The Heart's Treasure - Lessons in the Art of Living (2)
from the Nomad Collection: Switzerland
Note: This is the third essay in a sequence of stories. If you haven’t already, I invite you to read the first essay and the second essay of the series before you read this essay.
This essay features captioned photography as an important part of the story. Best viewed in the Substack app or on the Substack website from your desktop browser.
In the spring of 2022, burnt from the life I had been living, I resigned without a plan from my 10 year career path as a lawyer in London to go on a period of slow, often solo, travel journeys in Portugal, Southern Spain, Switzerland, Peru and Japan.
Gathered over 9 months of leaving behind life as I knew it to explore the world through dance, yoga, art and nature, this is my offering of lessons in the art of living, learnt in the language of mountains, waterfalls, landscapes, cityscapes, luminaries, constellations, flowers, art, emotions, sensations, dreams, memories, and the heart — here, translated by me into the language of words.
I hope they speak to your heart and spark your own remembering.
“There are those who look towards the horizon,
and there are those who go towards it.”
〰️ my dear friend, Ehab
Lake Brienz & the Swiss Alps
(July 2022)
Conversation between childhood friends, after the ferry, at Lake Brienz
— “But are you happy?”
— “Well, I mean, I’m… not unhappy.”
— “Are you sure that’s the same thing?”
What the wind blew in for us at Rigi Scheidegg, the Swiss Alps
— Look, no matter what, you’re going to spend way more time travelling to the top than being at the top, so always, always choose the scenic route, even if it’s longer. This way you can enjoy the view while on the journey and not just at the end of it.
Montreux, Swiss Riviera
(July 2022)
Hide and Seek in Montreux
— “So these jams I made from the fruits in the garden — there is cherry, raspberry, fig and apricot. Let me know which you like best. And this is omelette aux fines herbes I made for you, and all the herbs are from the garden too. Do you know this beautiful purple flower in the butter? It’s a chive flower. Mais oui, chives have flowers! Ah, you never get to see the flowers when you buy herbs from the supermarket. That’s why I prefer to plant them myself. And yes of course, you can eat the flowers too.”
— “You can read any of the books you want. They’re in French, Arabic and English. Ohhh, but I adore Murakami too. Have you read this book, Abandoning a Cat, about his relationship with his father? This translation’s in French, but you don’t need the words, just look at the illustrations, they’re something special.”
Lost and Found in Montreux
— “Here’s a picture of my mother and me together on the steam train going up the mountain, from when she visited me here some years ago. Look, the sunlight is falling perfectly on her face.”
— “I was looking for a place to rent all those years back when I arrived, and when I saw this place, with its garden, it was like I could see my childhood home. And I knew that in all of Montreux, this was the place where I had to live. Everything about this place, I have done to recreate and remember my family home. The rooms, the garden, the flowers, the trees, my art.”
— “I left home and came here all those years ago, I’ve been away for over 30 years now. I miss my homeland, I miss my family. But I know I can never go back.”
— “It does get unbearable, yes. But it gives me comfort to know my brothers continue to be the guardians of our home and our land, our olive trees.”
A Tree Grows in Montreux
— The unbearable, in the shape of words
On the Afternoon Menu, before the Montreux Jazz Festival 2022
Home-brewed Arabic coffee, strong
Conversations about life, full-bodied
Both to be served hot and drunk slow, in the company of new old friends.
Don’t forget to read the coffee grounds.
Conversation between childhood friends, before the airport, Montreux
— “I can’t stop crying. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
— “We don’t always have to know, in the moment. What matters are your tears.”
Slowly
Slowly, slowly,
beauty trickles into the hidden
fissures of my dry, forgotten
heart —
illuminating the crackled way
for the first light of dawn
to flow —
slowly, slowly,
through —
The sweetness of salt
〰️ from me, to a dear friend on her 38th birthday
〰️ 〰️ 〰️
Writer’s Note:
This is the third essay of the series titled “And What Did Your Heart Tell You?”, which continues on from the first essay and the second essay.
Read the fourth and final essay of the series, The Heart’s Treasure — Lessons in the Art of Living (3) from Peru & Japan.
I am catching up on your past work and got lost in the beauty of these words and the photographs. The conversation at the ferry that started with the question , "are you happy?" was so short and subtle but universal. It is a question we all ask ourselves at various points in our lives- the happiness question.
I adore how you capture the little glimmers of life, the moments of humanness. It reminds me that little droplets of beauty are sprinkled into every day 🩵