Sacred Mountain

… 09:00 am
Born in every next minute, feeling low, high, excited, grateful, frustrated and joyful. A poster aggressively popping in my mind “IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT YOU DO JUST AS LONG AS IT’S UNIQUE AND AMAZING”, space pilot molding into the shape from the darkest archives of the pale memories. And the journey continues… Habituated perfectionism tumbling lucidly on my facial expression, still what is unique? Could it be translated into the complete? Gotta go! Wake-up call for my contradicting ego, still contradicting with its contradictions.
Granada is such a blend of yellow and beige… Arabic architecture penetrating into a compact households, taking you to the unknown realms of the Moorish daily rounds, once I used to fantasize about being plunged in the tides of history. All in all it became the part of the whole, and Granada is the part of the whole for sure!
The heat of 42 degrees Celsius, not a joke at all. It urges me to speed up, reserve the moisture still left in my body. Ascension seems to be exciting, cobbles here and there slipped out, beseeching to be drawn back to the others in the raw. A white Gypsy Ghetto perching from the ambitiously organized huts of a gypsy community, a bunch of porcelain caves culminate in the orange trees looking down over the Sacromonte. Huh, yes, the Sacred Mountain is the given name to the hillside, Sacred Mountain where Gypsies reside probably with their own spiritual philosophy reflected in their impartial communion leaving the doors wide open to visitors. Colorful flowers vividly lurk on the white backdrop of the porcelain caves. “Entre, Chica, pasa, pasa”… a randomly appearing gypsy interrupted my attempt to memorize the setting presenting right in front of me. She grabs my palm and graciously offers her magic fortunetelling. “Perdon, Senora, no es para mi, no lo creo!”- My desperate cry-out and she suddenly vanishes.
Sweat and heat intermittently change my disposition magnifying the eyesight, nope, actually I am on the top of the hill, no mirage at all. Alhambra arrogantly rises, as if shouting “look at me I am already in your eyesight!” Still swept my attention by the momentum of a male cat staring down on a passing female cat. Is that how the creation works?! “Tienes que creer, querida!”- Same gypsy fortuneteller still insisting from behind, grabbing my palm. “Tendrás dos hijos y marido amable!” Is that how the creation works? Hm, though it surely works to bring a big grin on my face and dare to share.