Mosaics

I’ve been trying to write more while I’m here in Greece—to capture and put down in writing the thoughts and experiences that are my life right now, to have them to look at and remember, to hold onto a piece of these wonderful moments as the winds of time fly by and try to blow them away, out of my hand and into the swirling air like so many leaves… And I’ve been pretty good about keeping up with my writing, in my own personal travel log/journal of sorts, if not always as consistently as I would like on this blog forum.

But even the daily journal entries I’ve managed to pen (or rather, type) won’t quite paint a picture complete—like a mosaic, gaps, even whole pieces of tiles, remain amidst the shattered attempt to piece back together the life that has happened in the time that has passed.  The writing that does occur, that has actually made its way to the page—the resulting mosaic—can still be beautiful, but it’s no photograph and will never exactly and wholly and completely replicate that life that has been lived (though we could even dispute the truth in photographs, but not here, or at least not now)…

So life happens.  And after it happens, it’s like you drop the tile (the day, the moment of life you just lived).  And there on the floor or the table lie the colorful shards of the time you’ve just lived, so fragmented are your thoughts about that day or that moment.  And you might write, to try to pick up the fragments and piece them together, recreate the image of life in a mosaic, or you can let them lie where they fall… 

And as you work, you may happen to pick up a piece rather jagged and jaded—you might try to handle a shard, a thought, too sharp and get cut in the process.  But even when you bleed, you don’t stop working, you can’t stop pressing forward (isn’t that what bandaids are for? J).  Just choose a new piece, or handle that sharp one with extra care, but always keep moving.  You don’t stop because it hurts.  You still work at your craft, because there’s beauty in the pain of creating, or in in this case recreating. 

Moreover, try as you might, you can’t save every piece.  You will inevitably miss one or two—or two hundred.  You might not even make it down to your studio for days—even weeks, months, years at a time…

But you think and you talk and you attempt to process and you think some more and you write… And maybe eventually you end up with a mosaic that helps, that heals; one that shows what life was or maybe what it wasn’t or maybe better than it was or if you’re lucky maybe you’ll wind up with a mosaic that unveils the spirit of that moment; one that you can share or keep secret or shatter again so you can try/create anew (or not…); one that’s beautiful, in spite of the gaps and even because of them…

So you write….. So I write….. What will this mosaic look like when I next view it?....

I started this mosaic in the moments before our plane took off to Istanbul last Friday.  I didn’t realize then that actual mosaics would be part of the landscape I viewed when I was there.  I didn’t know that my musings about mosaics in air would be reflected in the mosaics that have survived the test of time for hundreds of years.  And now I’m going back and looking at the words I used to create my mosaic for those moments on the plane,; and I’m adding to it, I’m re-piecing some of it, I’m making it into a mosaic to share with you.

Look now at these pieces arranged in the mosaic here—captured moments that followed in the wake of taking off:

We’re in the air.  What a strange thing it is to fly.  How incredible.  What a strange thing it is to be on a flight to Istanbul on a random Friday night in November with four friends brought together by circumstances too wild and crazy to trace, to meet an old friend about to be brought together with her by circumstances again too wild and crazy to trace.  How incredible.  This is my life right now.  And for this I am most definitely thankful.  This journal I write in now might become my travel diary by default (esp. as I go on these trips without a computer).  And oh, adventures there will be.  Many a mosaic will dance across these pages—tales from near and far.  See how the landscape can change depending on which piece you pick up and where you place it?

Who knew this thirst for adventure lay sleeping underneath the surface all these years?  Who knew the opportunity to quench it would present itself as it did? I’m so glad that it did…

Pick up these pieces, lay them down;

bright lights inside, dark all around.

One earbud in, now let’s make it two. 

How long since/‘till the couple next to me said/says “I do”. 

Four friends ahead, spread out on the plane;

one yet to meet us—stare out this clear pane.

Thoughtful reflections flow from this blue pen,

fragmented pieces to be picked up, when?

Adventure awaits, here even ‘fore we land. 

Trusting Your promise—keep us safe in Your hands…

In the time that has passed, there is life that’s been lived.  The pieces fall and break and my mind races with thoughts.  My hands move across these keys as my thoughts scan the shards.  I pick one up and examine it, pause to consider where it fits now in this new creation, this mosaic of those moments of life I’ve just lived.  Try and pick up those pieces.  Here’s where they wound up.  Here’s my mosaic…