After six months of painfully tedious struggle, my favorite business deal is heating up in Barcelona. Damn, I don’t really have time but I need to be there now. I catch a flight and after ten tiresome hours on airplanes and a couple more waiting in airports, I step out into the late morning warmth of a beautiful Barcelona day. The cloudless azure sky and gentle breeze bring visions of past idle days on the beach into my tired mind. But there is no time for that; I take the first taxi in the line and we set off for the city center. A nice hot shower and a nap would be blissfully pleasant but there is no time for bliss; I have work to do.
Twenty minutes of sitting in traffic and I arrive at the office. The receptionist finds a place to stash my bags while I run to the bathroom to splash a little cold water on my face and smooth the wrinkles out of my traveling clothes. Thank God, she thought of getting me a coffee. I down the double espresso and open the door to the meeting room. I take a deep breath and dive into the fray.
We effusively exchange the standard pleasant greetings and almost immediately set out for a Spanish business lunch. After a few bottles of wine and a great meal the folks loosen up and we get down to real business. Four hours later and with a nice increase in my net worth almost in the bank, I say hasta leugo and head for the hotel. These guys are tough, I have to back off for a while. I’m too tired to battle with three attackers at once. We’ll be back at it on Monday anyway. In Spain deals are never closed in a single meeting.
The hot water spraying over my exhausted body is better than sex right now. I stand there for minutes without the slightest movement, savoring the hot massage so graciously provided by a steel shower head. Finally I turn the water off and step out. I really want some sleep. The bed is comfortable and the room is silent but sleep is not an option for me now. My body says it’s midday and not time to sleep. I toss and turn for about a century before I look at the clock and see that only five minutes have passed.
I manage to get out of bed, get dressed and walk into the heart of the old city before I catch my second wind for the third or fourth time in this extended thirty-six hour day. I walk through the swarms of people on Las Ramblas like a zombie. I smell the flowers and I hear the birds but I am not really here. Most of the people don’t notice me in the mass of moving humanity, but those who do, stare at me as if I had a monkey dancing on my head.
Although the streets are familiar, I am in a place I have not been before, a place where business is not important, where success is not measured in dollars, or euros.
I am here in Barcelona completely alone, painfully alone, and now I am wondering – why? Suddenly, I don’t want to have a business. I don’t know what I want. I have always wanted something more than what I had, but now what I have seems unimportant, and what I am struggling to achieve seems absolutely meaningless.
“How can a million dollars be meaningless?” I ask myself.
I don’t answer because I hate to lose arguments with myself. I walk aimlessly through the twisted streets of the old city and somehow I arrive at the Plaza del Pi. I have walked past the massive old church of Santa Maria del Pi many times before but now it seems inviting. There is something reassuring about a building that has stood unchanged for five hundred years representing an organization that has survived for two thousand years.
Inside the church I sit quietly in the shadows, surrounded by cold stone and windows made with images of people better than me. The dimly colored light from those stained glass windows creates a universe separated from the world outside, unique, quiet, peaceful. The boisterous cacophony of the street is filtered down to a pleasant background murmur here. But I can only observe the calmness, never participate.
The old wooden kneeler was worn from the many years of others kneeling there and pleading for help. God has such patience. After thousands of years of pleas he should have given up on all of us. But there I was asking again for help and I was not instantly struck down by a fiery bolt of lightning. So I ask God for help with no apologies, no ‘excuse me sir’. I just ask for help. There is silence in the church but the entire universe screams at me. I asked a question and I get an answer but I don’t understand the answer He gives me.
“God, what is it that I should be? Why did you put me here, what do you expect of me?” I ask. But those are not the real questions I am asking. I know and God knows it is a much different question that exists here, unasked but still answered with overwhelming energy.
The silence in the old church screamed at me and it echoes off the cold stone walls reverberating to infinity. But there were no words. Talking with God is very hard; His voice is so big.
“Please God, stop shouting. I can’t hear you when you shout,” I plead. With moisture in my eyes, I get up and walk to the door. I’ll try this again later, when God has settled down a bit.
A short walk through the old city brings me to the Temple Bar, a little snippet of Ireland buried deep in the Barcelona old city. I can get a pint of Guinness here. It’s not yet evening on a Saturday; it will be nearly empty and I can be alone. I feel a desperate need to be alone.
Far in the back of the now quiet pub there is a small, dark nook. I sit on the cushioned bench quietly sipping my beer. The worn old cushions are comfortable and the cold beer is refreshing. But much too soon, the questions return. They are not simple questions like, “What is the meaning of life? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?”
These are hard questions like … why?
Can a feeling be a question? Can the answer be another feeling? What does a feeling really mean?
A bar is not a good place to find answers to questions like these, or, it may be the best place. With a few pints of beer I can stop protecting myself and my well rehearsed answers that have kept me going all of these years. If I am mellow enough I can listen to the shouting and understand the words. But are the words that I hear from God? Are they from me? from alcohol?
No, this is not the right place. I finish my beer and walk out of the soft darkness of the bar into the bright, hot sunlight. My eyes hurt as the still brilliant sun burns through my eyes and scalds my brain.
There are so many people here who seem so happy. The street is full of young couples holding hands and smiling at each other. Groups of raucous young men walk by laughing at life. An old man and woman walk by locked together without touching, communicating without speaking, grown into a single unit after all of their years together. Two young ladies laughing and talking pass by without seeing me or anyone else. A young couple passes by, eyes locked on each other, unaware of the world around them.
Their happiness seems odd; why should all of these people be so happy when this is just another of the millions of days that have passed and will continue to pass by? Yet I am not unhappy. I’m not sure what happy really means. Is happiness just the absence of sadness like cold is the absence of heat?
Do they never face these questions or do they already have the answers? Nice, neatly packaged answers with a pretty ribbon around them and a bow on top. Do this, and then do that, and happiness will be yours. How wonderful it would be to know everything that might be important or interesting in your life. I used to think I had all of the answers, but now I know that I have never before asked the questions. Answers are easy when there are no real questions. Have all of these people failed to ever ask the questions? Can one live an entire lifetime and never ask why?
With no destination in mind, I walk through the crowded streets looking and listening. So many people with so much to do, they all hurry back and forth rushing toward their death as fast as they can. No one stops to talk to a stranger; many are not talking to anyone, just running their lonely race with infinity. A few lost individuals are just sitting and waiting for infinity, an empty beer bottle at their side. Perhaps I will join them; there is a strange peace that seems to be available by surrendering everything and waiting for death.
Somehow I have arrived at the church once again. The doors are open now and people are going in; I guess I’ll join them and try to talk with God once more. I climb the stairs and enter through the massive doorway. Many people are seated and more are entering. People are preparing for a service of some kind. I sit in a dark corner where no one will notice me and wait for whatever might come next.
“God, are you still here?” I ask timidly.
No answer, I guess He didn’t like it when I walked out on Him earlier. I don’t think I want to know what happens when you irritate God.
The service begins, a Saturday night mass. People are praying, singing; reverence and peace surrounds me. Why don’t I get any of this peace? I guess God is too busy with all of these good people to bother with me. After all, I ignored Him for most of my life; I shouldn’t expect top billing.
“We’ll talk later God”, I promise, hoping that He is making the same promise back to me.
The service ends and the good people return to their race with death outside. Back out into the street they hurry; there are so many things they must do right now.
I slowly walk into the gathering darkness, tired and confused. The excitement and noise of Barcelona at night is beginning to build. Soon the abuelas and abuelos, the ninas and the ninos will be sleeping quietly. Those closest to infinity rest easier, the rest of us struggle, always searching without knowing what it is we hope to find. A night of hard drinking will just erase the questions but never bring any answers. Yet the crowds are beginning to gather. Many of my fellow wanderers need to be busy erasing for a while. Getting answers is so much harder than forgetting the questions.
Outside one of the clubs I stand in the shadows, looking inside, listening to the loud talk and the constant laughter. I can go in and join the noisy, laughing crowd. I can go back to the church and try to deal with the answers I am being given. I can stand here and wonder.
I reject all of the obvious options and turn away and walk slowly down to the sea.
There is just enough breeze to make the slightest sound of the surf audible to my tired ears. I walk along the beach to the quiet area below the walk. Soon the homeless and the drunks will be finding a place to sleep here but, for the moment, I am alone.
“God, are you here? Do I have to be in church to talk to You?” I ask aloud.
I think even Gods voice can’t be so big here. But I have been wrong before.
I sit in the sand and wait for an answer. There is no shouting like the experience in the church, just silence.
I think maybe God works with us however we choose. I wanted answers right away in the church and I got them, all at once. Now I want peace, perhaps understanding will follow if I wait long enough.