| The Chronicles | Staring Into The Void | ||||||
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 Seriously, if my writing is that bad lately, just tell me. Oh, and I'm sorry about that two week gap without updating, but I do feel a lot better when you guys leave comments. =) Anyway...I don't think I'm going to write a full "update" entry until tomorrow or the next day. However, I do have a bit of "filler" to tide you over. It's more of that (boring) reflection writing that I've done the past few entries. I wrote it in English Comp a year or so ago. We were supposed to pick a meaningful place and write about it. Without further ado... "When you stare into the abyss too long, the abyss stares back into you." - Nietzsche  Far be it for me to enjoy quoting the guy or reciting such a common quotation, but it seemed fitting for the story I'm about to recount.Everyone that I know has a place that they consider meaningful, whether it’s a mental or physical location. The best places typically blend those two. They're a mental state manifested in the physical world. They take an emotion or idea and represent it with a tree, a building, a bridge, or in my case, a sea – the Mediterranean Sea specifically. Sitting on the end of a pier at night, I sat on the edge of the universe, staring into nothingness incarnate. In the spring/late-winter of 1999, students from my high school began taking off for various corners of the globe. It was interim week, a time in which students could go on school trips or take fun classes like bass fishing or ballroom dancing. As I enjoy travel and am blessed with the means to do it, I went on another trip. Because my mother wasn’t allowed to come along on field trips when I was younger (there was a hierarchy), she always made a point to come along on those trips as a chaperone. Not that I minded. She was always dubbed “cool” by my classmates, and had an adventuresome, youthful side that allowed us to see and do a lot that we perhaps wouldn’t have gotten to experience. Previous years had seen my mother, classmates, and I visiting Key West and England. That particular year, we chose to go on a whirlwind tour of Italy. I'd been to Italy on one previous occasion, though it wasn't very memorable. Well, perhaps memorable, but not associated with a good memory. We had flown through Rome on our way to Israel a few years earlier. As I recall, I was quite airsick when we landed, and the results of that were left on the bus that shuttled us from the plane to the terminal. But I digress. Anyway, we arrived into Milan, deciding to not stop in the city, because it wasn’t as historical as some of the other places we would be visiting. Instead, we hopped straight over to Verona, the setting of Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet. We saw a few sights and jumped back on the bus to be whisked east to Venice. We didn't actually stay in Venice. Travel by gondola is somewhat impractical for large groups, and I'd imagine the hotels would've been fairly costly. Instead, we stayed in a small town not far from there. The amenities were fairly nice and there were several things to do within walking distance. The first night, after exploring the area, some students found an ice cream shop that we frequented both nights. They also stumbled onto the beach several blocks away. We made it a point to visit the beach, despite the fact that it was closed at night. It wasn't as if there were no trespassing signs posted (not ones we could read anyway), and the only obstacle was a small string with orange markers across the entrances. As a result though, there was no one on the beach. Perhaps it was off-season, but the area was fairly devoid of any activity. This left us with a feeling that it was 'our' beach. The weather was too cold to go swimming, and while I’m the sand-castle building type, I didn’t find the idea of night time sand play to be appealing. Instead, dark evenings on a quiet beach are good times for merely walking and reflecting. As we walked along, we discovered that every half a mile, long low piers jutted out into the Mediterranean. They weren’t piers in the gigantic Florida or California terms. They didn't have railings and were made of wood. Nor were they merely docks. They seemed too low and small for boating activity. They were wooden piers only five feet in width and perhaps a hundred feet in length. They stood off the water maybe a foot or two. On the two evenings that we visited, the sky was hung with clouds and there was a slight breeze. It didn't rain, but the moon was rarely visible. This combined with very few lights along the beach to leave the area with an almost pitch black effect. The effect was particularly pronounced at the end of the piers, where we’d sit or lay. One could sit on the edge, legs dangling inches above the calm Mediterranean Sea, and stare out at its expanse in silence. The inky blackness filled my sight as the sea and sky merged into one, just as my mind and physical state enjoined together. It was as if I was sitting on the edge of the world, staring out into a void. The only reminders of the world around me were the quiet sounds of tiny waves and the wind and the slight hint of ocean that you always smell when you’re getting nearby a large body of water. When someone tells you to clear your mind, this is the physical manifestation of that command. If you’re not careful, the darkness will swallow you. However, if you stand in awe and reflection, you’re left with a poignancy not easily realized anywhere else on earth (outside of dreams perhaps). It makes you realize the grand scale of the universe. Sometimes such thoughts can make you feel like a small speck, floating in a sea of chaos. Other times, like my times on the pier, I felt appreciative to even be a part of the world. As I sat on the hard wood, I mused over these ramblings with some of my friends. We must have spent several hours just sitting there talking and reflecting upon life each night. It was probably a good thing that I was with the particular crowd that visited. They all seemed to have an understanding that sometimes it's good to just sit in silence and meditate upon one’s position. Maybe I give them more credit, and they were just relaxing. I guess that’s all that I was doing in a sense. However, it was also nice to have people to talk to and discuss with. The only way I see it having further meaning to me would've been if I had been there with someone I really cared about deeply. Though, perhaps that would’ve been a distraction. Instead I was able to be with myself among friends. Several times, beach patrols came through, and we were worried about being caught, but they usually just passed us by, leaving ourselves to take it all in. After we left the first night, we shuffled back to our hotel. I recall it being a bit of sensory shock. Those are the moments and places that always stand out in my mind – disparate atmospheres. The next day, in Venice, we toured the beautiful city, winding through alleyways, over small bridges that straddled the canals. The buildings weren’t tall, but the streets and paths were narrows, leaving one with a feeling of claustrophobia. Despite this, it was extremely interesting, but I can’t help but notice the contrast between the day and night. At night, the world was limitless and nothing. In the day, everything was still large, but extremely condensed and teeming with life. I never saw the beach during the day, so it retains a sense of dreaminess and mythical quality. I’m not sure if I would’ve liked it during the day. It could very possibly have fallen into a place in my mind reserved for “every other beach.” As it is, the night that dwelled over it preserves a special spot in my memory. In the several years between that memory and the present, I’ve wandered many beaches all over the world. Nothing quite compares though. Perhaps one day I’ll make it back to Venice and those piers. Will it be as I remembered it – the manifestation of some grand, abstract notion? I can’t help but wonder if the situation and timing were arranged perfectly to evoke the idea. The variables of off-season, cloudy sky, calm sea, and good company just seemed to come together for two shorts nights those years ago. I’m always in awe when that happens. If I do visit, I may not be able to recapture those moments that I experienced adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean, but maybe I can dwell in a more vivid remembrance. As it stands, I’ve got those memories of the void occupying a special place in my mind.  | |||||||
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