Before losing all credibility with my colleagues, please let me end my contribution to this month’s IGAL INSIDER with something not involving any paranormal experiences.
In any event, this trip happened in May which was before my desert experience. It was a normal, meandering trip to Florence and another three hours of winding down to the coast. Typical journey involving driving, looking around, reading, fooling myself that my ten Italian words make the locals understood me, recapping experiences with our travel friends at night. Then, repeat that routine (more or less) for a couple of weeks. Not much to report or get excited about.
So, we are sitting in a cafe restaurant one evening, sharing stories and experiences. Of course, drinking wine and sipping grappa and, to my regret, not paying attention to that activity.
Don’t get me wrong, they do go together. The tastes of each are complimentary: wine’s sweetness to grappa’s bite; slow burn of wine to one’s brain to grappa’s hammer hit between the eyes to one’s personality. Oh yes, they do go together!
And then, for me, it was like becoming slightly sleepy but wide awake at the same time. All stories were super interesting and funny, each punch line was hilarious. I never realized that my friends and I were so creative and insightful. And the women, oh my Lord, the women were beautiful. All of them.
As the evening wore on, my hearing seemed to be declining. I couldn’t understand all which was said but, whatever it was, seemed funny. Various words I spoke gained in weight and shape in my mouth; it was like the words were objects, things in my mouth wanting to roll off my lips and then, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. Loud and heavy. Getting louder as the evening wore on.
Sure, I want more grappa; what kind of question is that? Why would you even ask it? How dare you ask it?
That new grappa was like a river dam dumping huge quantities of water onto a dry lake bed, filling those dried-out cracks and providing nourishment needed for rebirth. That new grappa, followed by more wine, inspired confidence and a belief into the new, promising, interesting future. Ideas were filling my brain and, I thought, they were all good.
And then, I actually levitated. I was talking but in ether while hovering above all my friends and my own body. Everyone was so together, happy, in one place with no worries.
Hey, we are in Tuscany where…whatever. Everything became unimportant.
I looked at them all, circled and didn’t need to speak or listen. We were all happy, equally and at the same time.
My mind began to drift into some uncharted territory as I drank another glass of white wine. That golden liquid resurrected my mouth and mind. I did not know then that I would experience clarity two weeks later in the desert in a sober state. I was, however, experiencing it as a drunken accountant at that moment in Tuscany.
And…then, I was gone. Flew away, quietly, soulfully, introspectively into that private space where no one is allowed. Where all dreams come true, and all wishes are fulfilled. Where everyone is healthy, rich and happy. From which I wished never to return.
There is an American movie titled “Under the Tuscan Sun.” Exactly what you’d think it’d be. Hollywood trash, peddling happy endings.
What happened to me, however, was to wake under the actual Tuscan Sun the next day, literally. It shone directly into the bedroom I was in, directly onto my face. I added five Italian curses to the ten Italian words I already knew.
By the way, we also went to a couple of museums in Florence including the Uffizi Gallery. They had some pictures there.
Blah, blah, blah…..
by Mike Djordjevich
Address :
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