The first pass over calls ugly. Calls beautiful. The Buda and outskirts with their hills the plains and tall nondescript of the Pest. The high rises and the Communist throwback structures of garish color and even worse design. The exquisite refurbishing of the full beauty of the centuries of glory.
The first look into eyes shows vacant. Even cold. Lips downturned in the serious look of the distant and bored or just plain out of life. The beauty of that smile though, whether in the Large Piac or on the street selling something but its genuine too. The gregarious conversation all bubbling over with the beer in the Pubs’ street tables.
But, it’s the soulful eyes. These are the ones that say ‘know me.’ Shy and closed on some level from my Western eyes. But full of something rich. Something real like how when you ask ‘how are you?’ there is the truth. And it’s something like home for a people whose creativity and language went underground for decades. A calling forth to rise in the midst of these new days that want to pray for sun and rain to bring forth the harvest.
The ever wondering and never fully seeing. It’s a magnetic way that I keep stepping into and looking all around. On the margins observing and then in the gift entering.