Fully fixing a car, with routers out and
a tripod for a workbench, two ostensible
tourists anchor the middle of Mala Strana
in the middle of our day. Maybe they had
taken in the craft display at Senat Dvůr;
maybe they had left an SOC at Lennon Wall,
held up by mere band-aids: “Kim Jong Un, plz
step down” to once again give peace a chance,..
“and if you plz, our
car has also broken down;
we’re strangely stranded here in paradise.”
The Kampa Island plan has jangled dogs running
rather free. The Pink Floyd David Černy babes are
crawling indiscriminately. The huge memorial tree
near the bust of Dobrovský umbrellas all and over
sees the serendipity: the fortressed playground,
the stray mechanics, Seifert’s lovers dialoguing free:
“Was it my forehead or my lips you kissed?” Surely it
was well beyond geography. And so we wander to the
Vltava and the sometime flooded statue of Harmony,
the meditation of Sri Chinmoy, a bohemian émigré.
“If you”—auto invalids—“can create harmony
in your own life,” if straining to make a melody,
“this harmony will enter into the vast world.” So
says Sri. It’s worth a walk through Kampa Park
to get to work on broken parts of ingenuity.
It’s Lennon’s birthday by the way: Today
ReplyDeleteWe celebrate his life, as every day
We should, more than we think of how he died.
John never visited the wall, or so I’ve read,
and I myself have never found my way
to Prague, though it is always on the way
To where I’m going: More than an aside
To where I want to be, I must have said
A hundred times, “I’ll visit you someday,”
And every time I’ve meant it, and the day
Will come when I’ll put busy to the side
And find my way to where that wall has stood
For more than 30 years: life has a way
of stubbornly refusing to be dead.
Sorry - poetic license, realized afterwards. John was born on October 9! I got the week right anyway.
ReplyDelete