An ode to Paris...
Aspiring to understand why he felt so lost when he had everything he could possibly need, he set out for a walk. He came down his apartment located in the 14ème arrondissement, and started walking in the direction of l'île de la cité, the island connecting la rive gauche and la rive droite of Paris.
He was determined to put in an effort of being completely aware of his self, his surroundings and in general, everything around him. Taking a deep breath, he smiled contently, feeling grateful to be where he was at the time he was in. He suddenly had to scratch the back of his neck to gratify an itch.
What a strange journey, he thought to himself. He was brought in to this city, like he had been to many other places, by some strange invisible force that seemed to decide the course of his life, he thought. Am I this invisible force? He questioned himself.
He stopped into a bakery; they thronged every corner of the city. He bought himself half a baguette and set out about the road again, while munching on it. He liked the smell and taste of hot bread just out of the oven. At that moment, he needed nothing else.
He wondered why it was that when he found himself alone, he always felt most alive. He thought that when he was in the midst of other people, he took in part of their lives, compared them to his in some way, and generally lost himself in things, which he thought ultimately, barely mattered in the big picture. It was when he was alone, that he could wholly experience his feelings, the things he had seen, experienced and put them into perspective. Plus, he did not have to indulge into spoken words, or feel the need to strike a conversation, for, on one's own, silence is enough to communicate between various thoughts.
As he reached Port-Royal, he turned right and decided to go through the park "Jardin du Luxembourg" instead of the Boulevard St. Michel, since it was a nice spring day of May. At the park, he studied a photography exhibition: "the French love their art", he muttered. A wall-sized picture was cut into several smaller squares and hung from the ceiling with transparent threads distanced from each other in such a way, that the full picture could be seen only at a certain angle. At that angle, the spaces in between the smaller pictures would magically disappear to show us the whole picture. Is this what happens to us as well? We tend to focus on the smaller pictures, whereas we should maybe find the perfect angle to see the complete picture of our life?
He took more pleasure looking at the reaction of the people, than the art itself. This piece of art seemed to bring a momentarily spark to their beings. He particularly enjoyed their "Oh! C'est vraiment impressionant!"
He liked it when people around him smiled.
Out of the gates of the park, he came upon the busy Boulevard of Paris. It was usually easy to differentiate the tourists from the locals by studying the briskness in their pace. As he reached the fountain St. Michel, he stopped for a while as a band of musicians were playing some old jazz and blues tunes. He caught the glare of a girl moving to the tune of the band, he smiled at her, she smiled back.
As he walked on, the grand cathedral of Notredame de Paris dawned on him. He knew where he was going. He passed through the small gate of the park adjoining the cathedral, took in the splendor of the cathedral, crossed the small wooden bridge that would give way to one of the best ice-cream vendors of Paris, descended the slope and sat by the river Seine. Amidst, the lovers, loners and gathering of friends that were sitting by the banks of the river Seine, he found a place for himself and sat down.
He had reached on time to watch the sun set right between the two towers of Notredame, giving the skies of Paris the color of fire...
He was determined to put in an effort of being completely aware of his self, his surroundings and in general, everything around him. Taking a deep breath, he smiled contently, feeling grateful to be where he was at the time he was in. He suddenly had to scratch the back of his neck to gratify an itch.
What a strange journey, he thought to himself. He was brought in to this city, like he had been to many other places, by some strange invisible force that seemed to decide the course of his life, he thought. Am I this invisible force? He questioned himself.
He stopped into a bakery; they thronged every corner of the city. He bought himself half a baguette and set out about the road again, while munching on it. He liked the smell and taste of hot bread just out of the oven. At that moment, he needed nothing else.
He wondered why it was that when he found himself alone, he always felt most alive. He thought that when he was in the midst of other people, he took in part of their lives, compared them to his in some way, and generally lost himself in things, which he thought ultimately, barely mattered in the big picture. It was when he was alone, that he could wholly experience his feelings, the things he had seen, experienced and put them into perspective. Plus, he did not have to indulge into spoken words, or feel the need to strike a conversation, for, on one's own, silence is enough to communicate between various thoughts.
As he reached Port-Royal, he turned right and decided to go through the park "Jardin du Luxembourg" instead of the Boulevard St. Michel, since it was a nice spring day of May. At the park, he studied a photography exhibition: "the French love their art", he muttered. A wall-sized picture was cut into several smaller squares and hung from the ceiling with transparent threads distanced from each other in such a way, that the full picture could be seen only at a certain angle. At that angle, the spaces in between the smaller pictures would magically disappear to show us the whole picture. Is this what happens to us as well? We tend to focus on the smaller pictures, whereas we should maybe find the perfect angle to see the complete picture of our life?
He took more pleasure looking at the reaction of the people, than the art itself. This piece of art seemed to bring a momentarily spark to their beings. He particularly enjoyed their "Oh! C'est vraiment impressionant!"
He liked it when people around him smiled.
Out of the gates of the park, he came upon the busy Boulevard of Paris. It was usually easy to differentiate the tourists from the locals by studying the briskness in their pace. As he reached the fountain St. Michel, he stopped for a while as a band of musicians were playing some old jazz and blues tunes. He caught the glare of a girl moving to the tune of the band, he smiled at her, she smiled back.
As he walked on, the grand cathedral of Notredame de Paris dawned on him. He knew where he was going. He passed through the small gate of the park adjoining the cathedral, took in the splendor of the cathedral, crossed the small wooden bridge that would give way to one of the best ice-cream vendors of Paris, descended the slope and sat by the river Seine. Amidst, the lovers, loners and gathering of friends that were sitting by the banks of the river Seine, he found a place for himself and sat down.
He had reached on time to watch the sun set right between the two towers of Notredame, giving the skies of Paris the color of fire...
posted by manu at 2:16 AM
2 Comments:
c'est la 19eme partie de paris, je t'aime?
this brings back memories
thanks for the post
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