As I sort my way through Jet-lag and half-emptied suitcases, I post the first in the Disfrutar series, musings from my sojourn in Spain.
Day dawns primordial pink, even over Irving, Texas.
It lifts the curtain of darkness with the corners of its luminous grin,
An old and knowing friend more reliable than my own faith….
My own faith, which falters, a shark caught in nets of outgrown biography, dulled imagination, suffocating circumstance.
Some souls, like sharks, need movement to live, need fresh experience flowing through their gills to oxygenate their mission, as they patrol the sea of humanity, praying more than preying…and pollinating.
Outside the Red Roof Inn, grackles—dollar a dozen dervishes—squeal with delight,
the same explosive squeal here as everywhere—Phoenix to Miami—
the same precious, exuberant, unfettered delight—
pops the bubbles of ferment,
pierces the swollen film around this heart.
Joie de Vivre needs no translation.
In their explosive, laughing peals echoes the voice of A.K.,
short for “African King,” he insists, until I demonstrate sympathetic familiarity with Arabic.
Then Akmiel, my Ethiopian taxi man tells me it means “complete.”
He is Prophet King of the Grackle Tribe, and my own wake up call:
“In America, Life is Good,” he says, “I love my job…
We have water to drink and a shower every morning…!”
So do I.
When did my heart wander from its home among the grackles?
No matter; they never missed me; and the dawn tells me it’s never too late to rejoin the party. It never stops.
And the password is always “Thank You.”