Jules Heartly | October 2022

 A trail to retrieve an unknown and unexpected message.

I had arrived in Valencia, a city in Spain to among other things, meet a dear friend and attend an important social event. 

 Although it was not at the height of the tourist season, hotel accommodations were hard to get.  I was presented with a few options and ended up staying in an apartment building at the heart of Ruzafa, a residential and cultural neighborhood, where you could find a good bookstore as well as restaurants, cafes and good-shopping experience stores. 

It was my first time in the Ruzafa neighborhood and my heart pounded with the emotion brought in by the encounter of two bookstores in a one-mile radius.  As I walked its streets, I noticed an aroma of childhood, not because of the orange trees characterizing Valencia, but due to the warmness of the people, its residents and its tourists that like me, felt at home in this part of the city. Enjoying the tree shadows,  the open cafes, the pedestrian friendly streets and the unforgettable images of children stopping by to pet someone’s dog while holding a physical book.  Yes, a physically printed copy of a book instead of a cell phone playing some children’s show music. 

The apartment I was staying at in Carrer Sueca, had enough natural light to make me imagine being at an open cafe, afternoon breeze and all, but with the intimacy of the roof and the walls with its windows looking out below, to the street.  Observing the pedestrians strolling, meandering the same streets I had wandered before checking in at my short-term rental. 

One of its windows faced out directly to a bookstore.  I left my eyes delight with the joyful scene of people getting in and purposely chatting with someone behind the front desk. As if the idea was to share life and music stories more than perform business transactions, those of the buying and selling of books.  

It looked lively, happy, contagiously animated, energetic. 

My schedule didn’t always coincide with the bookstore‘s business hours, but during the periods of time I sneaked a peep from the apartment window, I experienced an intense desire to go in.  The electric currents of its magnetic field drawing me, alluring me, captivating me until I made the time and I let the bewitching guide me there.

And the place didn’t disappoint. 

Coming from New York, a city where there is still a good number of bookstores, but a good amount of them had closed down,  way before the Covid pandemic stroke, finding a lively neighborhood store was not only surprising but astoundly awesome. 

I breathed.  I smiled.  I breathed again.  Calming my gulping heart, and my inner-dancing body.

My attention was in the middle of an ADHD explosion, fully at work, immersed in like 5 books at the same time, until one, from a small crafty shelf near the welcome desk, caught my eye, got me out of the ADHD trance and became my sole focus.  It was a poetry book, a genre, I had stopped reading since the times when  Larry Cohen, songwriter, poet and novelist, made me want to read and read, and live them all. 

I did what I usually do when I browse a book.  I opened it on a random page, before checking the back cover. 

 I liked what I read, not only because of its precise powerful words, but because they were a personal message to me, from the until then unfamiliar writer.  I proceeded to browse again a page, opening the book in an arbitrary way.  And there it was, the magic of the writing wanting me to consume it, as you would do a good wine or a wonderful cup of coffee.  Slowly, savoring every sip, getting all your senses in. Acknowledging not only the taste in your mouth, the aroma thru your breathing senses, the pleasuring eyes reading it, the skin goose-bumping when your brain is registering all the thickness of each word, the profound meaning that only poets can transmit, share, communicate, allow you to have in.

And then, suddenly it all made sense, the phrases posted shyly in some walls, and the later realization, that the young woman standing there at the welcoming desk, was also the author not only of that book but of other poetry.

How did we all end up at Carrer Sueca 29, at the Ruzafa Neighborhood?  Well, you know my story, but hers?

I don’t know it yet. Rumors say she(Mamen Monsoriu) was looking for a place for her business and that space ,closed to business for years, gave her a good vibe. And she followed her intuition!

  For all I know now , my opening  of the book Imperatriz, on the page I randomly  chose, was a positive message confirmation of the true story portrayed in my upcoming book “On the Path of Becoming”  available in bookstores, Fall of 2024.

What I couldn’t tell at the time, was the magic spell would multiply, like a pebble in a pond creates a ripple effect. A ripple of good feeling, of doors opening to new friends, a casual sequence culminated with the stumble upon the creative writer Tito Del Muro. A novelist and screenwriter, whose values like the emotion he permeates in his books, his commitment to the defense of human values, and his constant eagerness to promote reading and education among children, are ones I deeply identify with!

The encounter with this author, in that place (Imperio de Libros at Carrer Sueca, Valencia) in such unexpected way, on an autumn evening, was the infallible proof my being there was NOT a coincidence , -even if coincidences ever existed- and that messages have their mysterious ways to get to their intended recipient(s).

Do you believe in Coincidences? or hidden/found messages? And could you tell me about some good ones?

Thank you for reading my blog. Remember to share your stories and thoughts. I would love to read them.

Remember to follow me on Twitter and Instagram @JBRADIANT