Po do sol

I accidentally deleted a similar post to this yesterday, so here is my second crack at it. Hopefully my getting copy and paste mixed up in Portuguese does not hinder my posting in the future. I certainly will not forget which is which now. Enjoy!:

A happenstance occurrence, Taísa's water leak at her house, presented us with two hours of free time before dinner on Tuesday. I had promised myself to see a sunset as soon as I could, but seeing as we have Portuguese class Monday through Friday while it occurs, we had not been as of yet. We began our descent towards the beach at 17:00 giving us about half an hour to spare before the sun completely disappeared over the edge of the Earth. As we descended a street parallel to a cliff overlooking the bay, a sight, the likes of which a picture could do no justice, took me by surprise. The sun bored down with an intensity that averted gazes. I could not even look at the reflection of the sun off of the sea without putting up a hand to block or squinting vigorously. The sun seemed to pierce our very plane of vision, spewing a dense celestial stew of amber rays and photon packets that ripped through subtle nuances of pink and purple. How dark the deep crystal blue of the ocean seemed in comparison. After receiving a sufficient amount of retinal damage, we continued on. The beach swarmed with people, at five o'clock on a Tuesday mind you. I jumped in as soon as we arrived. Swimming out a ways, I found a nice spot to float, soaking up all I could of the moment. The salinity of the water made me especially buoyant and prone to the whims of the sea. Though chilly, the warm collage of hues painted passionately across the sky more than compensated for the frigidity of the water. Spiced shrimp, salt, cigarettes, and fish tickled my nose. Various ball games, laughter, and  entreaties to buy this or that washed over me. I was a grain of salt suspended in a solution approaching supersaturation. People bobbed, and a father paddled his daughter out to get a better view. Almost in response to our collecting, it began. Everything merged at a single point in time and space, heaven and Earth collided. A lightning bolt of reflected energy weaved in and out of freighters and launches before hitting me square in the chest. The golden ember greeted the sea with a gentle touch, igniting a contagious amalgam of cheers, whistles, and claps. Our enormous life-giving speck of an energy provider grew a richer fuller vermilion as it sank, as if to compensate for its having to temporarily leave. And when only the sky remained, still stained the color of a traveler's whitewashed faded tie-dye, everyone seemed to snap out of their trance, resume normalcy. This happens every day here, and there is always a sunset somewhere, whether or not I watch, before I was here and after I go. How should I feel at any given time of day? Why not instead stare at the homeless men that line the walk down? How should I reconcile this sort of experience with having to diagnose and treat a number of open sores on a three year old's arms and legs, or hearing news that a particular woman you were clicking so well with is in particularly bad shape at the hospital, and just hours earlier at my work placement. I am not arguing to allocate more time or energy to thinking about one or the other, but rather questioning how to process the raw data, if filters or amplifiers of some sort would help? How different are these experiences? Should I see them so differently? An application on my phone allows me to change the background of different notes so as to better organize them. An unforeseen consequence of this was an altered mood of a poem I had been working on. A fellow bridge year student noted how aggressively advertised and saddening my portrayal of a tree appeared. I did not necessarily see it the same way. Though totally unrelated to the color of the background, our own past experiences and reflections had us approaching the same point from different angles. I search for the color, the proper lens or perspective, that will allow me to best react to and inform various efforts. I do not know if that involves a conglomerate or kaleidoscope of combinations. The question tends to be more pertinent than the answer. I could have just as easily named this post "indeterminable infection" or something. Was there some sort of awareness to potential readers who may have been deterred or would I just rather think about something so universally beautiful? What is not beautiful about the tree I describe? With every day that passes I become a little more a part of Madre Theresa; and boy do I already love those kids, women, nuns, and other staff so much. The beauty seems so on par with anything else I can imagine. Could I not have described the sun as insignificant? Here is the poem I mentioned.

A canção de Salvador:
Beats reverberate through me
Permeating every pore,
Every cavern of my being.
Inhaling rio acaraje and beleza vibes
Alongside salty sea blue dreams
Heavy infusions of dende and acai float.
As capoeira dancers, fighters, sweep
Somewhere, a coconut falls
The caxixi jumps and jingles
Children lack food, love
Vamos a jogar they chant
Violence is all some have
Baianos dance to pulsating samba
Aware of tomorrow, content with today
Gnarled, deprived, disproportionate trees
Contort to slim dim beams of
Speck filled insecurity filled security
Akin to unlit stain glass dullness.
Without illumination,
It's only a puzzle for toddlers
Oh sangue bom de Salvador