Summary of the Novel

“The day is made up of 24 hours and an infinite number of moments. We need to be aware of those moments and make the most of them regardless of whether we’re busy doing something or contemplating life.” –   Paulo Coelho

“The Witch of Portobello” is not a novel demonizing the life of an ugly sorceress who concocts black magic and nightmarish spells. It is the story of lovely Athena, an adopted daughter of Lebanese parents, now living in London. At this point in her young adult life, she has been divorced, raised a young son, and been rejected by the Catholic Church of her childhood. These matters , accompanied by the feeling that her gypsy mother has abandoned her in childhood, leads Athena along the path of distrust of herself and of those around her. Refusing to suffer in silence in her present state, however, she seeks refuge in the experience of travel.

Possessing this wandering spirit, Athena begins to open her eyes to new experiences. She journeys to the Middle East to discover the spontaneous freedom of calligraphy as well as the meditative power of dance, Feeling curious about the origins of her gypsy past, Athena travels to Romania to seek the whereabouts of the mother who had rejected her. They successfully reunite to discuss the gypsy belief that there is a strong, spiritual power within that every human possesses. Based on these conversations, Athena returns to London now feeling strongly that this knowledge of her gypsy past has awakened unique abilities – communicating with the dead, prophesizing the future and recognizing the presence of true love in a feminine spirit.

In returning home to England, Athena becomes a cult figure in her community. She conducts talks at night to help-seeking audiences as a way to test her new powers with strangers. In these sessions, she encourages dancing with unaccustomed movements and rhythms, enters into deep trances to predict the future, and espouses a “goddess diet” for eating more not less for obtaining happiness. Her rising popularity though leads to controversy as god-fearing, Christian threats against her life appear and legal actions are filed to stop her from performing these witchlike demonstrations. In spite of the continuing furor, Athena expresses continued confidence to remain a martyr for being what she believes she truly is. Tragically, Athena’s life ends in a news report of her brutal murder, whereupon the evidence to explain this tragedy will be mysteriously tampered with.

Personal Reflections

Snippet 1 – Athena’s traveling spirit becomes an impetus for greater awareness of the present moment.

I have often felt trapped by the pressure to survive as a teacher in a competitive world. Blinded by the need to plan ahead for my lessons or look back at my past learnings in college, I would lose sight of experiencing the present. Seeking a way to relax from such mind chatter, I noticed that holidays away from home helped me to center my attention in the now more. I most recently experienced such a revelation last summer. On a summer road trip from Florida to California, a decision to retrace the path of the Oregon Trail , allowed me to experience the “here and now” desolation of distance and harshness of topography that land – seeking families faced in the pioneer days of 19th century America.

Snippet 2 – Athena learns that becoming an independent, gypsy wanderer will allow her to become an active participant in overcoming her self-insecurities and having less fear of the unknown in such circumstances.

Taking an organized tour in travel makes good sense for many. Lazily sailing from port to port on a cruise or queuing up with your guide for the next bus tour, you are freed from many of the burdens that accompany your next vacation. On the other hand, to choose to be held hostage to a fixed, cruise port schedule or to keep pace with of guided bus offers no more than a passive escape to me. The strategy of independent travel seems to represent a more active travel option for me in my quest to market myself more confidently as a blogging practitioner. Amassed with practical apps that offer GPS Technology, language translation and social media communication. I feel that I feel fully capable of customizing my own course of travel. One of my earliest, blogging endeavors recorded my impressions of Old Lisbon on a walking experience last October, I had initially imagined myself facing the haphazard array of medieval paths in the Alfama area as a hapless fool trapped in a frustrating maze of confusion. Having resisted the urge to locate a local bus or hop on a streetcar, I flipped on my I Phone and plotted a simple, Google map to and from five, interesting sights in the area. As I could not translate well the Portuguese signs surrounding me, I again consulted my cell for Google English conversion as needed. Feeling empowered by these accomplishments, this short venture into the unknown ended with several photos shared on Facebook as inspiration for attracting new blog followers.

Snippet 3 – Athena’s curiosity to seek new places and experiences engenders a spiritual direction to her life.

The principles of organized religion in my life confuse me. Given an inability to understand how violence and war have been used to justify holiness throughout the world today and in past history, I seek places in travel that might provide a more peaceful path to spirituality. At such times, I appear to be particularly drawn to places of unique, natural beauty. You might consider them my own sacred pilgrimages.

The geological size and complexity of the South Rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona is one of breathtaking beauty. As my eyes gaze down toward the colorful evidence of multiple layers of rock deposit, I realize that I have been privileged to witness the natural evolution of our earth’s history over eons of time . The chronicle of my own life, while insignificant in comparison, remind me that similar satisfaction can be attained when I accept my own aging process gracefully.

Paris offers a multitude of tourist pleasures for the European traveler. My path to the “The City of Light”, however, seeks to find inner sanctity from the natural setting there. The “Parc Floral de Paris”, a few miles east of the right bank core, offers an ideal respite for calming my mind . Whenever I visit there, I absorb a soothing feeling of oneness – all peoples are accepted there. The intimacy of a French couple holding hands next to a duck pond, the joyful dance of a bride and groom at a Middle Eastern marriage ceremony, an Eastern European backpacker dribbling a prized soccer ball between his feet … these moments I have witnessed there awaken my mind to the idea that in each stranger along my path, there is an ideal source for relaxing contemplation.

Mountain hiking in Switzerland can be challenging to the novice walker. To make matters easier, however, Swiss paths are always well-marked by distance/destination and provide periodic hut retreats along the way for shelter and conversation. Such Swiss commitment to detail provides me with assurances that I can never be truly lost on a day hike there. Under these well-planned, mountaineering conditions, my more relaxed stroll along the ridge allows my senses to become more attuned to the subtle clues of nature that surround me. A sudden cracking of ice from a glacial landslide, a gentle clang of cowbells as I near an Alpine meadow, a brief glimpse of a hoary marmot peering for danger near his freshly dug hole. The broken silence at these moments can never be forgotten as I gaze with awe at the snowy peaks surrounding me.

I stand again in awe amidst the mountains of my intellectual youth. These proud edifices of knowledge at the University of South Florida (USF) revive memories of a restless time, fueled by endless tensions of student discontent. We challenged our professors to provide relevance to their lectures and demanded action to prove their worth in a turbulent world. It seemed we were always one.

On the USF campus each weekend, we mellowed to folk sounds at the “Empty Keg” as we laughed innocently at our green beer servers. Flaunting our long hair and hippie attire, we demanded our right to be groovy. In the darkened recesses of our cave, shouts of Tolstoy and Marx filled the air. We realized in these moments that our generation must be listened to.

Standing atop a grassy knoll nearby the Student Center, our peace signs protested the hypocrisy surrounding us. What gave our government the right to require us to serve in a war we did not believe in? Why did our President lie to us about our place in the world order? Why were the rights of women and blacks still ignored by the political process? Our gathering on this sacred ground would sustain our momentum for change.

Now it has all gone quiet. Paying homage to our digital device culture, great thinking no longer serves the day on campus. Is there hope for rebellion when students stand passively in Starbucks today to discuss their latest latte? I watch students walk busily to class as if there is no time to linger now in thought. A drop in and drop out commuter culture rules the day.

Where is the groove found now? A crowded, parking lot cannot replace the sacred, protest hill of my youth. A meaningless barrage of Facebook messages will never suffice for gatherings of true, intellectual thought. The jock image of a football jersey debases the world-changing purpose of scholarship that I sought in the USF experience. We all got up to dance for revolution but they will never get a chance.

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” Ralph Waldo Emerson”

My “Traveler’s Mind” draws positive energy from the unexpected place. Allow me to step into worlds where I have freedom of choice to explore on these terms without fear of safety or physical confinement. Having these parameters in mind, I describe five of my globetrotting aspirations for the upcoming decade.

I wish to experience the serenity of Buddhism surrounded by green mountains in a Tibetan monastery. Listening to the healing tones of music bowls and meditative chanting, my physical and emotional health can be nurtured.

I desire to jump high in the air again with the Maasai Tribe of Kenya as their happy faces fill my mind with unconditional acceptance. Their sacred cows will surround me as a reminder that animals should have rights as humans do.

I aspire to tango into the night with my wife in Argentina to teach me to be feel romantic as I grow older. The evening will conclude with a sip of mate tea in the company of Argentinian scholars.

I feel the urge to walk among iguanas and sea tortoises in the Galapagos Islands, who have little to fear of the human kind. With my curiosity about the isolation of this land enhanced, I will climb to the remnants of an ancient volcano to embrace the geological evolution that has taken place there.

As a longtime resident of South Florida, I rarely experience the passing of seasons. My love of nature motivates me to finish a novel in a lonely, Colorado cabin as the beauty of each month surrounds me in unanticipated wonder.

Hop aboard the prairie schooner. The Old West calls me to think more deeply today as my presence in a world of urban survival fades away in this dry stillness of the endless prairie. Imagine joining a caravan of Conestoga settlers, seeking a better life toward the setting sun. What kind of life did their adventures west tell me to live?

The signs of a simpler time are everywhere. A sagebrush lies parched near a fence to nowhere. Its desolation provides a beautiful relief from the inhumanity of urban congestion. A hungry vulture circles its intended prey to remind me that I eat to live rather than live to eat. A westbound locomotive whistles in the distance to announce its escape from the incessant call of the eastward clock. Clearly, I must find a slower pace of life now that will allow me to think more attentively.

As I return home to my competitive world eastward, I will test this resolve to be more aware of my surroundings. As the privacy of my auto can no longer entomb me in a blinded race to my destination, I will find more scenic roads to travel on. Since the convenience of a cellphone ring no longer claims highest priority of my attention, I will find silence in the present moment. When faced with deceptive spins of fast food marketers, I will take the time to shop for healthier options.

My message in this blog reminds one that a successful journey begins in the mind. You can never know what unexpected moments will change your life in the future. As you step out into the world every day, you must make time to stop, breathe, and listen inwardly. Enjoy your traveling mind.

I do have an adventurous spirit but one might wonder why it was inspired by rocks? A red rocks panorama in Sedona, Arizona inspired thoughts about natural beauty as I blogged with Owldragonash today.The imaginative scenes of natural beauty in her virtual entry, “Do You Have an Adventurous Spirit?” reminded me of an unusual title I earned on a camping excursion across the Outback interior of Australia. Here is the story about how I was given that name.

My American name is James but I more commonly am called Rockman. It is advisable to pack lightly for long distance travel but my bags of stones could never be left behind. I had not realized the importance of rocks on earth until I completed an Introductory Geography course in college. Everywhere I traveled after that, it seemed I needed to analyze geological patterns of color shape, and origin in rocks that surrounded me. No pebble was too small for a quick inspection and a boulder could occupy my time forever it seemed.

On a camping tour of Australia then, I felt I had entered rock heaven .As our bus completed the long journey across the reddish rocks across the Outback, I amassed a sizeable collection of Aussie rocks. They became increasingly difficult to carry. I often consulted my guidebooks for facts about my samples and became somewhat of a rock expert in my conversations with my traveling companions. I was truly a rock nerd among these friends and thus was bestowed the title of Rockman.

It would not occur to me then how I might be missing the real magic of rocks. I more recently learned through practicing yoga that there is beautiful energy in rock presence that no geological inspection could ever reveal. I also recognized that because of my new awareness, I did not have to travel far to experience the magical aura of a lonely rock whose smooth touch seeks to comfort me in troubled times. So take a hike today and be open to the presence of your Rockman soul.

I have always loved to drive. Time restrictions of career, though, had dictated that car trips meant arriving at my destination quickly. Blinded by such ambitions, I had never pondered if this travel paradigm would ever change.

Picture me now as I settled into retirement. When the pressures of work ended, I now wanted to discover this country mile by mile in the adventurous spirit of the Western pioneer.  I yearned to experience the sun as it rose with red bravado in the desert. It made perfect sense for me to reject the distractions of city life so I could become more cognizant of nature’s calling. It was time to travel on my terms now.

Turning to my family past, I considered a hard- working father. After a distinguished career as an Air Force Bombardier in World War II, he had returned home to raise a family with little time to see the country that he had fought courageously for. “Give me a light Vic”, I recall him often saying to my mother when he smoked his Winston’s on our once a year vacations from Ohio to Florida. As he casually flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the lighters not those occasions, it was always full speed ahead to our nightly motel destination.

As his tragic path to urban mindlessness haunts me today, I observe a red crag on a dusty road to the right  ahead. I will not allow the mechanistic calls of my GPS to deter me now and must trust my intuition to guide me where I wish to go. Realizing that there will be ample time to reach my intended destination later, I slowly veer toward this paragon of natural beauty. I have never felt so alive!

One would expect the American prairie of Nebraska to be a flat and monotonous ride across endless farmland. It was to my surprise then that a conspicuous sign appeared, “Fort Morgan – boyhood home of Glenn Miller”. My curiosity had become aroused in a time warp of old time America and I had to find out why.

Stopping at the next rest stop, I noticed an amazing array of literature describing towns to visit by car. To my surprise, I read that a “The Lincoln Highway” still traversed Nebraska as a reminder of a time when Americans cars first traveled America’s transcontinental highway.It’s parallel path along the North Platte River provided evidence of how dangerous waterways paved the road west for 19th century pioneers.

Stopping for lunch, I then noticed differences in vocabulary. A touchdown did not refer to a football score, but a place where a raging tornado would reach land from the sky. Pop became a refreshing drink rather than a convenient term for a father. I became fascinated to know if such terms were signs that these prairie people were not up with the times.

With this thought in mind, we now visited a past neighbor who had recently moved to Lincoln Nebraska. Expecting the typical tourist trap tour, I gazed wondrously at slickly rebuilt glass towers with grassy gathering places nearby. Silicon Valley in Nebraska could not be far from the truth.

I looked further into the irony of my surroundings. A plethora of people from many nationalities inhabited spacious parks that day. Modern Refugee Centers had been strategically placed to serve those that had recently arrived. Downtown slum areas had been replaced by rows of new housing in oddly shaped barn frameworks. Front doors were left open to suggest trust in the safety of their neighborhoods.

I then became distracted by hunger. Growing tired of endless fast food establishments, we spotted a lonely donut shop. As the shop was closing soon, the donuts were already packed away. Surely we would be told the shop was closed. To my surprise, after I ordered my one pastry limit, the waitress warmly greeted us with an entire box of gourmet donuts for free. The owner then arrived to warmly entertain me with travel tips in Lincoln although I suspected there was a catch to her cordial ways. Visions of Norman Rockwell rang true then to vanish these doubts.

With eyes turned eastward, I realize that these hallowed flatlands have given me a sense of history that is often not found in my crowded, urban life combined with a surprisingly cosmopolitan friendliness of the places I saw. The plains will never be plain for me again.

I walk quietly along the Seine with no destination in mind. I crunch along the fallen leaves and gaze starry. – eyed at the sheer elegance of an earlier time. Stately buildings surround my view inscribed with illustrious names from French past. A royal chandelier shines brightly from a passing window with ghosts of sumptuous feasts of emperors. I continue along this stony path of Kings and As the French flag flies proudly on a passing barge, I feel truly fortunate to be in the presence of such undying grandeur now.

In the distance, I hear the eerie call of Notre Dame. It reminds me to consider my spiritual connection to the tragedies of this great city. Many followers of faith have been persecuted here in the presence of this great cathedral. The spirit of lost such souls speak to me in hope that such intolerance of difference will not be repeated in my own life.

The geometry of shape mesmerize me now as a grand footbridge draws closer. Gilded bronze decorations of ancient goddesses reveal a time when Rome ruled the Western world. Ornate cast iron streetlights remain as a vestige of Beau Arts gas lighting in the late 19th century. A perfect symmetry of arch is formed as a tourist boat quietly emerges from mysterious shadows.

The Parisian landscape that I have observed today on this simple walk along the Seine reveals a moment of truth. I desire to find my fate in the natural beauty that surrounds me. As an autumn leaf rustles in the wind, I now see an energy to experience my life more fully.

Jonathan knew the routine well. Ever since he had been diagnosed with his kidney condition, he knew that his home health visits would be highlighted by endless paperwork routines and personally negative interrogations. During catheter insertions, each nurse was likely to say” tell me when it starts hurting;” Regrettably, this tactic often filled his mind with thoughts of dread.

Predictably, he waited impatiently for each appointment. A nurse either got lost in finding his house or phoned him to re-schedule his appointment. His insurance provided no help as it limited him to only one visit per month. It was only logical that a spirit of pessimism had possessed his soul.

One month, a new Haitian nurse, Malila, arrived for his monthly treatment. Jonathan immediately sensed a difference. Unlike the others, her quirky Haitian accent combined with the kindness in her eyes suggested to him a spirit of optimism. “Where would you like this done” she softly asked him. He felt relieved when she had skipped the blood testing and paper signatures for sure that day.

Malila was easy to talk to. When Jonathan explained the history of his condition in great detail, Malila responded with the idea that he could cure himself by finding the right doctor. She went in to explain her view that it was a rare to find doctors who took the time to fully understand their patients condition.

The catheter insertion went well and for the first time he had no thoughts of fear. Malila then handed him her personal phone to call in case he ran into a problem making his next appointment. He then realized that Malila would become the key to curing his condition.

The following month, a home health service provided by his current doctor refused to authorize any more face to face appointments. Malila would now be past history. But Malila had given him the power to be strong in her once only visit. A new doctor would in fact heal him one year later.

Sometimes in our busy lives we reject strangers who appear in our life as unneeded distractions. We feel we have no time to listen to those who do not really know us. But in this account, it is clear to me that such unexpected encounters can provide us with honest answers to our most serious problems. Our eyes must stay open when we meet the nurse from paradise.

I hugged a tree today. One might wonder about the logic of this act but if you spend some time in the stillness of the Redwood forest you might have be similarly affected. As I begin my walk among these proud giants, I observe each tree with curious wonder. My senses overcome me as I absorb their timeless message of human endurance and renewal.

My pace slows as I approach the crumbling remnants of a fallen giant.As I ponder my path around it, I observe great crevices cradling other forms plant life. I then think how selfish we are as humans to believe our own existence as apart from others!

The silence is broken as a swirling wind arrives to greet me in this moment. I gaze up to the sky at the gentle rustling of each towering branch. As leaves crackle in the broken sunlight, I imagine that my presence has finally been noted. .

I then notice a face in the gnarled bark of an ancient tree.” How shall I return this sign of recognition? A handshake would surely not suffice as wood and arm meet. “Tell me your story old tree, I wonder, so I can understand the meaning of life?”

I suddenly realize that every day is Earth Day and have already been given an answer. I now hug this tree in the silence of the Redwood Forest as a testament to the idea that as humans, we are a part of nature, but do not control it.