On the eve before Bastille Day, the first set of lights come alive, above the base of the Eiffel Tower. As I walk through the tallest charm in Paris, a whimsical light show flashes like glittering jewels. A light, summer breeze rustles the hemline of my white gingham, summer dress. Standing inside the belly of the tower, I marvel at the iron lattice illuminated at night. This long-awaited Parisian close encounter blinks a message, as if the universe is sending me a wave of enlightenment. The glittering gems are as wondrous as an ancient, jeweled Buddhist and Hindu metaphor. By default, I prescribe to Judeo-Christian beliefs; yet, I have evolved into a student of all religions. My observant eyes gaze the sparkling jewels on the tower reflecting like Indra's Net, a web of pearls, infinite in number, spread overhead the palace of the great god Indra.
InThe Enlightened Mind, Stephen Mitchell, a scholar and translator of ancient masters wrote, "Each jewel [in Indra's net] reflects all the other jewels in the net, the way two mirrors placed opposite each other will reflect an image, ad infinitum. The jewel in this metaphor stands for an individual being, or an individual consciousness, or a cell or an atom. Every jewel is intimately connected with all other jewels in the universe, a change in one jewel means a change, however slight, in every other jewel."
The reflection symbolizes how connected we are, infinite connections, in tandem to all things in the universe. In good tidings or destructive acts, we reflect and influence each other. Similar to the belief that karma, good or bad, follows a trajectory path based on what we give. Weaved around the Eiffel Tower, on my first day in Paris, I find my place in the world. A good omen, some 4,500 miles away from home. Gazing longer at the sparkling lights on the Eiffel Tower, I receive this we are the world message, "You are a sparkling jewel in a universal net, and so is everyone around you." I close my eyes and flashback to a day that changed the course of destiny. Valentine's Day. 2014. An unexpected encounter, an inconvenient housing arrangement and the unforgettable image of six pink roses in a urinal resuscitated my life. The flowers, cut from my hospital roommate's garden, blooming in a practical vase, despite the humorous absurdity of flowers placed inside a men's plastic urinal.
A hospital janitor hastily tossed the roses in a trashcan. Shortly after, I rescued the roses. And in return, Doris, a woman twice my age, saved me. In a dark, evil time in the world, she survived against all odds and infused me with the will to live. Meeting her by mere chance inspired me to write again. Like a fairy godmother, she instructed me to travel to Paris in search of a creative incubation. "There are many books for you to gift," Doris says. "Write them." Almost a year later, here in the City of Light, I breathe life to a fictional character, the Piano Lady. I walk in her implanted stiletto heels, evoking emotion, pulling the strings of a transplanted heart, healing the scars of war. The Piano Lady worships the Tricolor flag of France. She is a musical patriot, dons a red beret, rapturing souls on a Steinway concert grand, at a popular hotel in the heart of Paris. The seeds of transcendence sprout when she lost her great love on the eve of the Battle of Paris. She overcomes tragedy, answering a humble calling in the heart of a glamorous city. On my own Buddist-like path on the night before La Fête Nationale, National Holiday-another name for Bastille Day-I magically transform into the Piano Lady. Dining at a sidewalk cafe, I'm a reflection of her, sipping wine in the backdrop of a cotton candy swirl of pink, purple, and orange painted in a Parisian sunset. Perhaps, I have lived here in another life? Deja vu grips me. Lavishly, when in Paris, I dine like a Parisian, feasting on escargot and imbibing red wine on rue de Rivoli, blocks away from the Hotel Paris Rivoli and Saint Gervais, the enchanting walks of The Piano Lady....
Book available on Kindle/Amazon.com.
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