Thursday, June 21, 2007

The World Is One Country

Europe has come home with me to the United States. Friendships forged in Italy, Spain and France, continue here. I lost weight on my travels, and now I eat less and ride a bike. Some of my attitudes have changed, and I see more clearly how all people and nations are interdependent. Baha’u’llah, spoke over a century ago, saying, “The world is one country, and mankind its citizens.” He also said, “It is not his to boast who loveth his country, but it is his who loveth the world.”
I took many pictures while traveling. The painting above is from a photograph I took in Puglia, Italy. To see more, go to the Steven Boone website.

Thursday, June 07, 2007


Time is relativity, which helps explain why five days in Paris, now that I am leaving, seems like one. In Spain, my hours extended languidly in the mountains, like the sun crossing the sky. With only nature and a few friends to occupy my thoughts, lassitude existed in each moment. Stepping from that world into the swirling cultural vortex of Paris, a city with 2,160,000 people, the atoms of my being are stirred with a different excitement. Paris has over 70 Museums, monuments and cultural tourist stops. Some of the best art in the world is housed in Parisien Museums. Stimulation comes from every direction, jostling me to think and act. In a state of hyper-experience, moments pass by quickly. I am now engaged and dancing to the rhythm, but it is time to leave. I feel like Cinderella, who at the stroke of midnight, finds her time at the ball has been all too short.

Monday, June 04, 2007

This Is Paris

I sat down with a couple of friends at a table outdoors at a crowded Paris cafĂ© in the Latin Quarter. The evening was approaching midnight, and as we began talking, straining to hear each other amidst all the other simultaneous conversations pouring forth from the boisterous mob, a slight, elderly Parisian woman placed herself firmly at the curb and began singing. It was hard enough to hear our conversation, and now there was singing nearby to contend with. The woman wore makeup and dressed daintily. Her voice sounded frail as she gazed upward, sometimes using her hands for effect, and threw her melodies out to the group gathered directly in front of her. For some people, it was too much to compete with, and soon someone shouted at her, “ Shut up!” She ignored the insult and kept on without the least change of expression. Another man went up, put money in her hand and began singing alongside, but mockingly. She was unfazed. In between listening to my friends, at times I caught myself listening to her, surprised to hear some pleasing melodies in her song. When she finished, she put forth a cap for contributions, and then walked to another street corner to continue singing. “This is Paris,” I thought. All sorts of characters thrive here, adding their distinct form of panache to the pot of stew.