Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Terra Unidad

"Remember the horror from which we came from. Never forget the greatness of a nation that has overcome its division. Let us never descend intro destructive divisiveness." Nelson Mandela

The world belongs to all who live in it . . .

Lets spread this idea nomadically, radically, and across all mind fields.

Geo-Pacificism "How geography could be used against the dangerous fabrications of politics"

Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels

From the Pacificism wave to Atlantean power . . .

Thursday, May 1, 2008


Granada, Spain

April 30th, 2008 The city smells of orange blossoms. The streets are narrow and crooked, crumbling and cobbled with rough gray stones. I get off the bus and walk out of my way, get lost, or am I just exploring?

I weave through the city neighborhoods and corners in the late afternoon known as the siesta slumber.

Granada means pomegranate in Spanish and the city is already revealing its wonderful red rubies to me. I finally make it to the hostel hidden in a small little placeta courtyard with windowsills decorated with hanging vines and purple and white begonias. I take off my pack and lock up my valuables quickly to rush back into streets in search for the perfect falafel pita. I find it for 3 euros at Kebab King, extra tzatiki sauce and hot peppers.

I walked toward a narrow street that is sandwiched between old apartment homes and Rio del Darro. The weather is cool in the shade but sparkling warm in the sun and a seat by the river seems just as appetizing as my juicy falafel pita.

I cross the precious arched foot bridge to the other side of the river to find a path down to hear the water passing by.

White cotton blooms are falling the sky and spring turns my eyes into blurry Picasso painted puffy circles. There are 6 white, gray and black speckled cats cruising along the sides of the river, a young girl reading a textbook, another long-haired young man smoking puro and mediating in lotus position. Someone is playing guitar on the upper ledge of the river.

The sun has gone over the Alhambra, and dusk is settling into the sky. The Spanish guitar chords are bleeding into the streets. Rooftops are dim and the sun casts a warm glow upon the Alhambra walls.

The sundown brings more people into the streets, more guitars melodies in the distance, with the birds singing an introduction piece as they fly sharing their song to every rooftop.

Who built these streets that thousands continue to get lost through each day? Each stone of the streets are laid out in a pattern and picture, sometimes even into a figure of a pomegranate, Granada. Tiny terraces and flowering plants frame each delicate window like a cherished family picture.

Granada. a fruit of many seeds

many histories

many more stories to share

to the melody of guitar plucks

through stories of flamenco.


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