It’s hurricane season and today is the first day of autumn. Leaves have started to fall, temperatures are dropping. Rainy days from the tropical storms cause us to stay indoors–a precursor to winter hibernation. Soon, the forests will show vibrant displays of gold, red, and orange. Soon, Stefan will experience autumn in New England firsthand.
Soon, I will meet my long distance friend of over 7 years face to face.
This is not just any mountain. To me it’s a lighthouse.
Typically seen from hundreds of kilometres/miles afar. A loyal Greeter and Farewell-Sayer. Always giving me direction, guiding me home – no matter where I’m going to or where I’m coming home from.
Soon I’ll be leaving Austria for a little while. Therefore this isn’t just any blogpost. It’s a very special one. And a reminder that travelling is not only about anticipating all these wonderful adventures, big and small, that might possibly be waiting in any uncharted territories ahead but that travelling is also about that very basic anticipation of simply coming home again. Or as in my case: having a sentimental reunion with Mt. Traunstein later that year again, my personal guide, my lighthouse towards home.
The commemoration of my hometown’s 300th anniversary invited people from all walks of life to join in the fun. Celebrating the arts, food, music, people, and even aliens who make South Kingstown a great place to live. We acknowledge the impact of of other cultures in the formation of this special place.
There was a time when I wanted to leave SK and never come back. I did leave, but now I’m grateful & glad to be lucky enough to live here again.
Picture this: rolling hills full of happy grazing sheep, an endless expanse of fluffy clouds, wildflowers everywhere; a light-filled chapel under which lays a dark but beautiful crypt housing a fourteenth-century statue; old barns full of sheared wool and aged farming tools, morning light streaming in through the gaps between the worn wooden boards the structures are built from; an impressive overlook one thousand feet high, showing the mighty Chemung river and surrounding mountains and farmhouses from which hangliders are launching, soaring with the clouds… the list goes on of beautiful things I witnessed during my time at Mount Saviour Monastery.
Out of all of that, I choose to show a simple photo of the desk in my tiny, modest room which used to be a monk’s quarters. On the desk lies the summation of my journey: books, journals, too many pens to write my thoughts and poems; prayer beads, a painted icon, and my tiny Buddha statue on the windowsill, reminders of the spiritual journey I am on; a handmade tile and a piece of century-old paper with part of a story written on it, just some of the gifts from the residents I shared the week with; and of course, the charming little lamp which lit the way during the late evening or early morning hours I spent writing. But perhaps most important are the Polaroids lovingly laid out on the small desk. Each one a memory of the people, places and things I saw throughout the week.
I was seized by inspiration for an unexpected project at the Monastery. I photographed each of the residents in the act of creation. Painters, collage artists, musicians, poets, printmakers, each with a story to tell. On the back of each of the Polaroids, I inscribed a poem I had written about the artists and their work. At the end of the week, I gave these away to the artists as a keepsake for their trip. I loved the photos, and it was somewhat difficult to part with them, especially considering they were unique, special, one-of-a-kind pictures that I would likely never see again.
When I first arrived at the Monastery, I was told that what I found here would likely be different than what I was looking for. Indeed, I had many realizations that I didn’t expect, things I learned about myself and those around me and about my spirituality. I was touched by the kindness of everyone I met. Each person was so generous that it positively overwhelmed me with joy. The monks, the oblates, the priest, the caretakers, and the residents I spent the week with are some truly amazing humans. And so I realized that maybe I’ve been doing certain things for the wrong reasons. The benedictine cross I now wear (despite not being Catholic) is a loving reminder of the qualities that I want to embody. To make people’s lives a little brighter, to help foster peace whenever possible, to be generous of spirit and posessions, to never judge anyone for their differences, to create for the sake of doing what I love and wanting to share that love with those who are open to receive it.
Catholicism in Austria. What an epochal topic.
Something that would likely and quickly become something overwhelming, I fear. So let me better get into this topic in an unrushed, unpretentious fashion by simply stating that Austria’s tie to Roman Catholicism is (still) a very strong one. Chapels, churches, cathedrals – not only worshippers are generally welcomed here but also pilgrims or people who just seek a quiet minute to go into oneself.
to old friends and new
to a life spent together
i toast to your love
It’s one of these wonderfully strange “cross-continental” coincidences where a huge and imposing local promotional “superstar” shares a very comparable fate with another, similarily famous “colleague” from far, far away and across the Atlantic Ocean! One might easily think that this funny occurrence is certainly too big and too obvious to be missed but then I got to admit that it took me up until a few hours ago to draw that unlikely parallel between that years old, unnamed, around four metres (or 14 feet) wide freshwater trout in front of a local “Steckerlfisch” shack and Rhode Island’s/Providence’s famous Big Blue Bug who is also known as – as Sarah has taught me in one of her earlierst attempts to give me some personal online sightseeing tour through Rhode Island’s most famous places – Nibbles Woodaway! I truly can’t wait to meet and great the latter one by myself anytime soon!
Yard Sale (noun): an informal event for the sale of used goods by private individuals, in which sellers are not required to obtain business licenses or collect sales tax. Typically the goods in a yard sale are unwanted items from the household with its owners conducting the sale. Also Known As garage sale, tag sale, rummage sale
One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and if you go to enough yard sales, you are absolutely certain to find some unexpected treasure!
I remember yard sales with my grandmother as a child, with my mother as a teen, with my brother as a twenty-something… and now in my thirties, I yard sale on my own. A rite of passage? A family tradition? I don’t know, but there is a thrill in sifting through other people’s discarded belongings looking for the gems. Sometimes you strike gold, and sometimes you strike out. Saturday morning fun!
The Henchman of Humor. The Wisperer of Daydreams. The Tickler against Repetitiveness. The steely Antidote against any common forms of Mental Narrowness – Ladies & Gentlemen, may I proudly introduce to you: the inside of my work locker’s door!
It’s home for many different things that I’ve gathered in the past 15 years. Maybe the most prominently featured item there is that vintage photo of the Mexican port of Zihuatanejo. Probably my dearest, certainly the most constant reminder for me about how important daydreams generally are for me. I’d even go as far and say that these are even “life-saving” because no matter how many working days I might have had in a row, now matter for how much work-overtime I’ve collected in my backpack – it’s these subtle, little artefacts that successfully induce my mind regularily with uplifting thoughts, questions and certainly daydreams at least twice a (working) day. Questions like “Where would I actually love to be right now if I wouldn’t need to work today?” or “Which far away friend would I enjoy visiting most anytime in the future?”. And even if it’s only for a fraction of seconds that these precious projections whiz through my humble mind it’s often more than enough to get blasted out of the ordinary rhythm of work and life in a truly triumphant way…
