Bom Dia, Porto!
It is not night when I do see your face,
Therefore I think I am not in the night
– Midsummer Night’s Dream
Last night was a viewing of 1999’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. An engrossing story of lovers crossed, recrossed and double-tricked by Oberon and Puck until. In the end, all lovers have their intended beloved.
The course of true love never did run smooth
The central theme of the play. And my life.
I suppose I see Shakespeare’s tale in a new light, now in middle-age and caught in my own convoluted heart’s eddy. Love’s course does not run smooth. And for the conscientious romantic, it is a race that must er be run long and true.
Morning today came in a timely way and dawn greeted me in a most glorious way. I wanted to make love to the world. To find every lost and lonely soul and somehow make them whole.
Helpless fools long for the unhave-able.
Morning dew glistens on the ancient tile roofs below me. Amidst the old homes is a striking derelict. Roof collapsed, stucco walls are bald and crumbling. The iron terraces, once striking in their ornateness, are now just rusted calligraphy. A record of once better times.
White Christmas drifts out of a speaker nearby.
A church up the hill rang me awake some hours ago and now sits a silent sentinel over its subjects.
An orange tree pregnant with winter fruit is my breakfast companion this luscious morn. It is not much for conversation, but I find it enthralling nonetheless.
Between my fruited neighbor and me, a flowing hedge row of sage contributes visually and aromatically to our scene.
And in front and below stone houses cascade down ancient cobblestone streets that splash into this finger of the Atlantic that has snaked its way inland.
Jealous more of my eggs and ham than my reverie. A massive gull has landed on a nearby handrail and does a circus balancing act in hopes that my appreciation will deliver it a boon.
I am sorry, bird-friend, there I’ll be no scraps left for thee. You’ll have take your shoe on the road.
Winter in Porto is a very pleasant affair, especially the days. The sun warms as the breeze crisps. And pedestrians everywhere celebrate their holiday. Everyone is happy and festive. The faces and countenance seems altogether different from the people where i am from. Even frustration here seems less like loss of control or being overridden with emotion and more like a natural expression of circumstance.
A sailboat is pushing up the river in the dancing sunlight. I wonder how the captain feels this Sunday morning. He is living his dream. Is he content? Is he striving for more? Is he single and hoping for a wife? Or married and praying for children or grandchildren. Or that the ones he has be successful and happy. Perhaps he just longs for a bigger sailboat.
Everyone wants something they don’t have.
Aspiration.
Many just long for the muse. To be struck and moved to make a great work, that will move minds and bodies. To evoke tears or longing. Perhaps anger. Artists in particular want material things secondarily. What we really hope for is the ethereal. The midsummer’s dream that brings disparate lovers to satisfaction.
But we do. It have Oberon’s power. Not even Puck’s mischief-making.
And so, the artist works. What else is he to do? What appears luxurious and opulent to a mortal
Is tortuous existence for the creative mind.
This moment, like ever, is passing too quickly. I wish only I had a companion with which to share it. Mine is still socked in sleep, stuck on that old clock. So, you, oh reader of this heart, are my shared memory today.
At some later time we will laugh together and say ‘remember when?’ But, I will not, leaky vessel that I am. So, you must be prepared to drizzle the nectar of love-in-idleness upon my lids.
Only, please, do not let me wake to an ass.
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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