what is reality

i found myself traveling. traveling the french country side with my swedish travel partner. we think and enjoy the same things. she starts my sentences and i finish hers. a lot of fun. especially if you only know each other for a couple of days. anyways. we went to a small catalane town on the coast. truely amazing experience. this day was a spiritual experience for me. i found myself trapped between two world. both amazing. both pure. i realised my new life in france has set my mind on a new course. i was truely experiencing myself in a new way. i enjoy life here. who would not. soaking up the sun. drinking pastis while starting at perfect blue water. reading hemingway. a moveable feast. this ones for you pappi. i found myself wondering where i go to from here. where will i find myself in a few years time. i was a good question. it made my mind rumble. hem always leaves me with a sense of nostalge. i love that. pondering between the here. the then. the yesterday. i was at my happiest there in some famous cafe. but that raised the trivia in me. where does my two worlds meet. what is my reality. would my spirituality allow me to be. to enjoy. would my dreamworld except my spirituality. how will the two get along. will they compromise. will they give in. are they different in any way. are they different at all. they are both what i enjoy. am i cheating life. the sun was baking on my face. the smell of suncream being my aura. the laughter of children being a sense of euphoria to me. kids with melting icecream. a travel partner that has a lot of questions. i can see it on her face. i can sense it as she sits behind her cafe double. does she have the same trivia. we have not yet spoken about that. i dont think she does though. her thoughts seem to be somewhere else. the beat suddenly changes on my ipod and i awake from my daydreaming. where have i been. am i back. was that reality. or is this. i sometimes struggle to distinguish the two. the music is friendly. gotan project. they are great. another pastis. a walk down the street. towards the sea. a yacht has just pulled in. my icecream is melting too. i am think too much. i turn the corner and found myself watching some old men play boules. i love to watch them. the way they go about their business. so meticulous. so perfect. poetry in motion. their face baked by years of southern sun. their hands wrinkled by the sand and the dust of years of boules. i bet they have asked the same questions. i bet they have lived good lives. i bet they have lived. loved. lost. it is written on their faces. friendly faces. always gazing in the direction of preying spectators. acknowledging you with a smile. a smile that says more than the qusetion asked for. but satisfying none the less. that is perhaps why i watch. not so much the game. but the people. they live. i admire then. they understand living. simplicity. i cross the bridge. stroling back to the cafe. she was still writing post cards. she looks up. smiles. we take our time to get to the station. its a couple of hours back by train. we walk the hill towards the staion. the sun beaming from the mountain top. vines all over. i smile. my heart leaps. my spirit filled with joy. i know what they resemble to me. they are my victory. a story for another day. another day gone by. a day well spent. a day to remember. a day to think about. stop thinking about thinking. live. yes rather live. live and let live.