the Lennon Wall. With layer after layer of paint, raw emotion has been smeared on this wall in vibrant strokes, sprays, and scratches. It's like humanity has stood before the stone and has burst, and the entrails of their dreams, hopes, and pains have been splattered across its surface a in a wild array of color.

Here are a few select sections of the wall. A few bits and pieces of humanity in the form of words and colors.