The Red Cap does Venice, city of love and romance
We travel south again. We are in a hurry. We want to get to that famed little town called “La Dominante” and “Serenissima” (the serene one), and also “Queen of the Adriatic”, to Venice, the City of eternal love and romance and happiness. Tourists from all over the world flock to this city that is slowly rotting away in the water, to partake in her love, her happiness. As usual, they believe that happiness is always somewhere else, somewhere far away, somewhere EXOTIC. Thus they, the deluded humanity gather by the million like so much flotsam in the streets of Venice in search of that evasive, coveted, everlasting (but non-existent) happiness. And typically human, not having the tenacity to work for the everlasting version, they simply go for instant gratification, the addictive, ecstatic high, the orgasmic fling. They like to call it “living in the now” while they do not have the foggiest notion of what it means ‘to live in the now’. For them it is a mantra mindlessly repeated after the current leader of the pack (usually “Mevrou Dominee”), and it simply means to forget the past while driving in a luxury 4×4 double cab on their way to the local boutique to buy yet another must-have-now Gucci or Versace or whatever labelled item, while not worrying where Hubby is going to get the money to pay the future bill with. If they cared to ask me, a humble Red Cap, I would not mind to share my superior knowledge with them about something as sacred as ‘the now’ where past, present and future meet during mindful contemplation to become ‘Deep Time’ or ‘No Time’, where your spiritual practice transports you into the void, into the Tibetan ‘Rigpa’. But what do they care. They are living a deluded, vulgar life, happily turning the sacred in to a gilded turd. And that is why they come to Venice, to be seduced by her and to make love to her and each other like vile rodents. Because they are shallow, they are impressed by the superficial beauty of this cold, wet, pretentious bitch long past her prime. I honestly can not imagine what can be so romantic about a city that was built by the mass killing of trees. Three forests of Alder trees were devastated, chopped down, annihilated to get enough poles to build the city, the “Queen of the Adriatic” on water. Maybe that is why she is such a cold bitch. Hundreds of thousands of trees had to die for her to be born, and deep down her timbers she knows that it is inevitable that some day they will take revenge. Deep down she knows it, and she fears that day. (meer…)
SkalkSkryf 