Stimpy and Ren
Well-Known Member
*Edited so it's easier to read.*
True story:
When I was 6 or 7, I would visit my grandparent's house frequently. I couldn't get enough of the atmosphere that their house provided. And now that I look back on it, I long for that feeling again. The area surrounding the house was simply stunning. I've never seen anything like it. So calm. So serene. The land around it was riddled with huge steep rolling hills, (the kind that made you question whether it was safe to drive a car on). Luckily I wasn't the one driving back then.
Everything was so alive. Every thing was growing, budding, thriving. A forest of stunning flowers and trees filled the empty space around you and you felt as if a magical fairy would emerge from the foliage at any moment. It was always the perfect temperature with a slight breeze that almost seemed like nature constantly whispering in your ear beautiful and gentle things. There was a large wooden patio that my grandpa had built himself which led directly to a large lake. It was somewhat secluded from the rest of society, but you never felt so close to nature. That place had such a magical atmosphere. Something unexplainable. To this day I haven't experienced a place as "whole" as that house. "Whole" is the only way to describe it. It felt so complete. That neighborhood was a perfectly spiritual place,.... and it knew it. It was absolutely impossible to think a thought that wasn't beautiful or inspired by this place while there. And my grandma reflected this beautiful house with her own spirit as well. I wouldn't call her soft spoken. She just rarely had a use for meaningless words. Her spirit could speak volumes. I had never seen her without a smile on her face. I think the only time she would ever feel sadness is when we left her house. She was an old woman who had lived a long time and done many things. She had plenty of time to figure out the world she lived in. She attained what so many people strive for but never achieve. She lived life completely. She was whole. She was content. And I would pay a million dollars just so I could sit in the same room with her for a minute. She wouldn't even have to speak. Her presence alone would suffice. She had the kindest heart I've ever known. Every waking moment of her day, (if her health permitted it), was spent towards giving to others. Whether it be neighbors or fellow church goers or Jane Doe walking in the grocery store. The interior of the house was no less magical than the exterior. Every antique, piece of art, or random object in that house was infinitely beautiful. It seemed like it was from another time. And it was. But it was so much more than that. It had a supernatural presence as well. I watched many Indiana Jones films within that house. I witnessed numerous mystical, ancient, and magical adventures in those movies, and all of them seemed more based in reality than this house. I'm sure I could describe it if I were a better communicator, but I'm not. So I can't. Time seemed to move at a snail's pace inside that house. Time didn't exist in this place and this place did not exist in time. The atmosphere was so ethereal in that house. So gentle, delicate, and slow. A minute in that house equated to an hour in our reality. At first, I thought it was the beauty of the nature surrounding the house that was causing this time distortion. But after some consideration, I believe it to be result of my grandma's spirit. Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it was a beautiful thing. A beauty I had never known and never will know again. I remember vividly a large book within the house. It was a book about Gnomes. The book presented Gnomes as actual living creatures rather than mythical ones. This was very interesting to me. The book was published in 77' and had beautiful colored illustrations. It depicted different species of Gnomes, their habitats, diets, behaviors and history. It was written as fact rather than fiction and was positively consuming. That book devoured my brain for hours and hours at that house. I still have the book today actually. The house already felt like a separate universe. A place you couldn't get to by plane or by car or by foot. It was a place people rarely visit. And if they did, they would leave just as abruptly as they had arrived. There was no journey involved. It was a place which couldn't be seen or visited by humans....yet my grandma and grandpa lived there.... While visiting at that house, I'm sure that location would seem just as real as any other. But the moment you got back home, you could not find it on any map. For it didn't exist in your realm. That Gnome book further added to the mystical and supernatural beauty of that place.
My grandparents regularly attended Operas. One of their favorites was Giacomo Puccini's Madama Butterfly. On occasion, I would wander the house and observe beautiful artifacts from another time and place and would further get lost inside that world. On the nightstand in my grandma's room was a wooden music box. It was the most beautiful object I had ever witnessed. Sometimes I questioned it's actual existence, for it was hard to believe a mere human could create such beauty. But those thoughts were foolish, because I was in such a magical place. So of course such an item could exist. Opening the music box would reveal the golden cylinder which contained the melody itself. Numerous small stubs protruded off the cylinder in seemingly random patterns. Once cranked, the cylinder would rotate and the stubs would each strike a note on the rotation. The melody was that of the famous Madame Butterfly (Un bel dì vedremo). For some strange reason, I've never been able to hear such a perfect version of that song as I did in that little music box in that house. That's another reason why I often question it's existence. Because it was so perfect it didn't seem of human origin.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVRhuQWS4tc
At the age of 8, my grandmother passed away. On the day of the funeral, we traveled back to that magical house. But this time, something was different. I didn't just suddenly appear at the house like I usually did. It was now a location. A tangible thing. It was now point B which was arrived at by traveling from point A. It was no longer a world inaccessible to humans. I had been crying throughout the car ride but was hopeful that the beauty of the place we were traveling to would cheer me up just as it always did. When we arrived, I looked at the area surrounding the house. Nothing had changed, but it felt completely different. It no longer felt like a hidden eden. There was no calming breeze to whisper in your ear and tell you gentle calming things. There was no serenity to erase your thoughts and replace them with peace and wholeness. The inside of the house was the same story. It was no longer a magical place in which time didn't exist. The beautiful objects that filled the house didn't seem so beautiful anymore. In fact, they seemed kind of pointless. I ran into my grandmother's room and locked the door. I was bawling, desperately trying to regain just a piece of this magical place that I had lost. I grabbed that music box which had seemed so special before but so useless now and layed down on the bed. I cranked the useless piece of junk and demanded it play that wonderful song. Family members and friends were knocking on the door trying to figure out who was inside. How dare they cause such a disturbance in this magical place? Did they not realize what this place is...was? Something seemed odd. What was it? The song? Yes, the song. That was it. It was a different song. Why was this stupid box playing this awful song? I opened the box which revealed the golden cylinder inside. The stubs were in the same exact pattern as they always were. They played the same notes at the same speed as before. But it wasn't the right song. It wasn't. It wasn't what I remembered. But it was the same song. Why was it so different?
That was the last time I saw that place. The spirit that lived there died with my grandmother. That house doesn't exist anymore. The beauty inside, the breeze, the patio, the hills, the lake...all gone. They don't exist and have never existed. You cannot travel to that house. It does not exist within a country on this planet. You can't reach it by vehicle. You can't call the location by a name. It has none.
I had forgotten about that place. Years passed. I grew older. I didn't miss that place because it never existed. How could one miss something that never existed?
Recently I discovered the Madama Butterfly soundtrack. The music is so beautiful. I don't listen to classical music or Operas of any sort, so why did this music sound so familiar? Why do I break into tears every time I listen to "Un bel di, vedremo"?
Oddly enough, "Ancient Aliens", a show on History Channel gave me the answer I've been looking for.
From the show - "Puccini said that his great opera Madama Butterfly was from God, that he wrote it down but it came directly from a divine source."
I smiled. I remembered that forgotten place. It did exist.....
True story:
When I was 6 or 7, I would visit my grandparent's house frequently. I couldn't get enough of the atmosphere that their house provided. And now that I look back on it, I long for that feeling again. The area surrounding the house was simply stunning. I've never seen anything like it. So calm. So serene. The land around it was riddled with huge steep rolling hills, (the kind that made you question whether it was safe to drive a car on). Luckily I wasn't the one driving back then.
Everything was so alive. Every thing was growing, budding, thriving. A forest of stunning flowers and trees filled the empty space around you and you felt as if a magical fairy would emerge from the foliage at any moment. It was always the perfect temperature with a slight breeze that almost seemed like nature constantly whispering in your ear beautiful and gentle things. There was a large wooden patio that my grandpa had built himself which led directly to a large lake. It was somewhat secluded from the rest of society, but you never felt so close to nature. That place had such a magical atmosphere. Something unexplainable. To this day I haven't experienced a place as "whole" as that house. "Whole" is the only way to describe it. It felt so complete. That neighborhood was a perfectly spiritual place,.... and it knew it. It was absolutely impossible to think a thought that wasn't beautiful or inspired by this place while there. And my grandma reflected this beautiful house with her own spirit as well. I wouldn't call her soft spoken. She just rarely had a use for meaningless words. Her spirit could speak volumes. I had never seen her without a smile on her face. I think the only time she would ever feel sadness is when we left her house. She was an old woman who had lived a long time and done many things. She had plenty of time to figure out the world she lived in. She attained what so many people strive for but never achieve. She lived life completely. She was whole. She was content. And I would pay a million dollars just so I could sit in the same room with her for a minute. She wouldn't even have to speak. Her presence alone would suffice. She had the kindest heart I've ever known. Every waking moment of her day, (if her health permitted it), was spent towards giving to others. Whether it be neighbors or fellow church goers or Jane Doe walking in the grocery store. The interior of the house was no less magical than the exterior. Every antique, piece of art, or random object in that house was infinitely beautiful. It seemed like it was from another time. And it was. But it was so much more than that. It had a supernatural presence as well. I watched many Indiana Jones films within that house. I witnessed numerous mystical, ancient, and magical adventures in those movies, and all of them seemed more based in reality than this house. I'm sure I could describe it if I were a better communicator, but I'm not. So I can't. Time seemed to move at a snail's pace inside that house. Time didn't exist in this place and this place did not exist in time. The atmosphere was so ethereal in that house. So gentle, delicate, and slow. A minute in that house equated to an hour in our reality. At first, I thought it was the beauty of the nature surrounding the house that was causing this time distortion. But after some consideration, I believe it to be result of my grandma's spirit. Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it was a beautiful thing. A beauty I had never known and never will know again. I remember vividly a large book within the house. It was a book about Gnomes. The book presented Gnomes as actual living creatures rather than mythical ones. This was very interesting to me. The book was published in 77' and had beautiful colored illustrations. It depicted different species of Gnomes, their habitats, diets, behaviors and history. It was written as fact rather than fiction and was positively consuming. That book devoured my brain for hours and hours at that house. I still have the book today actually. The house already felt like a separate universe. A place you couldn't get to by plane or by car or by foot. It was a place people rarely visit. And if they did, they would leave just as abruptly as they had arrived. There was no journey involved. It was a place which couldn't be seen or visited by humans....yet my grandma and grandpa lived there.... While visiting at that house, I'm sure that location would seem just as real as any other. But the moment you got back home, you could not find it on any map. For it didn't exist in your realm. That Gnome book further added to the mystical and supernatural beauty of that place.My grandparents regularly attended Operas. One of their favorites was Giacomo Puccini's Madama Butterfly. On occasion, I would wander the house and observe beautiful artifacts from another time and place and would further get lost inside that world. On the nightstand in my grandma's room was a wooden music box. It was the most beautiful object I had ever witnessed. Sometimes I questioned it's actual existence, for it was hard to believe a mere human could create such beauty. But those thoughts were foolish, because I was in such a magical place. So of course such an item could exist. Opening the music box would reveal the golden cylinder which contained the melody itself. Numerous small stubs protruded off the cylinder in seemingly random patterns. Once cranked, the cylinder would rotate and the stubs would each strike a note on the rotation. The melody was that of the famous Madame Butterfly (Un bel dì vedremo). For some strange reason, I've never been able to hear such a perfect version of that song as I did in that little music box in that house. That's another reason why I often question it's existence. Because it was so perfect it didn't seem of human origin.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVRhuQWS4tc
At the age of 8, my grandmother passed away. On the day of the funeral, we traveled back to that magical house. But this time, something was different. I didn't just suddenly appear at the house like I usually did. It was now a location. A tangible thing. It was now point B which was arrived at by traveling from point A. It was no longer a world inaccessible to humans. I had been crying throughout the car ride but was hopeful that the beauty of the place we were traveling to would cheer me up just as it always did. When we arrived, I looked at the area surrounding the house. Nothing had changed, but it felt completely different. It no longer felt like a hidden eden. There was no calming breeze to whisper in your ear and tell you gentle calming things. There was no serenity to erase your thoughts and replace them with peace and wholeness. The inside of the house was the same story. It was no longer a magical place in which time didn't exist. The beautiful objects that filled the house didn't seem so beautiful anymore. In fact, they seemed kind of pointless. I ran into my grandmother's room and locked the door. I was bawling, desperately trying to regain just a piece of this magical place that I had lost. I grabbed that music box which had seemed so special before but so useless now and layed down on the bed. I cranked the useless piece of junk and demanded it play that wonderful song. Family members and friends were knocking on the door trying to figure out who was inside. How dare they cause such a disturbance in this magical place? Did they not realize what this place is...was? Something seemed odd. What was it? The song? Yes, the song. That was it. It was a different song. Why was this stupid box playing this awful song? I opened the box which revealed the golden cylinder inside. The stubs were in the same exact pattern as they always were. They played the same notes at the same speed as before. But it wasn't the right song. It wasn't. It wasn't what I remembered. But it was the same song. Why was it so different?
That was the last time I saw that place. The spirit that lived there died with my grandmother. That house doesn't exist anymore. The beauty inside, the breeze, the patio, the hills, the lake...all gone. They don't exist and have never existed. You cannot travel to that house. It does not exist within a country on this planet. You can't reach it by vehicle. You can't call the location by a name. It has none.
I had forgotten about that place. Years passed. I grew older. I didn't miss that place because it never existed. How could one miss something that never existed?
Recently I discovered the Madama Butterfly soundtrack. The music is so beautiful. I don't listen to classical music or Operas of any sort, so why did this music sound so familiar? Why do I break into tears every time I listen to "Un bel di, vedremo"?
Oddly enough, "Ancient Aliens", a show on History Channel gave me the answer I've been looking for.
From the show - "Puccini said that his great opera Madama Butterfly was from God, that he wrote it down but it came directly from a divine source."
I smiled. I remembered that forgotten place. It did exist.....
