The Flaws in its Sunrise

Here we are, at the doorstep to another adventure in Paris. A place that elicits such emotions out of me on a personal level, as a citizen of the world and as just another human being. I understand. Nothing is flawless. Some carry an idealistic notion within themselves where nothing is truly flawed. While I do not count myself as those that carry such notion, it is worth mentioning that perhaps it is ok to focus on the positives, the magical and the truly inspiring.

I'd like to think I am aware of the world's problems at a micro level. How can you not be at this stage where everything is televised, tweeted, and so on...? I know the problems that plague cities such as Paris, like other major European cities. The stigma of poverty and cultural indifference permeates the air, and if you let it, can sweep you into its own tumultuous machinery of self-loathing, pity and remorse.

But that is not why I am here in one of the most truly awe-inspiring places on Earth. I am here to escape the day to day, to a place which clings to me as if part of my very air. It is an ethereal feeling that I long for, one I have yet to find elsewhere. There are magical properties in the breeze, in the sky, in the smells coming from all directions. In some cases, you feel as if you've time-traveled to a realm of magic and mystery.

On my last trip, I visited several of the more renown churches in the city, each with its own character, its own aroma. Faded memories permeated these structures and the musty air reminded one of ancient times where historical events took place. Weddings, baptisms, funerals; these are the common visitors that have strolled their halls and have approached their altars. What I witnessed was distinctly different. Prayer. In the middle of the day. In nooks and crannies, near the altar, everywhere. Faith, in a world that's almost forgotten the word's significance. To believe without evidence, whether physical or by other means. To hold onto hope when none should exist.

The events of these past few months, the Ukraine/Russia struggle, the massacres in Gaza, the many lives lost in recent air strikes and accidents, have impacted me one way or another. And perhaps as I get older I become more sensitive to the struggles of others. At the same time, I cannot let these things unsettle me.

Why Paris? Because it does not pretend to be something it is not. It is flawed, it harbors poverty, it can be culturally indifferent. It is also magical, magnificent, spellbinding in a way almost too complex to put in words. I long to be there and count the raindrops and watch the sun rise and surrender myself to hope. A solemn feeling of hope, that things will get better, before they become progressively worse. That perhaps it is not too late for us still.

For now, I will crash weddings as I did the last time. I will sit and watch the sky change colors. I will walk through cobbled streets that lead to unexpected paths. I will drink copious amounts of wine and wallow in the pursuit of happiness, even if it's for a mere seven days while speaking broken French. Life is short.