The Music of the Night

I’m lying in bed, trying to get to sleep about 3 hours earlier than has been my habit of late. It’s about forty minutes after midnight, and for whatever reason there is very loud live music drifting in through my window from somewhere in this neighborhood. Elle and Tony live in a small town known as Spaton. It seems to be a sleepy little area, which makes it all the more strange that there is some sort of musical performance going on this late at light. It reminds me of this post that I wrote a few years ago in Prague.

• Not all who wander are lost

  It seems a hard pill to swallow that a year almost has come and gone. It has slipped between my fingers, vanished... but not without a trace. I lie on the bed, listening as jazz climbs the hill and through my window to tease me out of thought. I'm not sure where it comes from. But right now it is the soundtrack to my life. Though I've never heard it and through the spaces of synapses I can make out only unintelligible snippets of the Czech language, I know it is the melody of my mood. It's unmistakable. Improvised like the runs between dominant and half-diminished progressions, my feelings wander and my waking dreams stray. How have I come this far?
  
  Five weeks on the road have left me with four on deck. Can I find the closure I need before I have to depart? My friends are leaving like the last leaves of autumn on a great oak tree, each holding as long as possible until the gust of wind comes that finally whisks them off to the next great adventure, or to the withered grasses of home that we all hope will turn green anew. And in this space of time while I'm still clinging to the branch, will I come to terms with the passing of seasons, with the steady march of time?
  
  The emotions I feel right now are too many to number and too personal to explain. Fear? A little. Uncertainty? Yes, but what is certain anyway? Regret? Pride? Satisfaction? Longing? All of them take their turn in my heart and mind. The pink, orange, and purple sky that hangs at dusk behind the panorama of the fairy tale castle and gingerbread town haunts my thoughts. Demanding an explanation, "Why didn't you love me more?" Will I leave here disgusted that the city that I for so long forsook as my new home has only now become dear to my heart? Or will I convince myself that summer brings comfort and a lighter shade to all things, hiding the wickedness of winter, the harshness of the cold, and the loneliness of the empty, black night?
  
  Will the dull pain of nostalgia soon fade to only happy memories of good times shared among new friends? For so long I lamented that I had not found a better city, but now I only wish I had taken a better look. In some things recalled from life, only the bitter taste of that which we disliked shows its face in our memories, but now I am confronted by a storm of the good. Warmth in the midst of snow, a weekend home for the spiritual sojourners searching for a little ease in their troubled lives. An unlikely battle of ice and skill between a man of the south and a man from a country that knows of snow only on the tops of Kilaminjaro. Towering modern-day windmills, waving and weaving the wind over fields of emerald green pastures that have seen the come-and-go of centuries of travelers, the rising and setting of citrus suns, the musings of livestock and the husbandry of legend and the living.
  
  In these great ways have I passed another year in a life of so many and yet so few. How have I ever summoned the gumption to scorn even a day rather than numbering it among my untold blessings? When I come to the end of the yarn laid before me, how will I give account and make a reckoning of every second that I did breathe in and breathe out without a keen awareness of the infinite magnitude and scope of its importance? Perhaps I will carry my punishment with me the rest of my days in the fond memories of what I have seen, smelled, tasted, lived, and dreamed- and in the wondering of what more I yet could have done.

You know, it’s funny which times in your life become the ones that you remember the most vividly. There are countless days that I will never recall from my past, but the night when I wrote the passage above is as fresh in my mind as if I had just lived it. Nothing in particular really happened then; I was just very aware of the world around me at that time. It reminds me of one of the best quotations that I know. I have to give Rob his propers for introducing it to me, but here it is nonetheless.

Experience is not a matter of having actually swum the Hellespont, or danced with the dervishes, or slept in a doss-house. It is a matter of sensibility and intuition, of seeing and hearing the significant things, of paying attention at the right moments, of understanding and co-ordinating. Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him

–Aldous Huxley

I hope that I am appropriately stewarding what happens to me and am doing what is appropriate with those things. I find that I am generally attuned to the moment. It’s in the moments that follow that I seem to have the most trouble. The more I practice through traveling, though, the better I seem to become.

Not a lot happened today. We went to church twice. At the evening service I actually got to help lead worship. It’s always good to add another notch on the belt of new events. I guess that makes four different countries I’ve helped to lead worship in–I’d say five, but I can’t remember if I did in Mexico.

As much as I love being here and am grateful for the opportunity, a part of me is discouraged. Four years ago I visited here with Geoff and we spent almost two weeks with the most amazing group of young people I had found pretty much anywhere in the world. If felt to me as if we had established an immediate and lasting connection. I find now that this was not the case. We have only been able to meet with one of our old friends. To his credit, he was my favorite the last time we were here and he has only improved in the years that have followed. We would have spent more time with him, but he was on leave from his mandatory term of service in the Greek army that all Greek males have to go through before a certain age and so could only spend one day with us. Still, it meant a lot to have him spend it with us.

I know that it has been four years, and life goes on. Still, I had hoped–and maybe foolishly–that we could still salvage at least one day of fun like the old times. I’m acutely aware of it right now, though, because my time in Greece is coming to a close. I leave Friday, and the week is already filling up. Granted, the days are filling up with good things. We go to the beach tomorrow and to one of the Greek Islands on Tuesday. Still, each day of bliss makes one fewer to remain, and I truly love this place.

I may be spoiled and selfish, but some things I’m grumbling about here. Breanna (Geoff’s fiancée) is getting college credit for her trip here by visiting museums and posting a blog about her experience. That’s great for her, but I honestly don’t feel like doing the museum thing. I came to Greece to unwind on the beach. It’s a disease, I know, but it’s making me unhappy with things that I should appreciate. For example, Breanna also wants to visit Corinth (as in the book of I and II Corinthians), but I’d honestly rather just lie on the beach and read all day. I honestly don’t really have any desire to go see the place. The only thing persuading me to try it is the slight fear of later regretting having not gone. Hopefully I will be able to persuade them to do these things during the four days they will be here after I leave.

On the bright side, when I do finally have to leave here, at least I’m going to Prague for two weeks to see my friend Tomas. I cannot wait to see him. I’m honestly torn. I can’t really explain it. It’s not that I don’t want to go to Prague. I just really don’t want to leave here. It’s too bad Tomas can’t just come here with me. That guy… if he lived in the States and didn’t have to answer to a wife, there would be no end to the amount of trouble we would get in. I’m going to be really glad to see him. Tom, if you’re reading this, it’s been way too long. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be there soon.