It is not uncommon for, without warning, in a crowded street, at an airport, or in a shopping place, the gazes of two strangers to intersect, giving rise to a sense of familiarity and potential, which often translates into an irresistible urge to approach or start a conversation. However, this fleeting perception dissipates almost instantly, as if the rational mind intervenes with a distraction to dispel the momentary discomfort of contact.
It is said that this happens when we spot in another person something we have lost or relinquished along the path of our lives. What could be the cause of that sense of familiarity?
I am reminded, by the way, of Orpheus and his feat, for which I lack adjectives to define.
With his melody, he persuaded Cerberus, Charon, Hades, and Persephone so that Eurydice could return from the underworld.
However, in the end, Orpheus inexplicably violated the previously established pact with Hades, condemning Eurydice to die a second time.
He lost her again.
Why did Orpheus turn?
Why couldn’t he refrain from looking back at Eurydice?
‘Curiosity’? or simply insecurity?
Perhaps in one of those glances between two strangers, on a crowded street, always lies their eternal encounter.
There are days that begin like chapters waiting to be written by those who will determine their epilogue, teaching us that in the crucial moments of life, there is no precise map, and the path is traced through the emotions that guide us.
Among the most fascinating pages, we find those of books hidden in unusual places; if we neglect them, it’s as if we’ve chosen never to write them.
The myth of Orpheus is an unusual place; it is simultaneously the story of standing at a crossroads.
Currently, for a matter of vitality, I prefer to enjoy rather than command, as Dumas eloquently told us through the expression of freedom of his characters who acted in his name and on his behalf.
I enjoy the scent of cork stoppers until evening, and I remain hidden from the world, pondering what Morricone thought when he woke up in the morning after speaking with Sergio Leone the night before.
Cole Porter lived a full and gay life, in love with Linda so much and more than ever, that all the love stories in the world contain a bit of that unusual passion.
Like Orpheus, Cole also communicated through a melody, not with the Lyre, but thanks to the piano.
Linda was beauty.
On one of the many evenings, it was ’61, Sammy, Frankie, and Dean at the Carnegie All were simply magnificent, Herry and Audrey sang Moon River like all those who would like to have breakfast at Tiffany’s, but few will sing My Way at the end of their story, because many remained seated on a chair in the prime of life on which Hemingway would never have sat.
A little earlier, it was autumn of 1883, October 7th. Towards evening, under the arched sky of the Gare de Strasbourg, the future Gare de l’Est, ministers, diplomats, journalists, and writers had an appointment with the world.
Via Strasbourg, passing through Munich, Vienna, Budapest, and Bucharest, they would reach the Eastern Gate. Constantinople. About three thousand kilometers in just over eighty hours, free from anything that could arouse a lack of freedom, towards the gold of that era, traveling across Europe on a fantastic train made for wealthy men and charming women. The Orient Express began its novel.
The audacious Monsieur Nagelmackers wrote a fairy tale.
Further on, later, Wilbur and Orville Wright, in twelve seconds, changed the world, subjugating the beginning of the era of the necessary superfluous in which only masks tell the truth, fighting simple existence to conquer living.
They flew.
On New Year’s Eve of 1959, Batista bid farewell to a country that already seemed to breathe a freedom deeper than it had ever known. Cuba deluded itself into being as free as those who embrace no faith, because they believe in nothing.
On the other shore, facing the infinity of the ocean, a man anxiously awaited something he knew would never come, but deep in his soul, echoed the sweet melody of Apollo’s Lyre, giving him the certainty that one day they would be reunited.
Orpheus and Eurydice were finally together again.
