These old cathedrals reek of smoke and wax and are scented with aged timber. Light catches gilt and gold, careens off marble and helps give life to the slate floor, all cracked and tilted but polished smooth from eons of traffic. In their calm stillness you can understand how worshipers seek God, the more so for the singing choirs quietly being played in the background. You can imagine rows of chanting monks helping set a tone of awe, reverence and respectful worship. They would be nonplussed at the overcoated grey haired gent who rushed into this pool of quiet worship this afternoon. Crying out in French to the statue of Mary shrouded in a beautifully gilded cloth. Pointing and waving. And talking into his cell phone. I thought he was talking to someone else then I realised he was talking to Mary via his cell. It would have been humorous if his entreaties were not so earnest and heartfelt. I had stumbled over the place wandering the lanes of Brussels and had welcomed its solitude and a place to be reflective. I handed over to the cell phone worshiper and left him to this place. I hope God picks up at the other end for him.
Thanks for reading. This blog is an opportunity for me to capture some of the diversity of my writing interests. My muse tend to appear on my shoulder as I board an international flight although not all of my writing is inspired by travel and foreign places. These blogs have been the basis of a novel (Flowers of Baghdad) but there are a few other writing projects in progress besides. Please feel free to leave a comment. Or two.