All Good Things Must End

03 Mar 2025 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Portugal, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

Did I just write that? It must be a reflection of the book I’m reading, The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch. Described as an intellectual thriller, it is ponderously philosophical, groan, but I have sympathy for the hero, a 58-year-old divorced, frustrated wannabe writer.

What I was actually thinking when I wrote that title is that my trip is coming to a close. It’s a bittersweet, in-between time, still here physically but already gone mentally. I catch the bus from Ferragudo to Lisbon tomorrow morning. My bag is packed, waiting by the door. There will be one last night in a hotel near the airport, then, several time zones and an ocean later, home.

I’ve done everything I’d hoped to and a whole lot more. I even had a dental issue dealt with for $73 that was going to cost over $500 in the U.S. That savings affords me another round-trip flight somewhere. I’m already imagining my next adventure.

But right now, I’m sitting on the upper terrace in a dreamy, reflective mood, bathed with sunshine softened by fluffy clouds. 

The cats were here first, but they don’t tolerate company, so I have the entire space to myself.

What I know about who I am has been confirmed over these past twenty days. I am a solitary soul who enjoys the companionship of friends but has no capacity for the vulnerability required of intimate partnership. And I’m OK with that. There is vast freedom, no unmet expectations, and whatever shoulds or shouldn’ts exist, are self-inflicted.

That said, I love the comradery of a shared meal, a morning stroll, an evening movie, which is what I’ve experienced here. The best of all worlds.

This fishing village on the Atlantic coast has been a sweet respite from Minnesota snow and brutal cold. I’ve missed the diversity of cultures, languages, and attitudes afforded by travel. And there’s something about palm trees in February that makes me very, very happy!

But I’m ready now. I’ve had my fix. Until next time…adeus e obrigado, Portugal!

Puss n Buddha

23 Nov 2013 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

There’s a pile of rubbish behind a thick stand of banana trees. It is a treasure trove of discarded art, broken furniture, and other tids and bits of stuff nobody wants. I rarely pass by, but the other day I had opportunity to take a closer look. There, in plain sight, was one of the handsomest carved Buddha heads I’ve seen. I looked around. Nobody watching. Aware that snakes might have found a comfy home in that tangle, I approached warily, snatched it, and backed off for a closer examination. With the exception of a scrape on one side, the piece was in excellent condition.

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For a few months I’d been eyeing Buddhas in the shops. But I’m picky and it had to be just right, had to speak to me…so to speak. I couldn’t have found a representation more to my liking if I’d designed it myself. Thrilled, I scouted out the perfect spot in the house for my find. The yoga platform was the obvious choice and after a few attempts at positioning, the Buddha was home. It occupied it’s place so comfortably it looked like it could always have been there.

Perhaps the kitty was attracted by the tranquility of the platform. All the peaceful yoga and meditation energy of my home is concentrated there. Cats have a hard life in Bali. They’re a far cry from the indoor pets we pamper and indulge in America. Although they may have a caring human family, there is no way to keep them confined. They roam.

My neighbor’s cats visit me on a regular basis, especially if they smell fish cooking. It’s usually a quick hi and bye if I don’t have treats. But this morning I was well into my second cup of coffee before I noticed. There, curled up beside the statue, was JoJo, the neighbor’s cat. He had found a patch of sunlight in the reverent aura of the Buddha and was fast asleep.

P1050202I chuckled, finished my coffee, and made breakfast. Still there. I began my morning writing and finished my morning writing. His only movement was an exaggerated stretch and he slept on. When I left for a walk about noon, the creature was still comatose. He must have had a hard night.

I’ve never been overly fond of cats. I’m slightly allergic and their personalities are off-putting. Either they’re haughty and unapproachable, or they mew, rub, and pester relentlessly. But this morning, watching JoJo curled up by the Buddha, I felt a little melty inside. We shared the serenity. He didn’t want anything from me other than a sunny spot on my platform. I enjoyed his quiet company, and Buddha seemed pleased.