Friday, June 6, 2014

The Chaos of Desire

Arriving in Paris, white cave tunnels sing with symphonic overtures of magnificent sound. Seriously, there are speakers in the stone. I know I'm a sentimental baby and I know it's faux and still I cry in wonder knowing that something wonderful is about to happen. Indeed IS happening. And no it's not the jet lag.

Paris seems wIld with man's triumph over nature, embracing chaos with gardens both overgrown in disarray and manicured with pristine the same square. The harmony in this marriage is not necessarily soothing but has the ring of truth, yes?  Life would flow more smoothly if we agreed to accept the messy bits and co-exist. Managing gardens with precision is not only exhausting but denies chaos its remarkable teaching opportunities.  Like an apparition, the unknown enters best when left to its own devices.  And my part in this cacophony of living is to say yes. And so I do.

As man's testament to power and mastery echoes around us in stone, we indulge in earthly pleasures. From simple lunches in ornate gold-leafed rooms to sipping wines in sidewalk cafés, we open to the call of art.

The art of conversation. The art of food. The art of taste, both subtle and obvious. We crush ambivalence with the certainty that Paris, as a treasure trove of experience, offers its sweet and edgy mouth with the temptation of a lover, the softness of a kiss.

A French kiss. 

"Do you want me?" she asks.
Embrasse moi!

And I let that kiss fill me. The inhale soothes the raw places, letting light caress corners where I still tremble in the dark. 

ded by a sigh.

Authentically yours,

Madamoiselle Marty.