August 2. A winery.

August 2. A Winery.

Today I helped harvest a vineyard just outside of Waco. The work wasn’t grueling, yet the monotony of it all tends to become uncomfortable after a while. So where was my lesson for the day? I mean harvesting a vineyard…there must be some parallels or parables there, right?
Oddly, I’m not sure that I learned much from picking grapes from vines. The beautiful part was the conversations that took place among perfect strangers. About 15 people were sent out to harvest six rows of white grapes. The three other guys I went with quickly split up and did their own thing. The other 11 intermingled with us in a way that conversations were timed by the progress one was making down the vine. When anyone found themselves too far away to hold a natural conversation, the conversation ended. We’d work in silence for a while until the next person came along the other side of the fence/vine to work. I heard from doctors, teachers, etc. about their life experiences, their recent vacations to Hawaii, their kids, their passions (side note: any twenty-something who thinks the future of a progressively green nation lies OUR hands alone is so so wrong. I couldn’t believe the naturally green lifestyles of these older people. “What do we do with the grapes once they’ve been squeezed?....They’d make a great compost pile.” Really? I LOVE it!

What I don’t understand is why we don’t open ourselves up to such experiences more often. These are the best conversations and they always seem to happen while something productive//manual labor is being done—whether that’s in India, Mexico, Spain, or in the hot summer heat of Waco.

The other thing that excited me about today was the fact that the owners of the Vineyard are Swedish. They have the same accent as one of the Swedish girls who went to SLU-Madrid last semester. It’s refreshing to hear languages I can’t begin to understand. This couple has lived in the U.S. for about 15 years and they haven’t lost their European touch. Experiencing them today was like experiencing part of my home in Europe. It makes me proud to be alive, to call this planet my home. They live it up. The husband lives for wine. He knows everything anyone could ever know about it. Though he wears nice clothing, he appears more like a little kid in a candy shop than anything else. And his wife runs the wine-tasting bar inside their house. She gives us free samples of all of their wines and ports (even the ones that cost $40/bottle). She asks us “which one is your favorite” with joyful inquisition, a curiosity spurred on by the immense pride and authentic enjoyment that she reaps out of her lifestyle. She reminds me of a tame Willy Wonka showing off his candy factory. She cooked us lunch—delicious. She holds occasional dinner parties with up to 18-20 lucky people. She cooks them all types of American classics—New England Clam Chowder, Jambalaya from the south, and Cherry Pie from Nebraska…all to be washed down with her vineyard’s tasty port and maybe a piece of dark chocolate.
Flavor flavor flavor. Europe has definitely not left their core essence.

chemical fireflies

Last night was something to be remembered. My friend Chad was singing Crowder's song "Everything Glorious" with a group of 100 tired americanos and mexicanos.
I was running powerpoint for him in the palapa (a big hut used in hot countries like Mexico and Africa). All of a sudden, i looked to my left and saw one of the most simple and beautiful scenes of my life...no kidding. About 20 of the staff's children were on the soccer (futból) field, jumping, frolicking, and throwing their luminous glow-in-the-dark wristband glowsticks up in the air. It was just dark enough to where i could see the outline of the ever-present mountain range in the distance (only this time it was a dark shadow serving as a background for the colorful dancing glowsticks). What a beautiful little ray of light. What a testament to the purity and joyfulness of G-d's own heart, the heart of a child.

"My eyes are small but they have seen
the beauty of enormous things
which leads me to believe
there's light enough to see that
You make everything glorious."

untitled

It can't be real. I'm sitting in the parque del Templo de Debod, studying not very hard for my Art History final. It's a cloudy day, though the sun still pushed its way through the clouds from time to time. I look up and a girl, about my age, is walking toward me. She asks me something and I see that she has a book in hand, so I determine--very brokenly--that she wants to practice a presentation (on me). She tells me it'll take about 10 minutes, and I tell her "está bién" in the way that I tell gypsy beggars "no thanks" at 4 in the morning. She takes it differently and sits down next to me. Great. She opens her book, then closes it and begins to recite something, occasionally glancing at the black and white photograph she's holding over the cover of the book (as if for inspiration). It's a picture of a woman dressed in early 20th Century Spanish garb. All I could think of was that it reminded me of those super old postcards you might find in Goodwill or in newly purchased picture frames.

So she continues to read, to recite in performance-like tones. Her poem/story/quick anecdote was beautiful and spoke directly to the two largest issues existential to me at the moment: Immigration Syndrome and Singleness (as separate concepts...haha)
According to Sociology, Immigration Syndrome is this idea that after a few years of immigration, one may lose any sense of "home" identity. For example, in Sigur Ros' "Heima," one of the band members explains that "Heima" means "home." After years of touring the world, they played a tour in Iceland, their real heritage...pretty sweet. From the guy's expressions, anyone could tell his excitement about that--to be with family, to see familiar sights, to feel that indefinable joy that is "home."
Although I've only been in Spain for four months, my move to Texas three years ago has left me displaced. Anywhere I go, there's the distinct chance that I'll be longing for the people I miss from the other places...Cincinnati, Waco, Monterrey, and even Madrid, at this point.
The second phenomena she spoke of was "Singleness."
This one's quite easy to comprehend. Imagine one person. check.
There are some excellent perks to being single. I've always thought that maybe I'd spend my whole life that way (I know, weird, right?) until recently...(don't worry mom, there is no lucky lady at this point.)

She said, "You travel and travel. You have no home (or better put, multiple homes). You turn around and one day (she turns around) and you are the only one there."
Five minutes go by and she ends her recitation. We talk for a few minutes. I tell her that I'm a foreigner, that I'm a traveler. She asks if I'm German (first time I've ever gotten that!). "No, Texan." That never fails to get a response.
She hands me a very artistic and clearly hand-made business card that says "UNO A UNO, todos somos mortales. JUNTOS, somos eternos" -Apoleyo. (One and one, we're all mortals. Together, we're eternal). Interesting.
As odd as this little encounter was, I am SO thankful that it transpired in my last few days here. What a world. a random, thought-provoking, beautiful world. In the words of our skydiving instructor: "makes me giggle."

-griff

The sound everybody needs to hear

You've heard spoken many times before: "I heard the sound of silence and it changed me." Yesterday I went up to the Valley of the Fallen, an enormous cross monument created as a memorial for those who died in the bloody Spanish Civil War. When I was there, I wondered how many tourists came home with identical pictures of the thing--once you're at the base of it, there's little room for photographic creativity. Every picture shows what an ant must see when it looks up at a human.

So this cross is on top of a mountain in a secluded area (there's a functioning monastery 100 feet away). Although the occasional car drives by in the far distance, this is a place where you can hear the beautiful sound of silence. Usually when I hear it, I think something like, "Come on wind and trees, speak to me!" But this time I had no revelations. I just sat there for a minute and thought about how nice it was to hear nothing.

As I write, some idiot is renovating his apartment next door. Mr. Renovator isn't always drilling things. He seems to also have an insatiable taste for bad American music...bands I typically only listen to to have a good laugh. I'm talking about Nickelback, the Backstreet Boys, Rihanna, and yes, Evanescence (thanks again, Mr. DIY...p.s. http://www.thewebshite.net/nickelback.htm).
Anyway city life is great. The adjustment hasn't been drastic at all. I thought it might have had obvious repercussions, but things are not so noticeably different. Sometimes, though, it's essential to escape this huge silence-poverty, sit on a mountain, and hear nothing but the wind and the trees.

-griff

Wedding Dress in Bloom

i look up from the ground
see a tree with her gown
she most certainly has a bride.
the buds of her branches
sway over the city
begging to be noticed.
the sun is her spotlight
and she is beautiful.

21

I'm Old! more than half way to 40, only 79 more years 'till 100!

-griff

XXX/Darkness

So what I’m about to say really requires two posts, if not more. I’ve had quite the whirlwind of travel recently…in the last three weeks, I’ve been to Amsterdam, Vienna, Budapest, Krakow, and Prague. While I enjoyed the baths in Budapest and seeing Freud’s house (!) in Vienna, two places will stick with me for the rest of my life, without a doubt. Amsterdam and Auschwitz. Random story begin…now: The colors in Amsterdam are dark and beautiful. The ships with their yellow stripe and black exterior against the dark water gives the place a distinctly European feel (just like in the Sigur Rós documentary, Heima, which I still have not seen). The bikers are joyful and the sound of their bells in the distance unceasingly makes life just that much happier. One guy almost ran into me going very slowly and still used his horn. It sounded like a duck, so I laughed at him. All I could think of was my friend Alex, who, as a child, used to point to items on the dinner table when he wanted them. His mom would kindly scold him: “Alex, use your words, honey.” Maybe you have to know Alex and Mrs. Cool for this to be funny, but it still gets me every time I think of it.

XXX:
Everybody asks me if I was able to get to the Red Light District. (I did.) The name makes it sound like some sort of hell where prostitutes attack from all directions and drugs fall from the sky. The gate to enter is guarded by none other than Satan himself, with the tail and horns and all.

NO! It’s totally not like this. Many people call Amsterdam the “Venice of the north,” mostly due to it’s 1,500+ bridges and surrounding canals. Bikes are everywhere (the #1 form of transportation). The whole scene is surreal and beautiful in a way that I’ve never seen beauty before--even the red light district.

The red light district wasn’t as bad at night as during the day. By this, I only mean that it hit me harder during the day. At night, the prostitutes sit in their windows and lure customers in with their eye contact and dance or strip or rub themselves loudly against the window. Welcome to the world.
Daytime in the RLD is enough to make one sick. I, for one, was floored. I’m sure the people with me were as well. If you can, try to imagine walking down the street in the middle of the day (canals, bridges, bikes, and cobblestone all around). Little kids walk with their parents. The smell of fresh pastries is in the air. Some of them are special pastries. You look to the right and she wants you. She’s wearing a tiny amount of clothes and she pulls on them like she’s dying to get you in bed. She pulls on her bra to expose and put into motion her two picture-perfect breasts that “real” people never have. Her body is the image that most girls want and most guys would kill for. Her eyes are stunning, though bloodshot from all the coke or mj she’s been using to keep her body moving. Like I said, she wants you. It’s the middle of the afternoon and for 50 euros, you can have her get on her knees. For 100, you can spend an hour and a half with her and she is yours--all of her. I wonder what the little kids think when they walk by. I wonder what the girls think when they look out from their windows and see the kids. I wonder what the hell the parents are thinking for bringing their kids here! I wonder what the girls are thinking by being there. Honestly, it’s a bearable sight until you see a man dive into a place and the curtains close, deeper in the room. The man’s two friends have just come out of two different windows. “Their girls” can now be seen redoing their makeup and lipstick as the two guys zip up their pants outside.

So we decide to wait to see the third guy leave. Ten minutes later, he opens the curtain and exits. “His girl” redoes her makeup, watches the men walk away, and immediately looks for the next customer, placing herself in only the most suggestive positions that might catch the eye. Welcome to the world.

Darkness [Auschwitz].
They say a picture is worth 1,000 words. In this case, 50 pictures = 50,000 words. A movie might be worth 1,000,000 words. But real life–a real movie, a scrolling piece of art—can not be explained. We have heard of horrible things. We have seen movies about them. But it is only once we have walked in the footsteps of the victims that we can begin to feel the weight of the world on our very own shoulders.
We stand outside in the snow where they once stood, inadequately dressed. Little drops of wonder drip from the sky and melt as they fall into hell. Our numbered days are spent in this death factory. Here, you will not find grace. You will not find friendship. You will not find civilization, for who would call this “civilized?” You look around for an Almighty G-d, but you do not see Him anywhere except in the past, through the eyes of your starving friends. They can’t find Him either. Some have and some still believe in hope and goodness. Within weeks, their hope will be carried through a chimney and scattered across the penetrated earth. Nothing is beautiful.
As my friend Ben said (in response to an African slum), this is an “ocean of shit.” Even these three little words cannot possibly achieve much. They seem cheap and hollow when compared to the reality of things. Go and see. Enter. Walk in the footsteps of your distant mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and you will experience darkness.

-griff