My memory of Hévíz—a Hungarian spa town—is a memory of sensation. My time there is sacred. It’s not a particularly “exciting” time; it’s a rejuvenating contemplative retreat more than anything.For close to a month, my routine consists of eating, walking, resting, sleeping, soaking in mineral hot springs, and receiving wellness treatments (massages, mud packs, etc.). For me, it is bliss. It’s the closest to I get to God.
On more than one occasion I’ve gone there to disconnect from life-as-I-know-it where I live; to disconnect from computers; phones; responsibilities. Solitude is available in large quantities. I slow down. I stop thinking. And when I stop thinking, I begin to sense life in and around me in ways I tend to overlook during the rest of the year. What I find through disconnection is a reconnection with the language of my senses—and nature.
Now, the anthology is also available as an e-book, here, here, and here.
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I have visions of geographically dispersed families with members scattered around the globe, doing whatever they can to make it home for the holidays to spend time with relatives and friends.
I see travelers arriving on the doorsteps of (grand)parents and siblings. They bring mountains of gifts (or none at all), too much luggage, and odd habits not apparent during long-distance telephone calls. For several days–weeks even–they pile on top of one another in thetiniest of urban condominiumsandcompact homes.
Anticipating such an event, a friend of mine writes in a greeting card, overwhelmed: “We’re staying put for Christmas but everyone is coming here. Aaahhhh! Help!” Read the rest of this entry »
