For Sale_ This Old House

[Van Canna]

That strange air threaded through the leaves and flowers of the English gardens all around us and it seemed to whisper soft and sad farewells as the leaves detached from the branches and floated slowly to the ground as big snow flakes colored of autumn.

The sound of the evening sea lapping the shore. Such a dreamy sound… abandoning oneself to the waves letting one blend with the rhythm of the world _ the energy of the earth_ of the sea_ of the sun_ of the moon and the stars_ allowing the voyage through life to be written by your eyes and soul.

Leaning on the garden benches outside of time _ among fallen leaves and clouds of tearful memories _ fears that life would alter significantly _ fears of aging and looking back on the past, and realizing that all friendships might be gone _

… and in my heart that sensation of receiving one of those kisses sweet and vibrant from my beloved city that warms the heart and wishful of never ending.

One of those kisses that I knew I would be yearning for my entire life in another country another world.



The last kiss.

[Van Canna]

“You are as young as you faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fears; as young as your hope, as old as your despair. In the central place of every heart, there is a recording chamber, so long as it receives messages of beauty and hope, cheer and courage, you are young. When the wires are all down and your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of opinion, then and only then, have you grown old”

(General MacArthur

[Van Canna]

[Van Canna]

And so it has been five years since you went away forever, my son. Not to India, not to France, not to Russia...as in your work travels...but to a very distant galaxy without hope, ever ...of finding your way back home.

You left behind a sense of emptiness and annihilation of the soul. The black hole in which I have plunged becomes always deeper and deeper_ the suffering digs into my heart and remains there forever...without peace but only torment, with anger prevailing against the abandon of life that was once your best friend.

But you are still with me my son, in my dreams full of light, and radiant in your smile, whispering your last words to me

love always Dad, you were always there when I needed you

and I speak to you often at your garden we built for you, a place silent and full of flowers and colors, asking 'Why God" ...but there is no answer...never an answer...

The days pass and in my dreams your absence becomes presence_ fluctuating in another dimension as living in a world apart, as if what has happened could of sudden never have happened.

Your room became my computer room where as I enter_ I am overcome by the suffering, solitude, anger and detachment.

Love always my son.

[Van Canna]

And I know, my son, how you raged against the dying of the light, to protect your parents from an eternal sadness:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

by Dylan Thomas

[Van Canna]

In this life there will be times when all things appear to lose all significance…
Ever since my son passed…the world has become more weighted down…with new folds, new doubts, new fears.

As I visit his grave daily, the sense of desolation and abandon keeps on wearing down my soul with the promise of new anguishes in the near distance.

My mother’s grave is but a few feet away , beautiful flowers in wood baskets adorn the two sites almost constantly…other than the times when they are stolen by grave robbers.

Yesterday was one of those days…the grave robbers had turned the wood baskets upside down dumping and strewing the flowers in every direction so they could steal the baskets.

It is difficult to cope with the animal fury that becomes all pervasive in those moments…the hands twitch as if in search of a hammer of Thor.

[Van Canna]

As I sit by the graves, all the things my mother would tell me as a child, when we looked at our beloved train station behind our beloved home, come back to mind ...

she would say that life is like a train voyage, a continuum of running and leaving behind of family, friends and things that are so dear to us and that will remain in our memory as Chimeras suspended in time.

Life is like a journey on a train… with its stations… with changes of routes… and with accidents!
At birth we boarded the train and met our parents, and we believe they will always travel on our side.

However, at some station our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone.

As time goes by, other people will board the train; and they will be significant i.e. our siblings, friends, children, and even the love of our life. Many will step down and leave a permanent vacuum. Others will go so unnoticed that we don’t realize that they vacated their seats!

This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells.

Success consists of having a good relationship with all the passengers…requiring that we give the best of ourselves.

The mystery to everyone is:

We do not know at which station we ourselves will step down.

So, we must live in the best way – love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are.

It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty —

we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.

[Van Canna]

As I sit there in my car, a sentinel of solitude_ an immense sadness is the last sentiment that gently breezes upon the mind as I doze off in the greeting of a dreamscape world that is another realm completely _ spotlighting the subconscious in stark shadows _ silhouetted against the gray mantle of the past.

I am breathing the fresh air of the nearby pond and enter the dimension of silence that allows my listening of the subtle sounds coming from the world around me.

The more I walked and the closer I was getting to my old house for a visit; the more I would realize how much of every step I took was so extremely solitary.

The gentle kiss of the Mediterranean upon the sea shore_ the friendly barking of a dog_ the chime of the old big clock on the Cathedral_

I walk allowing my feet to chose the direction of travel_ there was an anguish from the noise of the soles of my shoes upon the pavement...in the realization that I was totally alone ...without the many friends I once had...no one with whom to exchange a few words...

All this being a part of a glass dream sphere I was entering, where upon its reflections I could see the distorted stories of my life, the seemingly millions of miles traveled behind the wheel of always a very powerful car_ and the millions of nights leaning out and looking at the stars over my garden.

[Van Canna]

I enter the beloved radio room, the heart of this old house...pleasant and unpleasant memories of this space all assailing of mind...the stories it could tell...the stories I could tell ...

A halo of darkness seemed to surround the interior _killing out every color I had remembered in that room. Where was the sun that always splashed in from the balcony and windows overlooking the sea scape ?

The train in the railroad station behind the house still makes its runs...but it is no longer called 'Littorina' ....simply 'local train' with only one wagon and a diesel motor that travels on single tracks and deprived of passengers....a phantom of the past.

As a child, many times I would feel the sensation that the house was crowded with strangely modulated spoken words that traversed every corner at random creating clusters of fantasies, some oppressive and scary...and how would those words get in? And from where?

Caught in my reveries ... I begin to realize that a corner of my beloved ‘radio room’ is an open space…not closed in by corner walls …but looking like a passageway never seen before…and it makes me wonder why I had never noticed it until now.

[Van Canna]

I am excited and curious, and stepping closer to it…I observe that the opening is a strange gray corridor connecting to some other area.

Overcome by trepidation, I pass through and find myself before a space mirroring the radio room… but decisively larger and much more welcoming…full of more luxurious pieces of furniture and a more elaborate library enclosed in stained glass doors ....the kind that my father always loved to open and close in sparks of reflective colors.

[Van Canna]

[Van Canna]

Oh, the delicious hours spent in that room in the company of my friends, listening to stories and the songs from the radio...talking of thousands things, fantasizing about life with eyes immersed in infinite dreams of the future replete of bluish hues and smiles... my heart full of affections, and a soul inebriated by the hope of happiness.

A hundred memories, a hundred regrets, I pause _ head held tight in my hands, and reflect upon the days when I would sit happy and singing songs of joy and hopes ...looking at life with smiling eyes...a life that could be of great happiness were it not marred by the inevitable sorrows that destroy the soul.

[Van Canna]

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

[Van Canna]

I didn't even know what day of the week or what month it was. It had been a while that even time had lost almost all significance.

I was seeing the fading sun of the evening, a few hours from one of those summer sunsets that last so long and slow that seem never to end beyond the horizon.

Almost with the same listlessness I was driving along one of the world's hairiest and most scenic drives veering vertiginously around the jagged mountains, providing vista after stunning vista…south of my home town_ through the valleys' shortcuts and the soccer fields that little by little were being obfuscated by the evening shadows.

Along the curves, while becoming aware of the so many times I had distractedly lost the beauty of those shimmering landscapes, I felt an increasing shudder as I was little by little getting closer to my destination.

[Van Canna]

I could only hear the rumbling exhaust of the sporty car I was driving, that hesitated at each change of gears, in the tortuous hills along the usual roadway_ so I decided to turn on the radio.

I was scanning the frequencies looking for a station with clear sound, but found nothing, as I was too far from the city. I kept that dull buzzing of the radio as background _ to keep me company.


My mind was full with unspeakable thoughts and embattled feelings, when suddenly all that noise, disappointments and the endless curves of the road, began to get on my nerves.

Frustrated, I took my eyes of the road for a moment, by now convinced as I was to…know all its contours by memory…and looked directly at the radio dial while searching for a clear station_