Story, Road, Life

First, as it seems that The Flames of Eden has, up to this point, generated very welcome reflection & dialogue, I must point out that visitors should perhaps keep track of the comments in the previous posts, and my attempts *smile* at summing them up.

I am taking my time. The flames of Eden are too important, too instrumental in my life to just 'dive in'. When Bob Dylan wrote & sang about "The Gates of Eden" over 40 years ago, I think he gave himself an easier task, with all respect to him.
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It is an astonishly beautiful Monday 10th November, 2005. I drive through Eden's lush landscape, from home to the ocean, beyond Lisbon's up-market resort-dormitories to the base of the Sintra Hills, where they meet the ocean. I stop to take countless photos of perfect waves rolling with power and grace, like they are choreographed, onto post-card rocks. White-capped, riding in majestic on a carpet of royal blue to match the sky, like the perfect end to their perfect, effortless journey over from the Americas.
Alone (it's Monday), I drive on another 3 miles/5kms to my destination for the afternoon, the jewel in this Eden's crown - Guincho beach.
More photos, wet feet, a small handful of other privileged time-on-their-handsters. Then, with time to kill and feet to dry, I head back up to the bar of the Muchaxo Inn (check www.muchaxo.com Click on 'bar' to see where I was sitting. See every page. You will fall in love, I promise. I've stayed there twice, believe me, it is as good as it looks), relishing the waiting beautiful coffee and croissants and the even more beautiful view of the sun setting into the ocean...............

 

 

 

 

Can it really be less than 18 months since that afternoon? It seems impossibly longer, so much has my existence changed and changed and changed since then.
Stories, like roads, like lives, have beginnings and ends. Identfiable and clearly defined. The middle only emerges in retrospect. Once begun, on any real or metaphorical journey - story, road, life - we are always in the middle, in a way. Time unfinished, action unfinished.
It was all so perfect and so accessible. I never took any of it for granted, never. I had good reason not to. All of Eden, with all it's multi-coloured flames; the bright ones, the dark ones. It is where I was born, what I fell into to, and which dictated my resistance, determination and profound need to stay there.
Without Eden and its flames, I cannot live, cannot survive; it has always been that way. Without them, I do not want to..........
So, a story, made up of many stories.
Are these the flames of Eden?