Good Sunday morning

It is not like everyday that I get to wake up, drink a cup of tea with the sunlight pouring in from my window onto my table. This morning had to be one, so I have decided.

One of my favorite pictorial fragments of San Francisco is the oily green lemon tree leaves offsetting the golden lemons, standing in front of the backdrop of the blue San Franciscan sky. But one of my most cherished experience in San Francisco comes from exactly a week ago.

Last Sunday morning was a chilly and gloomy one. The fog that accumulated during the night has not yet cleared up. It was nearly 10:30 AM, and I went to wait at the bus stop for the bus that was to take me to church, where I was to visit for the first time. The route was, of course, one that I had never taken before also.

The bus arrived exactly on time. I got on the bus, took a seat by the window. The route was not exactly the most scenic one, but it was warmly quiet and peaceful. Down the winding road, it was obvious that we were journeying on a hill, that sometimes through the gap between two houses I can see the valley. I don’t remember when it first caught my eyes but a charming Tudor house appeared for the brief minute or two I could muster while the bus drove by, and the next thing I new more houses of the Italian style started to emerge. The cobble steps, the flowers and the windows that seemed to lead into intriguing secrets from each households, I knew I was not in San Francisco, I was not in 2012, and I was not on a bus. The mist flowed around, houses kept appearing and disappearing, and yet time was suspended. A beautiful fountain was there, in the middle of a road. Our carriage had to go around it. I could hear the giggles from the girls from Jane Austin’s novels, I could see the English garden just 10min walk away. It was all misty, and still.

As we reached the end of the road, I saw a muni car waiting on the other road we were reaching. No, we were on a bus not a carriage afterall. But was it real? I was for a brief moment transported to a completely different reality. All came about from nowhere, with no expectations.

I felt so satisfied. A feast of beauty.

Later on I looked up the neighborhood I went through, it was called “St.Francis Wood”. But it didn’t matter what it was called. Or to what fame an renown it associated itself. It was a moment of unexpected wonder that unfurled itself onto my experience, serendipity to the fullest extent.

And that’s what life is about, isn’t it?

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I am in San Francisco

Dear world, dear self,

I have not felt such a strong urge to write in a long time. It is 1:10 AM in beautiful San Francisco, and I am sitting in front of my newly acquired computer with a cup of aromatic chamomile tea, desiring not to rest but to write. The only reason, for the first time in my life I believe, is that from the depth of my being I have a need to write again.

I has taken me, up to today, 3 weeks to finally believe that I am in San Francisco, enrolled in a chamber music program and doing what I have always been so passionate to do. It in itself is truly a wonder, for which I have always been so in awe and so grateful.

Today was just another day. Yet, with all the musical ideas I have received from my lesson on Op.110, it felt like I’m probing into a distant memory. Closer to understanding a vast inner world, and thus living a different present reality. In the past week, the amount of coachings I have received was overwhelming, and I think if I do not try to straighten them up every day or so, they will be all cluttered and useless.

I have begun to observe that the older we grow, there seems to be more of a desperate need to simplify. Simplify the shaping of a phrase, the observing of a harmonic change, and our way of experiencing.

I am afraid that I must say goodnight now.