The Material Vs. The Spiritual: Or, The Lost Camera And The Divine

I was sitting on the street.  Passerby ignored me for the most part.  I couldn’t remember another time when I’d been so pissed off at myself. 

Earlier I had waltzed into a fast-food joint after a great, long day of walking.  Nature was calling loudly, so I promptly strolled into the restroom, took off my backpack and jacket and camera.  Afterward I picked up my jacket, stuffed it into my backpack (because it was beginning to clear up outside), threw my backpack over my shoulder, then washed my hands and got out of the box of a restroom it was.  Then it was time to get on the wi-fi here and see if my girlfriend-at-the-time was ready to video-chat with me. 

Five minutes went by before I noticed my camera wasn’t on me. 

Wait; surely I put it in the backpack, as I always do….  I zipped open the backpack, took out the jacket…nothing.  I opened up the other compartments; nothing.  A cold lump sank into my stomach.  Then, hopelessness, because this place was busy when I got here and it was still busy.  No….  I swiped up all my stuff, stood in the line again.  The cold lump in my stomach was pulsing as steadily as my rage, and when the restroom finally became available I went in. 

Nothing.  The floor was clear.  My stomach was not.  I was fuming. 

I walked back out.  I couldn’t believe it.  I’m sure people noticed me scowling, trying to breathe a typical breath.

I made a feeble attempt to ask a worker if somebody had just turned in a camera to the front counter.  Maybe altruism wasn’t dead in the world yet.  He said he was unsure in his not-so-sure English.  He went to check with the cashiers.  That minute passed like a glacier.  He came back and said the cashiers were not approached with a lost camera. 

The hopelessness rose up to consume me like a fast, cold mist.  There I was, now lost, and furious.

That camera was starting to become an extension of myself, the main way I interacted with the world.  With it I was beginning to dig deep into the art of photography.  With it I was taking pictures for my blogging for readers like you.  With it I was traveling in my own true way. 

Poof; gone.  The blog; over.  The way I traveled and interacted with the world; done.  My rage; overflowing.  I left the fast-food joint wanting to scream. 

Near the scene where I sat and seethed.

So there I was, sitting on the sidewalk, so pissed off, sitting as if to suppress the cap on all that rage trying to escape like toxic gas under pressure.  …Meanwhile that pressure was incinerating all of my memories of the day; all the pictures I had taken (NOOOO; I hadn’t backed up anything for a week!); all the joy I’d felt walking around Stockholm.  Seething, I took out my phone, though it felt like a turd in my hand.  I wanted to crush it into the sidewalk, but instead I got on the crappy wi-fi and messaged my girlfriend-at-the-time.  I wrote that I didn’t feel like talking.  She wrote back to me that it’s fine, she understood, but don’t do anything rash.  I didn’t follow that advice; shortly after signing offline I stood—because I couldn’t take containing all that pressure anymore—and slammed my fist into some billboard on the wall.  Everybody at the bus stop adjacent to me turned.  Well, I never did do well in these situations. 

But that was the last time I did anything that stupid.  I didn’t feel any better, which was worse.  What an embarrassing waste of energy.  I walked off with eyes staring at me.

The meal I had was fantastic.  And then at the end of the meal....

I walked (albeit like a rusted crane) back toward Gamla Stan, and then decided to try overly hard to cheer myself up by sitting down to a wonderful dinner within sight of Storykyran.  At the end of the meal all my rage came boiling back up again like a laser to my cranium: my card would not be accepted.  ARE YOU F$#@ing KIDDI….  I calmed myself, breathed deeply, punched the PIN number in again.  And again.  And again…(no, I could SWEAR it was this number...ok maybe not, it’s the number I was using before…).  I did this fifteen or twenty times.  Nothing.  I went to owner (feeling absolutely pathetic in my own skin), telling him my card wasn’t working and that I’ll be right back, I need to find an ATM.  He was a hard-looking man: stern chin, piercing blue eyes, and a face more long than square.  Those piercing eyes immediately caught me off guard when he smiled at my explanation.  Surprisingly down-to-earth and generous, he didn’t hesitate to let me go. 

I got to the ATM.  …NOTHING.  DECLINED.  I didn’t notice the time passing.  Instead I thought my head was inflating.  While trudging back to the restaurant, each step I took pumped in more rage—air, gas, fumes, whatever.  It was a test of utmost patience, and I kept it.  The amount of effort to maintain my patience, to make sure it stayed on the blade-edge, was tremendous.  Then again…does a balloon shake in convulsions when it’s about to burst?  

I knew I must have been some sort of beggar-wreck when I pleaded with the owner, pleaded that I’d bring the money the next day.  Ever more surprisingly, he was generous to me.  Again.  I was so enraged and distraught at the whole day that I didn’t notice just how much understanding this man was giving me.  Furthermore, during the long walk back to the ship I was so enraged and distraught that nothing of Stockholm’s beauty moved me.  I noticed nothing to be good or worthy of my attention, for I was staring down an endless funnel.  Apathy held me in that line of vision.  I could have been walking in Antarctica for all it mattered (which was very little).  I knew only the inflated feeling of humiliation, anger, and failure. 

I sauntered, slightly stumbling, in
no mood to take a taxi,
in no mood to do much
of anything but
slightly stumble along.

Even when I approached the King's Garden...I just couldn't
feel.

The next morning I woke up with an odd feeling of fullness.  Was it the duty and determination to get this owner and his restaurant paid?  Yes…something changed in me.  Finally I was allowing that man’s empathetic nature to filter through my barrier of self-absorption.  There was a goal to this day, and I was going to see it through. 

After breakfast I approached the gangway, two ATM cards in my wallet (the two I knew would work in Sweden’s transaction machines), and my IPod.  I would need music today.  Security was coaxing me to go back to the fast-food joint. “You should really check to see if someone’s turned something in.  Maybe someone came back today and turned it in, you never know.

“Yes; also, there are the police.  You can call them and tell them about you case.”

I didn’t think calling the police would have helped.  Sure, they might be able to locate the thief via the joint’s camera surveillance, but then again the ship wouldn’t be back in Stockholm for another three weeks after today….  I eventually crossed the threshold, saying that I would check the joint again.  In reality I had to pay off a restaurant bill.  I didn’t tell them that, though; it was still ridiculous to admit that on top of my lost camera. 

I brought my phone with me to use as a camera.  It would not feel right; it would not be the same; it did not do a fourth of the things my camera did.  Exposure was inconsistent, even with HDR on.  There was no white balance control, though the colors were usually accurate (emphasis on “usually”).  The more I zoomed in, the more atrociously the sharpness of the image fell.  No; this wasn’t my camera, my tool for interacting with the world.  Today, at the very least, it would be. 

If I felt up to it, I would try to revisit those places I’d seen yesterday to recapture all those scenes now lost.  I still felt defeated.  Since I did not have the money to invest in a new camera, I saw no chance to continue to provide a good crop of pictures for my future blogs.  This phone would be adequate at best. 

Just as I walked off the gangway, the day loomed forth as delicate as silk, as formidable as time…  What was this?  …The air was fresh, clear as crystal.  …There was never a sky so purely blue, never clouds so much like works of art…  …The temperature wrapped me up like a warm blanket on a cool day.  …And the breeze was rushing, galloping with utmost grace.  The heavy mist that was shrouding me—that entire nihilist dampening—was blown away. 

Was this really the same boring dock?  The same part of Stockholm I knew?  It was like that scene where Dorothy timidly emerges from the battered cabin into the absolute wonder that is the land of Oz. 

A shot from the outskirts of downtown that captures in the best way
the essence of the day that showered over me.

The earth was iridescent, thriving, from sky to ground.  It took only a few moments for the day before to shrink into insignificance.  I stood for many more moments in thanks to being alive.  

Then, making every step mindful, I set off.  Wonder filled me, as I’m sure it filled Dorothy….  Time slipped gently away as I was given energy from timeless things.  There was the air, filling my parched lungs.  The sun, and its perfect embrace.  The breeze, sweeping through my hair and caressing me like a lifetime lover.  And to think, I was only here, walking the outskirts of Stockholm toward its breathtaking centre....  But it was more than walking.  I was one with that breeze, one with it all.  I rode toward the glory of Stockholm, that Emerald City in the distance with which I was already familiar.

Indeed there were beautiful vibrations in the air, but I also needed to put on some beautiful music to complement those vibrations.  The music called to me again, the same as yesterday’s: The Brian Blade Fellowship Band.

I have been listening to this group heavily since I started working on ships.  Their sound has spoken to me about my travels in the most epic ways.  I've spent many a time immersed in that sound.  It complements what I have seen arguably more than any other artist or group by whom I have been inspired in these years of traveling. 

The most recent album from The Brian Blade Fellowship is Landmarks.  Until yesterday I hadn’t listened to it all.  I found out about it a few months before that, and I had to have it.  “Ark.La.Tex” was one of the pieces that stuck with me the most while walking around Gamla Stan the day before (and also before I waltzed into the fast-food joint).  The piece is especially contemplative—almost somber—given the melody in the piano’s low register.  To me it had reflected the stunning architecture of the old town: its cobblestones, its winding pathways, and the iconic towers of Storkyrkan:

And of Tyska Kyrkan, or the German Church:

And of the alluring Riddarholmskyrkan:

The unique and mesmerizing steeple of the Riddarholmen Church in the distance.  More pictures of
this important place later....

On the music:

“Ark.La.Tex” is intriguing in that as soon as the piano has firmly established its Gregorian-chant-like melody, the entire band kicks in with a back-beat groove underneath an all-at-once energetic, more positive sound.  It’s almost akin to being deep in thought about something earnest, then coming to a startling epiphany.   While the earthen, medieval-chant melody of the piano had drawn me to this—indeed—medieval part of Stockholm, it’d been that epiphany-like change in the sound which instantly made me grasp more of what was around me in Gamla Stan.  Scenery and music had come together, representing each other so well that I’d thought the overall experience would be lesser if one of the two components were missing.  It’ll never cease to amaze me how music can come to resemble that which you see.  And vice-versa.

Sometimes the music just makes you feel great about your surroundings without the imposition of music to surroundings or vice versa.   True, I’d felt wonderful walking through Gamla Stan without the music on.  But then I’d decided to listen to a piece entitled “Bonnie Be Good,” and I’d felt even better.  It’s a moving piece from start to finish, but it hits hard with the giant, emotional tenor solo from Melvin Butler in the middle and through toward the end.  Listening to the piece grow while witnessing all the people around me in this fantastic area had elevated me to a place where I did not only feel joy, but I could touch it. 

And then I had made my way toward that fast-food joint to go to the restroom, and I dropped everything, picked MOST of it up, I LEFT my goddamn camera!...  Ok; ok, I thought.  Calm yourself.  This is a shining day today.  Forget about yesterday.  Listen to your spirit; it wants nothing more than to come forth today. 

The breeze, the sun, the trees, and the air were perpetual.  No…omnipresent.  I could hear Brian Blade’s music in it all; the echoes of what had already been played, the vibrations of music that continues to vibrate throughout the world and probably the Universe.  I was tuned in to that music, and now I needed to hear it.

On the music:

A shot from one year ago, on a day almost the same as this day.  There was one

thing about this day that was different, and that was the heavenly breeze.

As per yesterday I started with the first track off of Landmarks.  “Down River” is more of an intro into the title track, eerie but happy within all its bending pitches.  The title track, “Landmarks,” begins with familiar pop chords I am used to hearing from the Brian Blade Fellowship.   However, things are calm.  A bass solo by Chris Thomas opens up over these chords and Blade’s delicate but loving groove.  The piano is in the background but also as loving.  The best thing about this group is that the calmer it gets, the more deep and meaningful it gets.  So in “Landmarks,” when the group starts to grow from this calm, meditative place…well, words seem somewhat inadequate to describe that which is already fulfilling and then evolves….  A soprano sax solo by Melvin Butler takes over the sound after the bass solo.  The dynamics of the group increase to a level powerful enough to make a stance in the face of something like ignorance and intolerance.  The depth and meaning of the entirety of the “Landmarks” track gave brilliance to this already brilliant day: the breeze became something out of heaven; Apollo was smiling down on the land; the air cured all ailments…. 

Since walking off the ship I knew something was there in my heart; a concentrated ball of inspiration, of euphoria.  The farther I walked, the more that small ball of good energy expanded throughout my body.

I tuned in only to my surroundings after the piece ended.  I’ve learned that to focus on nature’s music is more refreshing than mountain spring water.  I had my fill once I found my mind tuning in to Brian Blade again…what was that track I was listening to yesterday that was so great…had so much to offer….  Ahhhhh, I know. 

On the Music:

Another shot from that same day around a year ago.

Also off of Landmarks, “Farewell Bluebird” has become one of my favorite Fellowship pieces.  The piece starts off firmly in A minor.  In a triple feel, it begins with the piano and bass, low, dignified, and sure.  The piece grips right away as Melvin Butler’s tenor sax enters with this bluesy but intensely determined melody.  Blade’s cymbal work adds atmosphere, like crystal shimmering in the sky.  The second time though the melody belongs to Myron Walden on the alto sax, singing over sweeping harmonies bolstered by Butler.  It all builds…and builds…until a stupendous climax on a high A accompanied by a series of immense chords meant to say, “it’s not the best part yet!”  The best part is when a re-statement of a motif comes back, then builds up again into another gigantic climax that lands on D major….  (For you music geeks, the A minor, firmly established, essentially resolves to D major, v-I.  It gives the whole piece that extra emotional punch!).  The piece dies down from here with a descending bass line and chords that cradle the last statements of the melody in a kind of satisfying finality.  The great songwriting skill with which Blade infuses this music is very apparent in this piece. 
“Farewell Bluebird” then settles into a delicate tone for a piano solo by Jon Cowherd that sounds like songbirds through the fields, over the horizon.  Blade really lets loose in bouts of soloistic creativity, while Chris Thomas forms various triple-feel foundations of rock-steady bass notes to hold it all together. 

Emotional chills stuttered through me.  I never had the notion that something already brilliant could brighten.  Starbursts have their limits compared to this. Anything and everything suddenly glistened with the likes of benevolence.  Nature, sun, and wind rushed past and (I could swear) through me.  Gradually my perception evolved.  …Was I on another plane of existence, elevated over the gorgeous Earth?  Happiness washed over me, permeating my reality.  The rest of the negativity in my mind was disintegrated once and for all.  Yesterday might have been a dream for all I knew…. 

I was taking it all in….  The road to the main downtown area continued, time was still malleable and expansive, my surroundings glittered like diamonds….  My awareness was fully attentive to this transcendental place.  While in this state I noticed something that, though a coincidence, seemed like it may not have been.  The coincidence was that “Farewell Bluebird” entered into an entirely new section at the moment I noticed mounted soldiers walking along the road. 

There have been a handful of times when the music I’d been listening to changed at the right moment to reflect what I’d come across, whether it was an incident, a new area, or a noticeable group of people.  Today it was the mounted soldiers.

On the Music:

The piano solo ends, and then the piece re-states some of that intense melody before entering into a G major section accompanied by an acoustic guitar.  My oh my…that section alone is absolutely wonderful.  I’ve listened to it many times since while walking through parks or gardens because it has such a natural, rustic quality in its sound. 

This shot was taken shortly after I'd passed 
the mounted soldiers.

But a tutti blues riff into a heavy statement of D minor interrupts this section.  Instantly this blues riff takes over.  And then…the rustic G major section comes back.  But then BAM!, the blues riff takes over again!  The piece leaps into a solid blues state, wailing guitar solo and all, except that the collective improvisation of jazz is very much present.  Marvin Sewell slams it on that guitar.  This blues section, and especially the riff that sets it up, bounded through my head as I saw the mounted soldiers.  It was like their theme.  This was the scene from a film, and Sewell's guitar arrived just in time, I could swear….  Dignified and strong, their presence matched the sound I was hearing.  It was wild!

Did the Universe have this coincidence of Music and Life planned?  Did the Universe think it was a coincidence?  Did I?  Well…when things like this happen, my belief in coincidence is certainly put to the test! 

What I didn't know was that this belief in coincidence would be shaken again, to the point of rupture. There was a threshold in my near-future, a horizon that would begin to outshine that which was already shining....

(NOTE: out of respect, I took no pictures of the soldiers.  They were doing exercises right on the road, and I just didn’t want to be overly “tourist”).  

I continued down the road, leaving the scene behind.  The music continued to color this already fantastic reality.  After the blues portion of the piece the texture diminishes to piano, bass, and drums: all the while they generate the ostinato pulse that is first played at the beginning of the piece.  Butler’s tenor sax comes in, riffing and contributing to this beautiful, almost philosophical breakdown…. 

It was likes walking out of a dingy biker bar and into the clear, bright weather along a dusty highway road.  I saw the horizon, over the vastness of the flat desert landscape where time gathers to work its wonder.  Time stretched and contracted freely today, nearly as elusive as it was illusory.  This mystery continued to wrap me gently within my transcendental state, and so I remained captivated in the promise of the day ahead, where an Emerald City lied in wait. 

The Stockholm Olympic Stadium on that day one year ago in the
light of the afternoon.

Once the music ended I felt the need to listen only to the world again.  It was then when I realized the Olympic Stadium was rearing itself in my path, standing starkly on my right.  
This was the harbinger; for there, two blocks ahead, the stupendous beauty of Stockholm begins with these gorgeous buildings.  Like decorated, lavish fortress walls they stood, separating the outside world from the Emerald City within….

This path I’ve trodden once before…just as before, the change in atmosphere is stunning.  A normal road and its normal atmosphere swiftly become regal, rife with historical and breathtaking atmosphere.  To let it wash over you is as inevitable as it is desirable.  Here’s the best thing about it: that feeling does not halt, for Stockholm—from here and in any new direction you take—has magic through every street and around every corner. 

I knew that picking any direction from here would bring something grandiose and awe-inspiring:  

Straight ahead would bring me to a canopy-filled park surrounded on all sides by decadent buildings of centuries past.  

I knew that walking right would lead me along a perfectly picturesque walk in the center of the street.  

And if I walked left…

Ok; to be honest I’ve never walked in that direction.  But I’m sure I would have found great things!  That picturesque walk leads both left and right, so you can't really go wrong!

Today I chose to walk a different way, around the perimeter of the canopy-filled park and then right, down a small street ridden with the not-so-wonderful sight of construction.  Yet it was still wonderful; this was Stockholm, my Emerald City…. 

Then, sure enough, this street spilled onto something grandiose and awe-inspiring.  Before me was a clearing.  At the center of this stood tall Engelbretkskyrkan, on an even taller hill.  Regality filled the air.  

Artist unknown for this piece of work.

There was a soundless call.  That all-giving insistence of music is so familiar to me now.  Without hesitation I put on more of Brian Blade’s music.  It was needed while the embrace of the day and of the Earth was still extraordinary and better than love. 

On the Music:

“If You See Lurah,” off of the Fellowship's debut album, is a piece that starts out immediately with an overall uplifting sound.  The form is interesting because it appears to be through-composed; the ideas and sections come almost freely throughout the piece.  These textures and the playful melodies continue into—and indeed, appear to set up—a driving ostinato-pulse.  It is driving, but it starts from the softest, most distant part of the piece.  It builds great anticipation.  This section is the crutch of the piece in my opinion.  It is the thing that connects all the playful material from the first part of the piece and the more energetic parts at the end of the piece.

I let this ostinato fill my mind….  Its nature of anticipation, of something grand to come, paralleled this day.  Through any street, around any corner, I would find something grand.  I would find much and more underneath this azure sky painted with whitest cloud.  The sun blanketed my body and comforted me as much as it energized me.  This breeze---oh, the breeze!—was joyously relentless.  Perhaps it was indeed coming not from the Earth, but from the heavens; a celestial wind, whose wish it was to filter through that azure sky in order to bring eons of healing and health from millions of light years away.  It filled the world, caressing it as a mother does her babe.  “If You See Lurah” helped me witness that.

The piece finished.  Yet the vibrations my mind picked up were those of the ostinato section, of that nature of anticipation.  I looked at this shining day as I went from Engelbretkskyrkan; people bounding past, buildings glowing in the light and shadow, reality growing with divine aspiration…. 

And as I continued listening to the Brian Blade Fellowship, my wandering brought me into a drop-dead gorgeous part of the city.  Both the embrace of the Earth and of the music flooded my senses like golden ambrosia. 

I couldn’t wait to see what was over the horizon.  I thought I had crossed it when I entered this part of the city.  But no; this was only the beginning.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that horizon leads off the Earth, and into somewhere eternal….

Ah!  Wait!  I had been completely ignoring the logistical problem.  I was lost!  Huh; when did that happen?  I suppose it’s easy to get lost when immersed in the supernatural.  Right; my camera, I thought.  Ah, but does it matter?  Kind of…wow, I can’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation anymore.  It was such a big deal yesterday….  And now?  I didn’t know.  I decided—though the decision felt almost needless—to find the direction of the fast food joint.  Hmmm…maybe that direction.  But every direction glowed in an ardent hue, not of this world, ancient with countless years.  

I decided to go that direction, to try to find the fast food joint more out of curiosity than to actually recover my camera.  As of that moment, existence itself was the best feeling.  It had been since I left the ship that morning.  What is more utterly rewarding than appreciating the truth of existence?  

A snap decision rang in my mind.  I tuned in to one of my favorite pieces of the Brian Blade Fellowship.  Its vibrations were obvious.  Everything around me—from the sidewalk to the streets, the cars to the people, the buildings to the trees, and the clouds to the sky—was inexplicably radiant.  As was I.

“Loving Without Asking,” the last track of the debut album, is one of those pieces of music that grips me emotionally no matter what.  I think that everyone has a song—or a handful of songs, tunes, or compositions—that really brings them joy and comfort in the bad times, or that heightens and strengthens the good times.  For me, “Loving Without Asking” is one of them.

To this day I fail to find another tenor saxophone sound that is more lovely, pure, and voice-like.  The amount of emotion poured into Melvin Butler’s sound has always moved me greatly.  I love the opening notes of this piece the most.  That first statement is like miles of rolling flower fields, leagues of white mountain ranges, deep rainbow-colored sunsets that fill the darkened world….  You never forget something like that.

Blade’s shimmering cymbal work ever so gently eases the piece from the intro into its triple meter feel.  From here, the chords from both Kurt Rosenwinkel's guitar and Jon Cowherd's piano shimmer along with the drums.  The supernatural was unimpeded; my mind expanded effortlessly toward everything: the people, the clouds in the sky, the sky, the sun, the breeze, the flowery architecture, the bountiful trees, the patient traffic, and even the gray sidewalks and the gutters.  This was today’s pinnacle.  From then on reality and perception evolved further, further from a supernatural state.  They were mixing with that which was over the horizon: paradise.  I saw it, I felt it, I smelled it, I touched it, I heard it….  This meeting of worlds seemed impossible to experience in a mortal life.  But at that moment the meaning of “impossible” was dissipating along with normality.

“Loving Without Asking” dies down to allow a statement from both saxes…then, with full might, the group explodes into the blooming ocean of time and space, with the reverberation of Rosenwinkel's guitar taking the helm.  The saxes are two voices singing to each other.  The piece sounds through-composed, like it can’t conform to form because there’s so much t say about the prospect of the all-giving, all-generous prospect of “loving without asking.” 

The timbres and textures weaving in and out of different ideas harmonic and melodic, all of it goading feelings and thoughts toward anything possible; there was me, now standing, now walking, now standing again, unable to think straight in my elation, knowing the day would burst open with the blinding heavenly light of the horizon so near…I picked another direction without a care about where it would go because I knew all roads lead to that horizon; the energy of the masses and the stupendous buildings and the celestial weather, everything gathered along with the music to hoist me up above this transcendent place to better view 
paradise...

The music slowly gathered righteous power as it grew, the two sax voices stating knowledge of eternity with each other as the galaxy-echo of the guitar streaked through brilliant nebulae with the fuel of the drums growing ever more complex and more shimmering, shimmering and blazing like my reality…  Still lost I entered into a square, not known to me but there was something familiar about it, bathed in the light of paradise, so near, so near; I was already one with everything, and the galaxy-echo of the guitar took over the sound, and Blade’s drumming was virtuous fire, the piano and the bass bounded through the Universe, and the sax voices and their eternal knowledge became one! 

Myron Walden’s alto sax rocketed from the texture with a colossal sound, ravishing as a supernova.  This happened at the exact time of my colossal epiphany.  

AHHHHHHH!  YES!  I knew this place!  I knew it!  I was lost, but now I knew where I was!  Three years ago, good friends and I ate at this burger restaurant, Max, on the corner!  Beyond was everything about the city I already knew and revered and loved: 

The King's Garden

The Paliament Building

and Gamla Stan beyond that, 

all basking in this magnificent holy weather 

and hundreds of years of history! 

The square from which I flew....

As soon as I saw that burger restaurant, memories bombarded and coalesced with the present.  What are three years ago when met with eternity?  Stockholm became a place I’d known all my life. 

My horizon was met; paradise was here.  I could only be ecstatic, but that is an understatement.  I could only be filled with love, but that is an understatement.  The sense of euphoria at the moment of my epiphany—combined with the music’s space-journey crescendo into Walden’s solo—was completely mind-blowing; a feeling for the ages; an ecstasy that only gods must feel….  Surely I was feeling an emotion too great for mortals, so it must have come from beyond.  It was too great for this guy standing in a square within a Swedish city surrounded by land and islands that make up a fraction of the greater continent of Europe which itself stands upon an infinitely gorgeous little planet circling a small star that lies somewhere in the gargantuan cosmos of the Milky Way.  That unimaginable time and space reverted back onto me.  I was stunned speechless.

The one thing that I could do to immerse myself in this moment of Life and Music was to stride to the beat.  It was a fast stride.  I could do nothing less, for I felt these immensities in my heart, an ecstasy larger and better than anything.  This ecstasy drove me almost mad and I didn’t want it to end.  It couldn’t.  How could it?  With all my strength and human potential I needed to respect this time given me by immortal forces. 

I’ve had experiences like this before in my travels, but they are few and far between.  These experiences happen when Music meets Life.  They complement each other, true enough.  But Music and Life can be quite similar to each other.  At that moment everything in my life combined to produce euphoria: the healing weather, the beauty of Stockholm, the realization of exactly where I was and where I was going.  But also at that moment everything in my music combined: the sonic atmosphere growing and growing with the sax-voice proclamations, Blade’s breeze-like drumming, and that echoing guitar that was sweeping me away; all crescendoing to the summit from which Walden’s sax solo fulminated.  Indeed, it was the musical equivalent of pushing yourself up that final bit, and then, before you, is the summit that opens up for hundreds and hundreds of miles in all directions.  Indeed, it was the life equivalent of pushing yourself up that final bit, and then, before you, is the summit that opens up for hundreds and hundreds of miles in all directions.  Both Life and Music combined into one unbelievable moment.

So the beaming sun, the caressing breeze, the masterful artistry of gathering clouds, the azure sky, Stockholm, the world, and quite possibly the expanse of light years charged my flight.  Past the nostalgia of Max Burger and through The King's Garden I soared.  The effervescence of "Loving Without Asking" was like hearing the unexplainable joy of a toddler taking her first steps.  

I soared farther, through the King's Garden toward the Palace and onto the island of Helgeandsholmen where the Riksdagshuset—the Swedish House of Parliament—stands.   

Across the bridge and over the rushing water into Gamla Stan I soared and everything I had seen that day and yesterday melded together with my perception of what must have been infinity.  It was truly unbelievable.  I still can’t believe it.  

A few shots of the Royal Palace

Riddarholmen Church

Thus I finally came to this scene to stare out at Riddarholmskyrkan, its stoic iron steeple dark against the billowing clouds, when “Loving Without Asking” finished.  My mind, though still in a scintillating daze, perceived reality in a more neutral fashion from then on.  But I will never forget that indescribable time….  I have described it as best I could, because I need to tell the story….  What are words next to Music?  What are words next to Life?  What are words next to music and life combined?  What are words when one meets paradise?  Words can only approximate the eternal and the unbelievable.  

I had no regrets.  The day before had long vanished like the last squeaking smear of morning fog.  My camera was gone, but I did not mind.  This day had brought me to paradise, after all. 

The restaurant is just beyond, adjacent to Storykyrkan.

Ahhhh, yes…the logistical things needing to be attended to.  First off, I had to pay my restaurant bill!  Then, I would ponder whether or not I wished to check out the fast food joint.   

The owner looked up with a trim smile on his face that betrayed something like amusement with assurance.  “Ah; so you came back after all!” he said.  “I’m glad I don’t have to find you and take your watch!”  He laughed, and so did I.  Again, I apologized profusely for all the trouble.  But he seemed to think of it as a minor problem.  “Ah, it’s ok,” he said.  “Your bill is here…” (wow, I thought.  There must be fourty or fifty paper bills behind this counter)…”ah, over here.”  I gave him 500 kronor, nearly double the actual bill.  “You’ve been so understanding toward me…it’s the least I could do.”

“Oh my…well, thank you so very much….  Hey, you want a coffee or something?  On the house.”
“I’d love to stay.  But, my ship leaves in a few hours, and there’s something else I need to take care of.  Thanks again!”

So I left the restaurant and its generous owner to walk and think about whether or not I was bothered by yesterday.

Crossing over from Gamla Stan

Riddarholmen; taken from afar.

A man plays trumpet for the passerby near
the fast-food joint.

Truly, once I saw the fast-food joint, curiosity reigned over righting what I thought was a wrong done to me.  I felt neither humiliation, nor anger, nor failure.  Only the lure of inquiry.  Thus I walked in.  The same answer as yesterday; “no, sorry.  We don’t have anything like that.” 

My gut gave the slightest of movements to try and compare itself to the vastness of the sublime I had witnessed half an hour ago.  I didn’t notice my gut.  What I did notice was my contentment with retaking all of the pictures I had taken the day before.

As proof that I was content with my situation…most of the photos in this blog were taken from my phone.  If you were wondering about the photos, you were right!  Now, there are some photos from previous visits to Stockholm that help out with the descriptions of this blog.  I didn’t take any photos of the scenery from the walk to the city centre because I took those photos on a previous visit.  I used those.  But at the end of the day, I think my phone, despite its limitations, turned out a pretty good crop of pictures.  Since that day in Stockholm I have grown closer to my phone as a tool of photography and interaction with the world.  An old acquaintance once told me this: “every camera is a good camera.  You just have to learn how to exploit all its features properly.”  Throughout the day I grew accustomed to what my camera phone could do, and I was satisfied.

For the second time in two days I geared up for the long walk from Gamla Stan back to the ship.  This time, happiness wafted and danced within me like the fine white clouds of the day. 

I wanted to stop one last time at the lookout over Riddarholmskyrkan and its coal-black steeple against the gray-blue of late afternoon.  My vision affixed itself to that silhouette.  I noticed dirty embers of yesterday being swept away out of the corners of my mind.  I was full with contentment, and of the memory of the divine granted by an endless bounty from beyond the stars. 

I later learned that this church is the burial ground for nearly three centuries of the royal lineage of Sweden.  Perhaps that history was what held me in enchantment.  I’d had a feeling the powerful scene of the silhouetted church called out to me with something historic, something spanning generations, something bigger than me.  At the time I didn’t know for certain.  The scene with Riddarholmskyrkan against the sky and sun is the last powerful thing I remember of that day, and with good reason. 

The day before, I had snapped this shot of Parliament with my phone.
It is one of the many shots since for which I am thankful.

Mortal as we are, we are able to come into contact with the immortal.  There are those events in our lives that transcend and confound definition.  We then feel compelled to wonder about something bigger than us, and indeed, bigger than anything.  I tell people I am not religious, but that I am spiritual.  On this day in Stockholm I experienced Music and Life transcending and evolving at the same time, thus merging this world with divinity.  Confounding definition was that experience’s purpose as much as it was to offer me the gift of divinity.  

This line of thought is further held in the Celtic belief of "thin places."  A thin place is one in which the veil between this world and something greater--like heaven or eternity--is decidedly thin, transparent, and can influence us in the best ways.  When that veil is lifted, both this world and the eternal world can mix together.  Whatever experiences we have within this mixture of worlds transcend the senses, granting us eternal feelings that are larger than anything.

I can't say for sure whether or not I was traveling toward the horizon--the veil--of the thin place in Stockholm.  Perhaps the thin place--in the form of the breeze of the day--had been with me all along.  What I do know is not only did I traverse through both worlds, but that I crossed over to the other world at the moment of my epiphany.  For many moments I soared through that world.   

In his New York Times article "Where Heaven And Earth Come Closer," author Eric Weiner talks about the concept of thin places as it relates to travel.  On each day of my travels I have found a thin place, and in each thin place I glimpsed something of the immortal that allowed my mind to expand outward with no limit to connection with this world and something greater.  This day in Stockholm was one of a handful that led me past the veil between worlds and into something greater; the divine.  It was one of the mightiest experiences of my life.

Post-Blog:

I did not view the sailaway from Stockholm that day.  However, I was able to witness it several times before and after.  Ships and ferries must traverse through the Stockholm Archipelago, which is made up of almost 30,000 islands.  To see a satellite image of the region is stunning alone.  The transit throughout is absolutely magnificent.  I felt the need to share some of my favorite photos of the archipelago.  

Firstly: the birds love flying at eye level with those of us on top of the ship.

Secondly: all the other boat traffic is breathtaking to witness.
It feels even more breathtaking when you realize they represent thriving communities like Vaxholm that exist among the islands.

Thirdly: it's just utterly gorgeous out here.

Fourthly: 

guess what...

Somebody from CALIFORNIA owns property here!  Actually, I have
no idea what the California flag is doing waving in Sweden,
but that is my best guess!

FIN

Disclaimer: 

I do not intend to speak on behalf of Azamara Club Cruises.  As an employee of Azamara Club Cruises, I hereby state that all views and expressions of opinion I hold are solely my own, and do not reflect or represent the views, values, beliefs, opinions, or company policies of ether Azamara Club Cruises or Royal Caribbean Cruises Ltd.
Additionally I do not own or claim any legal rights to the links provided in this post.