There is something comforting about hotel lobbies. Like being in front of a portal to a world where you are simply a guest. No commitments, no expectations, no definite plans. I am here just for a while, I don’t need to own this place to enjoy it. I take in the scent of overpowering restroom airfreshners – which I would never use at home – and I vibrate with the expectations of discovering the place. Why do I feel so good about this blissful uncertainty and change completely once the holiday is over? Our whole lives are temporary stop-overs in places we call ‘homes’. Do we really enjoy them better because we give them a permanent status? Because they are full of stuff we call ‘our own?’
It’s no coincidence that I have been reading “Tomorrow’s God” by Neale Donald Walsch when the events in Paris happened.
And even though Walsch says that any act of violence is a cry for help, is so hard to look at the attackers and admit that they are merely the embodiment of our collective failures in how we treat one another. Hundreds of years of bowing to fictional descriptions of a series of Gods who are continually separating us from one another. It was such a tough mirror to face.
So, like never before, I was so proud to be a human being when people gathered in Paris and other cities of the world, showing that Life, above all, is what we treasure most and what unites us all.
Many humble thanks go to everyone who was out there on the streets marching on behalf of Life today. With your permission, from the wild northwest of Donegal where I am now, I would like to call you all my different other selves and join in your diversity and solidarity.
“Tomorrow’s God is separate from nothing, but is everywhere present, the All in All, the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the sum total of everything that ever was, is now and ever shall be.” N.D. Walsch
“Tomorrow’s God is not a singular Super Being, but the extraordinary process called Life.” N.D. Walsch
I believe the initial idea of the afternoon tea was to feed the hunger and satisfy the thirst of those who were too passionate to converse, to stop the flow of ideas….
…writing and how a forgotten red scarf on a chair can tell a story…
… time passing and how sometimes the memories of smell and taste overwhelm those of faces…
… should a scone have a crusty top or be more like a brioche?
… art nouveau and how some places are like a magnet for our romantic fantasies…
… chocolate and love and how the simple thought of the separating them is hard to imagine…
Met this passionate and talented photographer recently in Dublin and I am glad to share one of his posts.
Originally posted on EdMooneyPhotography:
For my final instalment with a horror theme for this year, I find it quite poignant that my journey ends not only with the Bram Stoker Festival but also with an insight into another’s adventure, in search of the elusive character that many believe was the basis for Bram Stokers Count Dracula. It all stated some weeks ago after writing an article on Bram Stoker for this blog. I was contacted by a fellow Photographer/Blogger Columbia Hillen. To cut a long story short I was kindly invited to attend a lecture given by her Husband John in the Mansion House. Born in Belfast, Northern Ireland John Sean Hillen is a seasoned journalist & editor with more than 30 years’ experience, working for various media organisations. During the course of his career he has covered many of the world’s hotspots, from the Troubles of Northern Ireland…
View original 520 more words
At this time of year I always get asked the question: “Was Dracula real?”
Growing up in Transylvania, in a small town in the mountains, where old traditions are still preserved and even today, people gather and play cards in the graveyards on Easter night, definition of real has so many meanings.
As a child, when my grandmother was telling me that if I don’t come back before dinner time, the ‘strigoi’ will get me. Did I ever see one? Of course, with my imagination’s eyes, I can describe it even now. Was he real? My grandmother said so even if she could not really remember if she ever saw one.
And then, as I grew up, there was “Zburatorul,” a being that, if I was not careful enough, would come to torment me at night with the pain of longing, the torture of being away from the loved one…we all know some aspects of this kind of pain and it’s so very real when we feel it.
Is there any connection between the literary character and the Romanian voivode, Vlad The Impaler who managed to keep the Ottoman Empire at bay in the sixteenth century? Maybe. They are both very powerful men and Vlad is mentioned even now by people in Romania as a hero, whom we would welcome anytime to come back and put things right in the country.
During his time, his reputation as a just and decisive leader was so strong, that public fountains had golden cups (no one would dare to steal them) and no honest person would starve or lack a roof over their head.
How do you know something or someone is really real?
I am looking forward to the talk this Saturday in Dublin, as part of the Bram Stoker Festival, where a variety of people will be trying to search for meanings into one of the most fascinating characters, which have inspired so many people and who, in my opinion, for that reason alone, is as real as one can be.
Note: If you find yourselves in Avignon, France, make sure to go and see the night show at the Pope’s Palace (some of the photos are taken there) … and ask yourselves what is reality?
I have left parts of myself in each corner of the world where I have travelled. The moment I stopped and fully realized I was THERE, a thin slice of my being got imprinted on that spot and in exchange, part of the energy that made that place unique, became part of me.
That’s how I became ‘me’ of today, from the multitude of vibrations I now carry, speaking to me of the places where my feet walked or my eyes admired.
If, one day, I could only photograph the images I carry in my heart of all these places, of all those faces, of my own soul smiling at the miracle of diversity that makes us all…