Cosmic turns in the hallway through the most beautiful gallery of destiny

This weekend started with a mexicana dinner party that I held for a few of my friends in my piso. I fried up some beans and chicken, bell peppers, rice and some other goodies. We ate up and listened to mariachi music until about three! It was a great time. Matteo and I also worked in some jamming which has become a welcomed motif in my piso around Friday night.

Then in the morning, Maria and I went hiking in Monachil; one of my favorite nearby mountain towns. Above the town there is a canyon that is truly beautiful. It’s about a mile long and made up of tall walls and pillars. The trail is well maintained with hanging Indiana-Jones-style bridges and a cement wall you walk and crawl along the top of as it bows and bends up, over and around the beautiful rocks, like a cat scurrying across rooftops of the most beautiful and natural city. At one point you pass through a tunnel! Another part is like a long, turning hallway with almost perfectly straight walls on both sides. In this spot there were many rock climbers and as Maria said, “We are walking through the hallway of a gallery and they are the paintings dangling from the walls like living portraits.”

Further up, the canyon opened to rocky alpine meadows. There was an abandoned farmhouse along the trail. Outside the house was a rusty old water duct wheel with handles like the helm of a whaling ship. I couldn’t help thinking of the 90’s computer game, “Myst.” Maybe if I turned the wheel the direction of the stream would change, driving a watermill that would mechanically lift an elevator to an unknown chamber of a tower holding the secret historical manuscripts of the mysterious deserted island city!

The magic that led to my overactive imagination was the quietness. The slight wind through the valley silenced all other sounds and we were alone. Suddenly the maze of our hike through the canyon, meadows, farm, was full of puzzles and hidden meanings. Every stone, every bridge, every winding branch had it’s coveted significance that was just out of reach. like Kundera says in the ULB, "On the surface, an intelligible lie; underneath, the unintelligible truth showing through." It was just like playing Myst; the puzzles were eminent and important but a little too hard to crack as a ten-year-old. Their subtle clues added to my curiosity and assurance that there is always more than meets the eye - We think ourselves capable of defining truths!? - ha!

We had a picnic and good conversation in a meadow below a towering cliff, overlooking the valley below. My soul was resonating in the peaceful scene like a choir in a dark old stone Spanish church. When we made it out of the canyon and back to the bar by the bus station, I was physically tired from the hike and emotionally silenced by the beauty that surrounded me.

After the hike I went for tapas with Maria and Karine (the French Canadian) at La Toturga. The bar is run by a charming old butch Española who does indeed resemble a “tortuga.” There I randomly bumped into one of my best friends in Granada, Markus. I left the Tortuga with him and some of his Viennese friends. We wandered through the streets speaking Spanish, English and German and eventually ended up at a tapas bar in my neighborhood called “La Candela.” There Markus told me his dream:

He was walking through a canyon (not unlike the one in Monachil) with his brother when they came to a bridge. Seeing the bridge, his brother turned to Markus and said, very seriously, “Tonight you will learn how to fly to the moon.”

Markus thought, “¡Joder! What are these poetic words coming from my brother’s mouth?” then Markus turned around and his brother had vanished.

He thought about heading back but decided he must follow the trail. Cautiously crossing the bridge day changed quickly but evenly into night and by the time he made it to the other side it was completely dark. He was now out of the canyon and in a thick pinewood forest. Out of the darkness he saw two sets of bright white eyes. The light from the eyes at first blinded him, even from a great distance. Soon his eyes adjusted and he saw that the eyes belonged two wolves! He was frightened but forced himself to be calm and admit to the fate of his dream. One of the wolves spoke to him, “Tonight you will learn how to fly to the moon.”

Then the wolves led him above the trees to the mountaintop. There the full moon shone bright and the wolves began to howl. Markus began to sing in his flamenco voice. Soon his voice tuned itself to the wolves’ howl and they were all howling together. Markus felt his body lift and soar towards the moon higher and higher as he continued his howl!

My spirit needed this weekend. I feel like it was given to me as a gift at exactly the right time. My grandma died last week and this Saturday, the day of the hike and howls, was also the day of her funeral. My parents and my sister were there, in Pennsylvania. I wanted to come but could not. This temporary separation from my family in a hard time and the permanent separation from grandma in death, made me feel very sad and alone here in Spain. I cut all my hair off, I stayed in my room and read, I got sick and worn out. I tried to lock myself away from the gravity of the the world. Any feelings of homesickness I had were multiplied fifty times and I felt so isolated. Then, as I hosted my friends in my piso, wove through the secret meanings hidden in the canyon and thought about the eerie pertinence of Markus’ dream, I felt connected to something. Even if it was less than "intelligible." Be it good food and music, nature, friends and family, or the cosmic turns in the hallway through the most beautiful gallery of destiny, I felt peace. I felt my soul lifting like Markus after he had succumb to the scary wolves in the dark forest and decided he would let himself fly to the moon.