What we are, we attract. So, I haven't run into this situation in quite a long time.
But when I did, I was fuming for a long time after (although my anger is my work, not anyone else's fault.)
Americans in general are diverse across the nation. The way people view them in other countries is, also, diverse. Unfortunately for us now, it is based mostly based on reality TV shows and tourists with bad fashion and sometimes cultural indifference.
In other words, they'd rather see the pretty sights then the real people, and they're generally 'lazy dressers' (think bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt).
The appearance is not a problem, however obvious it separates them from the locals, but the cultural indifference leaves them without an interest in the real culture, language, people and customs of a place, and also gives them the illusion that it is all bright lights expensive and shiny 5 star hotels.
I am very partial to wanting to learn about the culture and languages of a place, to better understand the people who live there. I realize maybe I should be studying anthropology, but traveling to a place and learning all I can ("field work") is good enough if not better. I also realize that this particular manner of doing things is not the normality.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I run into the most arrogant people.
I'm at a dinner table at friends house. The family is there, and they have a guest. Overall, this family is very Republican. I'm labeled a 'hippie' and 'free spirit' in this house;attempts to understand my world and views are limited.
We sit to eat dinner. I am asked about my recent trips to Europe, my life there, and what I decide to do next. I mention I live in a mostly Turkish district.
First mention of Turkish people, Guest (I refuse to use his real name) tells me I should set off a bunch of big fireworks and watch all the Turks run outside holding their (was he pretending to have a turban on his head whilst mocking them?) and screaming "ooh ga booga gobba gobba!"
Everyone laughed. I felt sickened by his racist display and his obvious ignorance of the Turkish people (who, at least in Vienna, and no where else in Europe, wear turbans, and not all the women cover their hair.) They are Muslim, but that doesn't make them terrorists.
We eat our dinner, and I don't bring up the Turkish people again. I pick other topics, if I speak at all. He has decided to give a long lecture about all the misdeeds of our Presidents, and how, "At least Bush stood behind his convictions and beliefs!" and I suppose when ordered to do something, did it. He said that during Clinton's reign, they had caught Osama many times and were ready to shoot him, or some other 9-11 related terrorists, and Clinton refused and let them go. Maybe Clinton thought that killing a major head of the uprise would turn him into a martyr and make things worse. Who knows? But it went on and on and on. He was very opinionated. That didn't bother me. I've learned to listen to people, and catch flaws in their arguments, or truths.
When I got up to put my dishes away, the family asked me the question once again, "So, what are you doing with your life now? What are you doing in Vienna?" I mentioned school, I mentioned studying, and then I mentioned going to India to teach English at an ashram-run school for impoverished children there for three months, perhaps.
BINGO! The Eastern section of the world ruffles the feathers of the great miniature eagle again.
Guest persists on telling me that I would be better of shutting my finger in a door than going to India, and that I'll come back riddled with diseases and likely killed. He goes on and on about the brutality of the people there.
He begins to even confuse cultures. I have no doubt in my mind he has no real idea about what he's talking about. He's never been to India.
Then he stops me and says, "You want some BEAUTIFUL sights, go to Jacksonhole, Wyoming". I suppress a laugh. He's comparing India to some place in America? They shouldn't be debated; they're two different worlds. With two different dangers. If you're white and you're in America, you won't be bothered. That's his safety. And he needs it.
By the end of the night, if I was a terrorist, I would've slit his arrogant, ignorant, disrespectful throat right then and there.
I'm not violent in my nature, but I can understand the reaction of a people who are conditioned to hate Americans, and non-Muslims, and who then see media and television and think "Those are Americans".
And we wonder why people in different countries don't like us!? With attitudes on Americans like that? Inflated like a balloon ready to burst?
For me, the most important thing is to understand that we are all living on the same planet, with the same upcoming troubles and difficulties. Our cultural and language difference divides us. But if we make NO EFFORT to try and understand one another, we will never make it. We will qaurral and fight, hate and fear eachother. We have misrepresented eachother for too long, and the media has been ill-used as well in this dilemma. People think we party like rockstars and squabble like bratty children. They see MTV and truly believe we are those people.
And honestly? After watching those shows, modeling ourselves after the image of publicity... Aren't we beginning to believe the same?
Friday, June 27, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
all the way (part 2)
When I returned home, I felt overwhelmed with excitement.
I was anxious to be home, in a familiar place, to make the most of every minute!
The heat, the salty air, good food... my family, my closest friends, my home.
But today, I feel again a sadness; a loss of my direction; a wandering, lost, child with all the question of her existence; an ocean of uncertainty.
I feel that perhaps it has been so long since I have been truly happy, I don't remember the feeling. I barely remembered the feeling of this place, at first.
I have been broken many times. I've come familiar with this feeling...
I looked into his (an old loves') face and saw a boy who didn't really know what he wanted. But he knew he didn't want me. He said the words "I don't love you".
Four words to break my heart, and more; "You're too deep, too strange".
Thus, breaking my self-image as well as my heart. I left that very night, taking a train to a city four hours away. I didn't speak to anyone about it, but if you looked into my face you could tell; The castle that I was had been broken, grinded to sand.
Months after, the most amazing thing happened. I looked at my life and saw how much it had changed. I saw the strings that had tied me like a puppet to my sorrow, to my struggle, and I saw how the painful snipping of these strings had set me free.
I thought of him again, and made a phone call. We spoke for a long time, and for the time I did not feel foolish or stupid, choked with emotion or timid with the feeling of him judging me. I did not feel him judging me, did not feel me caring if he did. I spoke to him as a friend; as a real person; as myself.
Because, shortly before, I came to realize that the honesty I had forced him to give me, the final dagger-to-my-heart I forced him to throw, was the blessing of my life.
I was free. Released of him.
And just as that sorrow existed only to release me to happiness, so will this sorrow fade, and I will take one step closer to the Joy I will, in one future moment, remember.
I was anxious to be home, in a familiar place, to make the most of every minute!
The heat, the salty air, good food... my family, my closest friends, my home.
But today, I feel again a sadness; a loss of my direction; a wandering, lost, child with all the question of her existence; an ocean of uncertainty.
I feel that perhaps it has been so long since I have been truly happy, I don't remember the feeling. I barely remembered the feeling of this place, at first.
I have been broken many times. I've come familiar with this feeling...
I looked into his (an old loves') face and saw a boy who didn't really know what he wanted. But he knew he didn't want me. He said the words "I don't love you".
Four words to break my heart, and more; "You're too deep, too strange".
Thus, breaking my self-image as well as my heart. I left that very night, taking a train to a city four hours away. I didn't speak to anyone about it, but if you looked into my face you could tell; The castle that I was had been broken, grinded to sand.
Months after, the most amazing thing happened. I looked at my life and saw how much it had changed. I saw the strings that had tied me like a puppet to my sorrow, to my struggle, and I saw how the painful snipping of these strings had set me free.
I thought of him again, and made a phone call. We spoke for a long time, and for the time I did not feel foolish or stupid, choked with emotion or timid with the feeling of him judging me. I did not feel him judging me, did not feel me caring if he did. I spoke to him as a friend; as a real person; as myself.
Because, shortly before, I came to realize that the honesty I had forced him to give me, the final dagger-to-my-heart I forced him to throw, was the blessing of my life.
I was free. Released of him.
And just as that sorrow existed only to release me to happiness, so will this sorrow fade, and I will take one step closer to the Joy I will, in one future moment, remember.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
all the way (part 1)
This blog is not based on positivity.
For all my life, music has been my guardian angel. Like the soft touch of an invisible feather and angels wing is to another person, my angel has been music. Now don't start singing Phantom of the Opera tunes, because this is different.
I'm not Little Lotte whose lost her father and wants to reconnect emotionally with him through some opera phantom.
I'm someone whose life has been enriched with music since the age of 4.
My grandmother is a piano teacher. Has been, for years. She started me off playing classical piano at the ripe age of four years old. I learned to listen to music and be able to play it. Then, I learned to read music and play it. When I was old enough not to fall asleep while sitting in one place for more than two hours, I accompanied her to the symphony. For years, my weekends were spent with my grandmother as we attended the symphony to hear countless renditions, interpretations and presentations of artists that I have long since forgotten their names, but not their sounds.
I'm not going to lie; it's not like I never fell asleep during it. But the sounds played over and over in my head.
My mother was a singer. She sang earlier in her career, and also had a long running singing gig in Hawai'i while living there. She still sings beautifully. When I was very young, she was part of a barbershop quartette and also a larger singing group. She would have the most beautiful outfits to wear...
My father would take me. He was never officially trained in music, but he was introduced to it young, I think, and took right to it. To this day he is playing around with new instruments all the time. (He doesn't have a singing voice). He plays fiddle, mandolin, pipeflute, irish-button-accordian, concertina, and a bit of piano.
I love my parents, and I love music.
While traveling through Europe, I wasn't on any normal tourist jaunt. I was traveling for myself, with myself, and had to deal -a lot- in myself. It's the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've been let down more than once, and hurt harder than I thought I could be.
It's exhausting; living.
and, Growing.
Somehow, someway, I learned the phrase "If you want to make God laugh, show him your plans."
and it came true...again, and...again.
But Somehow, Someway... I ended up with an apartment in Vienna, Austria; with friends that started becoming very close; with a family-type atmosphere here; with someone who has filled my life in a way I didn't think it could be filled.
And, with a determination to study at the Konservatorium Wien Privat; Private music conservatory.
I wanted to study opera there. I spent more than the tuition on vocal coaches to get my voice in shape for the audition. I was excited but not hopeful the first day.
and... I made it in! Off to the 2nd round.
I was nervous.
and...
I had an apartment, three flatmates that had become friends, and to whom I promised to stay and be a responsible rent-payer for the next year. -Even if I didn't make it into the conservatory. I had spent about 300 euros on elaborate lighting design in my room to make it feel less like an office and more like a dreamlike, artists home. I painted the walls with original designs I made myself. I even got into botany for the first time of my life and bought orchids. I had made the first jump in my life; the first commitment that a commitment-scared girl ever made. and not just ONE and not just ANY ONE COMMITMENT.
I made a commitment to stay, no-matter-what.
I made a commitment to find a way, even as a possibly Visa-less foreigner, to earn more than 300 euros per month to pay rent.
I made a commitment to find work, somehow, no-matter-what.
I made a commitment to live across an ocean, and a country, 12 hours by plane away from the only home I ever knew, for the first time in my life, to a country where people don't really smile at strangers, and don't speak my language, and I can't yet speak theirs well enough to explain WHY I smile at strangers.
I made a commitment to study music.
But I got rejected.
At least I have a home.
But I made plans. I was so afraid of taking that jump; of finally deciding to focus on the one thing that has always brought my passion, life, love, energy: MUSIC.
Another girl, Anastasia, who went before me and also made it to the 2nd round, flew all the way from Bulgaria to come and audition. Her family took all the money they had and put it into her training, and a train ticket there.
She got rejected, as well.
"C'est la vie" the french saying goes.
But now I have to figure out how to make a new plan.
They say that everything happens for a reason, and yes. Good did come out of this journey.
But I thought I was right; that what I was doing was right. And I just don't know why, yet.
Why did it lead me so far, to not bring me all the way?
For all my life, music has been my guardian angel. Like the soft touch of an invisible feather and angels wing is to another person, my angel has been music. Now don't start singing Phantom of the Opera tunes, because this is different.
I'm not Little Lotte whose lost her father and wants to reconnect emotionally with him through some opera phantom.
I'm someone whose life has been enriched with music since the age of 4.
My grandmother is a piano teacher. Has been, for years. She started me off playing classical piano at the ripe age of four years old. I learned to listen to music and be able to play it. Then, I learned to read music and play it. When I was old enough not to fall asleep while sitting in one place for more than two hours, I accompanied her to the symphony. For years, my weekends were spent with my grandmother as we attended the symphony to hear countless renditions, interpretations and presentations of artists that I have long since forgotten their names, but not their sounds.
I'm not going to lie; it's not like I never fell asleep during it. But the sounds played over and over in my head.
My mother was a singer. She sang earlier in her career, and also had a long running singing gig in Hawai'i while living there. She still sings beautifully. When I was very young, she was part of a barbershop quartette and also a larger singing group. She would have the most beautiful outfits to wear...
My father would take me. He was never officially trained in music, but he was introduced to it young, I think, and took right to it. To this day he is playing around with new instruments all the time. (He doesn't have a singing voice). He plays fiddle, mandolin, pipeflute, irish-button-accordian, concertina, and a bit of piano.
I love my parents, and I love music.
While traveling through Europe, I wasn't on any normal tourist jaunt. I was traveling for myself, with myself, and had to deal -a lot- in myself. It's the hardest thing I've ever done.
I've been let down more than once, and hurt harder than I thought I could be.
It's exhausting; living.
and, Growing.
Somehow, someway, I learned the phrase "If you want to make God laugh, show him your plans."
and it came true...again, and...again.
But Somehow, Someway... I ended up with an apartment in Vienna, Austria; with friends that started becoming very close; with a family-type atmosphere here; with someone who has filled my life in a way I didn't think it could be filled.
And, with a determination to study at the Konservatorium Wien Privat; Private music conservatory.
I wanted to study opera there. I spent more than the tuition on vocal coaches to get my voice in shape for the audition. I was excited but not hopeful the first day.
and... I made it in! Off to the 2nd round.
I was nervous.
and...
I had an apartment, three flatmates that had become friends, and to whom I promised to stay and be a responsible rent-payer for the next year. -Even if I didn't make it into the conservatory. I had spent about 300 euros on elaborate lighting design in my room to make it feel less like an office and more like a dreamlike, artists home. I painted the walls with original designs I made myself. I even got into botany for the first time of my life and bought orchids. I had made the first jump in my life; the first commitment that a commitment-scared girl ever made. and not just ONE and not just ANY ONE COMMITMENT.
I made a commitment to stay, no-matter-what.
I made a commitment to find a way, even as a possibly Visa-less foreigner, to earn more than 300 euros per month to pay rent.
I made a commitment to find work, somehow, no-matter-what.
I made a commitment to live across an ocean, and a country, 12 hours by plane away from the only home I ever knew, for the first time in my life, to a country where people don't really smile at strangers, and don't speak my language, and I can't yet speak theirs well enough to explain WHY I smile at strangers.
I made a commitment to study music.
But I got rejected.
At least I have a home.
But I made plans. I was so afraid of taking that jump; of finally deciding to focus on the one thing that has always brought my passion, life, love, energy: MUSIC.
Another girl, Anastasia, who went before me and also made it to the 2nd round, flew all the way from Bulgaria to come and audition. Her family took all the money they had and put it into her training, and a train ticket there.
She got rejected, as well.
"C'est la vie" the french saying goes.
But now I have to figure out how to make a new plan.
They say that everything happens for a reason, and yes. Good did come out of this journey.
But I thought I was right; that what I was doing was right. And I just don't know why, yet.
Why did it lead me so far, to not bring me all the way?
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Bible and Information of the Heart
whether you HATE the Bible or religion or God, or whether you LOVE it...
stop quoting things you don't understand.
The mind may comprehend, but if the heart does not feel, it is worthless and shallow information.
All across and around the world, humans have created a God of some sort, by some name, with some definition.
Perhaps there is a Force which inspired these people, in the whole of the world, to create ’Him/Her’ in their culture and life. "perhaps perhaps perhaps" its some sort of phenomena...
But what is written on the page (most specifically in the Bible) is written by man. I say MAN not woman, only to stress the point -while I’m at it- that most of the Bible didn’t favor women; men wrote it. (Just pointing out one of the obvious human-faults marking the work here).
And not just any men wrote it. Men who considered themselves holy. and sometimes, the worst sins come from those who consider themselves holier-than-thou and above their fellow man.
So of course, the Bible, written by men (even with perhaps good intentions) is unfortunately governed as well by HUMAN LAWS of this world.
It is an interpretation in the sense it is not exact. There were no cameras and microphones, no live-streaming vidoes, not even scribes that recorded Jesus’ and all the other saints’ lives daily.
The Bible was written far after all those ’Miracles’ and "Saints" came upon us and happened.
Accuracy cannot be assumed.
So, in quoting the Bible, you are quoting man. Humans. Not God. Not even Jesus. Not REALLY.
It’s just not accurate, and people tend to misinterpret it.
Who am I to say that? Well, I have no authority; my word is not law. Do not take what I say as the absolute truth or knowledge of the matter.
But everytime I see more people going to church as a 'duty', my faith tends to drop a little in their ability to get real enlightenment out of their proclaimed 'faith' they stand so patriotically beside.
However, everytime I see or hear of or meet someone with genuine sincerity, with humble introspection, and who honestly comes to God (or whatever other name given such as Allah or Buddha or Rama) with love and adoration, I will not judge them; I only honor them. I even consider them a brother or sister of my own faith, because they are coming from the heart.
We are brothers and sisters of "The Faith of Love"; we come from the heart to seek the path to our own journey.
In my opinion, most of what was written, especially by Jesus (or in his quotes) was poetic.
"Do not throw pearls before swine" and all that.
Well, exactly! Don’t throw "exact meanings" and obvious answers in front of people who just DON’T GET IT.
Give them allusions, and metaphors... allow them to realize the deeper meaning within themselves.
Alot of ill has come of people taking the Bible too seriously. Word-for-word recitation, without a damndest clue of the meaning.
But my main issue here with people chattering and arguing...is that religions all over the world have something in common. They parallel each other.
And so I’m not limiting my view to the common and famous Bible.
the IDEA ITSELF of Jesus in India, as a recent topic came up about it as the film debut nears...
( www.jesus-in-india-the-movie.com )
is intriguing, and not all that impossible to believe, even without ’proof’.
India has apparently an entire different world and belief-system.
Imagine if Jesus Christ, the man, visited India; was taken into an ashram by some saint or guru; took his teachings back to his homeland and spread the words and beliefs that later got him killed...
In my eyes, people can believe that God is a terrible monster, but I won’t. I see the similarity and parallels in whatever religion I come across. and it’s not so terrible, really.
What man has written are children’s bedtime stories... to scare sinners into giving money for salvation... into forcing them into good behavior...
It was very 'dark-times' when the politics of Catholicism ruled. Things were changed and omitted in the Bible.
Man wrote it.
But just as the words should not be taken literally... so should you not take that idea of God literally. (The idea of God is not a mental excercise.)
Honestly, India has one thing in particular that I have adopted and love; the path of the spirit is through the heart.
even in reaching the thousand petal lotus, you must focus on the spiritual eye and feel your heart open with love.
I don’t care what you believe in; I don’t care what you call your "God".
those are more words to confuse and alienate.
Religion has a historical mark in this world, yes.... but spiritual paths came from it andmore likely inspired the creation of religion. Spirituality came before churches. It all started in the heart, as a spiritual, not political, thing.
So stop getting so political and literal.
If you want to know a story better, find the truth in what you feel. Not what you fear or hate. Not what you block out. Not what you decide is bullshit.
Dig through the bullshit that is written and find what is beneath it.
There is an entirely different kind of history that is not written in books... and it cannot be read by the eyes.
I’ve gotten a lot of information from an open mind and an open heart.
Think of everything as connected, for we as a collective human species are connected.
stop quoting things you don't understand.
The mind may comprehend, but if the heart does not feel, it is worthless and shallow information.
All across and around the world, humans have created a God of some sort, by some name, with some definition.
Perhaps there is a Force which inspired these people, in the whole of the world, to create ’Him/Her’ in their culture and life. "perhaps perhaps perhaps" its some sort of phenomena...
But what is written on the page (most specifically in the Bible) is written by man. I say MAN not woman, only to stress the point -while I’m at it- that most of the Bible didn’t favor women; men wrote it. (Just pointing out one of the obvious human-faults marking the work here).
And not just any men wrote it. Men who considered themselves holy. and sometimes, the worst sins come from those who consider themselves holier-than-thou and above their fellow man.
So of course, the Bible, written by men (even with perhaps good intentions) is unfortunately governed as well by HUMAN LAWS of this world.
It is an interpretation in the sense it is not exact. There were no cameras and microphones, no live-streaming vidoes, not even scribes that recorded Jesus’ and all the other saints’ lives daily.
The Bible was written far after all those ’Miracles’ and "Saints" came upon us and happened.
Accuracy cannot be assumed.
So, in quoting the Bible, you are quoting man. Humans. Not God. Not even Jesus. Not REALLY.
It’s just not accurate, and people tend to misinterpret it.
Who am I to say that? Well, I have no authority; my word is not law. Do not take what I say as the absolute truth or knowledge of the matter.
But everytime I see more people going to church as a 'duty', my faith tends to drop a little in their ability to get real enlightenment out of their proclaimed 'faith' they stand so patriotically beside.
However, everytime I see or hear of or meet someone with genuine sincerity, with humble introspection, and who honestly comes to God (or whatever other name given such as Allah or Buddha or Rama) with love and adoration, I will not judge them; I only honor them. I even consider them a brother or sister of my own faith, because they are coming from the heart.
We are brothers and sisters of "The Faith of Love"; we come from the heart to seek the path to our own journey.
In my opinion, most of what was written, especially by Jesus (or in his quotes) was poetic.
"Do not throw pearls before swine" and all that.
Well, exactly! Don’t throw "exact meanings" and obvious answers in front of people who just DON’T GET IT.
Give them allusions, and metaphors... allow them to realize the deeper meaning within themselves.
Alot of ill has come of people taking the Bible too seriously. Word-for-word recitation, without a damndest clue of the meaning.
But my main issue here with people chattering and arguing...is that religions all over the world have something in common. They parallel each other.
And so I’m not limiting my view to the common and famous Bible.
the IDEA ITSELF of Jesus in India, as a recent topic came up about it as the film debut nears...
( www.jesus-in-india-the-movie.com )
is intriguing, and not all that impossible to believe, even without ’proof’.
India has apparently an entire different world and belief-system.
Imagine if Jesus Christ, the man, visited India; was taken into an ashram by some saint or guru; took his teachings back to his homeland and spread the words and beliefs that later got him killed...
In my eyes, people can believe that God is a terrible monster, but I won’t. I see the similarity and parallels in whatever religion I come across. and it’s not so terrible, really.
What man has written are children’s bedtime stories... to scare sinners into giving money for salvation... into forcing them into good behavior...
It was very 'dark-times' when the politics of Catholicism ruled. Things were changed and omitted in the Bible.
Man wrote it.
But just as the words should not be taken literally... so should you not take that idea of God literally. (The idea of God is not a mental excercise.)
Honestly, India has one thing in particular that I have adopted and love; the path of the spirit is through the heart.
even in reaching the thousand petal lotus, you must focus on the spiritual eye and feel your heart open with love.
I don’t care what you believe in; I don’t care what you call your "God".
those are more words to confuse and alienate.
Religion has a historical mark in this world, yes.... but spiritual paths came from it andmore likely inspired the creation of religion. Spirituality came before churches. It all started in the heart, as a spiritual, not political, thing.
So stop getting so political and literal.
If you want to know a story better, find the truth in what you feel. Not what you fear or hate. Not what you block out. Not what you decide is bullshit.
Dig through the bullshit that is written and find what is beneath it.
There is an entirely different kind of history that is not written in books... and it cannot be read by the eyes.
I’ve gotten a lot of information from an open mind and an open heart.
Think of everything as connected, for we as a collective human species are connected.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Involving the Spirit with Nature (example)
let me tell you about the past hour
its 8:30 barely...on a Sunday evening in Vienna
maybe 8
maybe earlier
and the sky is still light blue fading into the night
the trees have been tousled around by the wind quite a bit
but a still has come over them
and its gentle blowing now
but the clouds darken the sky
and you can feel the heaviness in the air
there are little faraway rolling claps of thunder, barely audible for at least an hour, and you have wondered if it was in your head until now
when a flash of lightning flickers in the corner of your eye, catching your attention

in the next few minutes, on a hot and sunday that followed a very warm weekend, the clouds have had enough and break open with rain
rain that comes gentle at first, pitter patters, and I get up to close the windows, smelling the beauty of the rejuvinating, cleansing scent of rain filling the air
then as i'm sitting feeling the sky 'release' its cloud-knotted tension, it starts raining harder and harder
then SMACK
smack smack SMACK
the sound of hard white crystalline orbs hitting the window with little cracks
makes me wonder if it will break, but not with worry but excitement,
and just like that, huge hailballs are smack smack cracking upon the rooftops and windows, hitting the ground and turning to slush only to be rinsed away and melted by the coming rain, still mingling with its counterpart
the trees leaves are barely heard swishing in the wind
the lightning becomes only an accepted and expected effect
the thunder is on the level of your heartbeat, of your excitement, of your natural involvement with this miniphenomena of earth
the hail stops
the rain lessens
the sky is getting darker, and a few lightning bolts still flash over the last pink patch of fade-to-blue sky
and into the night the thunder is the only reminder that nature is working outside

and the lightning flashes, never ceasing its interest in the electric air
and never losing its beauty
its 8:30 barely...on a Sunday evening in Vienna
maybe 8
maybe earlier
and the sky is still light blue fading into the night
the trees have been tousled around by the wind quite a bit
but a still has come over them
and its gentle blowing now
but the clouds darken the sky
and you can feel the heaviness in the air
there are little faraway rolling claps of thunder, barely audible for at least an hour, and you have wondered if it was in your head until now
when a flash of lightning flickers in the corner of your eye, catching your attention

in the next few minutes, on a hot and sunday that followed a very warm weekend, the clouds have had enough and break open with rain
rain that comes gentle at first, pitter patters, and I get up to close the windows, smelling the beauty of the rejuvinating, cleansing scent of rain filling the air
then as i'm sitting feeling the sky 'release' its cloud-knotted tension, it starts raining harder and harder
then SMACK
smack smack SMACK
the sound of hard white crystalline orbs hitting the window with little cracks
makes me wonder if it will break, but not with worry but excitement,
and just like that, huge hailballs are smack smack cracking upon the rooftops and windows, hitting the ground and turning to slush only to be rinsed away and melted by the coming rain, still mingling with its counterpart
the trees leaves are barely heard swishing in the wind
the lightning becomes only an accepted and expected effect
the thunder is on the level of your heartbeat, of your excitement, of your natural involvement with this miniphenomena of earth
the hail stops
the rain lessens
the sky is getting darker, and a few lightning bolts still flash over the last pink patch of fade-to-blue sky
and into the night the thunder is the only reminder that nature is working outside

and the lightning flashes, never ceasing its interest in the electric air
and never losing its beauty
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