This summer, my husband, youngest son and myself trekked to Europe. We began our adventure in Madrid, Spain; a gorgeous hub full of art, culture and food and a place my husband has frequented many times—myself, just once before. Madrid has forever captured his heart and he was eager to share it with our youngest son, Wyatt—then 10 years old. However, as much as Madrid mesmerizes and captivates, I have always had a tremendous urge to visit the south of Spain—specifically Sevilla. What did I know about Sevilla? Absolutely nothing! Why did I want to visit there so badly? Let’s just chalk it up to spiritual longing—past-life inclinations perhaps? I knew that Sevilla held something special for me and I truly believed I’d feel connected. Guess what? I most certainly did—eventually.
We exited the train station on one of Sevilla’s hottest days of the year. Actually, the entirety of Europe was under a heat wave, but the stagnant heat and sun’s scorching rays didn’t deter. We walked to our B & B—about a kilometre, with luggage in tow. As we trotted along, wiping sweat from our brows, I desperately tried to connect to the city’s energy. The sky was a vibrant blue, the old streets were full of community and the red rooftops provided a picturesque scene, so I was bound to feel a nudge, an awakening or something, right? After all, I couldn’t remember a time when Sevilla hadn’t been on my bucket list, so-to-speak, and the city life was lively, ready to enthrall. But, nothing. I felt nothing.
For a brief moment, while my husband, Mark, stood still and consulted his google maps and my son eyed a water-cooling station across the street, I firmly planted my converse knock-offs onto the cobblestone and grounded—centering myself, breathing deeply, and still nothing.
Steam literally rose from the pavement, tree branches drooped—struggling to stay sturdy in the humidity and I’m pretty certain that flowers everywhere had broken a sweat—beads of water rolling off of their petals. Perhaps, I’d vibe once my fluids were replenished and I had spent time in some much-needed A/C.
We reassembled ourselves and were ready to hit the inner corridors for some of that Sevillian goodness and although the tapas, and waterways were extraordinary my heart remained heavy. Why wasn’t I connecting with this place? An abundance of beauty, rich culture and a level of comfort abounded, yet still nothing. There was no ‘a ha’ moment, a sure sense of belonging or even a hint of nostalgic energy.
We spent the rest of the day enjoying Sevilla’s eateries, shopping, historic sites and many of its hidden gems within the city—even a sunset boat ride along the Rio Grande, but still no defining moment to validate my years of longing to visit Sevilla.
The next day, we day-tripped along the coast in a rental car to Gibraltar and it was here, staring out over the Mediterranean Sea at the continent of Africa through the Pillars of Hercules, that I voiced my disappointment to my husband. But, with that, I also let go of my expectations, vowing to accept things as they were—grateful for the journey I was on with two of my loves and a heightened appreciation for life’s mysteries.
Back in Sevilla, we decided, to forgo any unnecessary heat exertion and ride the double-decker tour bus; although the heat was inescapable, we at least didn’t have to walk in it. I settled into the upper-deck with my ‘guiding’ ear-phones and allowed myself to be transported back-in-time by the narrator, to a time when emperors ruled, when the Plaza de America/de Espana boasted amorous allure (still does), when architectural detail housed square bricks and ceramic tiled coiffured ceilings, and when traditional flamenco dress and guitar music flooded streets and taverns.
My heart lightened as we passed by the royal palace, but it wasn’t the palace, per se, or its grandeur that created the onset of a shift in me. It was hearing the eloquent description of Sevilla’s historical past, that evoked familiarity. All at once, I finally began to resonate with the surrounding narrow streets of Sevilla and the city’s cobblestone walkways—transposed and humbled.
The bus hummed along, and I was baking on top of its roof—pools of sweat building behind my knees and trickles of it sliding down my back. The boys continued to ride down below—seeking shelter from the sun’s intensity, but I was unfazed, and allowed for the city’s historical corridors to continue their whispers to me—reacquainting me with a past from long ago.
I began to transcribe notes on my phone. I wanted to remember every detail. I had been disconnected from Sevilla for so long and although memories fade, the soul never forgets where its been. I’m fascinated by what triggers our connections to people, places and things—in this life or lives we’ve lived before.
Inspired by connection, my second novel will be set in where I am today—Toronto, Canada, but also where I’ve been before (at least twice)—Sevilla, Spain.
My husband clearly has his own draw to Madrid; his own awakened connection to a place in the world, and I too now know, without a doubt, that my soul has lived on in Sevilla and will continue to do so—the connection is strong.
The universe loves to share with you, when you waive expectation and choose to just be. Where or what might you be inexplicably drawn to?
Be Happy.
Enjoy self-help with a twist? Read my new fictional novel, Voice of the Red Dragonfly ~ A Spiritual Story, about opening yourself up to the flow, and watching as your best life unfolds before your eyes.