Just before I began my (obliged by the motherland) military service, my best friend told me something I won't forget "While in the army be prepared, cause you're gonna do a lot of thinking and reevaluation". I took this advice seriously cause if my friend who's not much of a thinker did it,then I was doomed before I even began. True though that his words might have been, I had a somehow different experience in the army. I had to close myself in my self-made shell, stay away from all the noise and distraction that awful military life creates and absorb only those nutritious for myself experiences.In a certain extend I managed to control everything, bring them in balance and have a generally smooth time until now (God and luck also helped to be honest). But contrary to the thinking I managed to apply another long lost technique. The one of observation. My story happened almost three weeks ago, back when I was stranded in "Sparta", a place far far away from home. I had it in my mind but never thought of putting it on the net. Not until some days ago when I read a post in Paulo Coelho's Facebook page. His story can be found in the link below and mine after that.....I only post mine because I have experience something similar...
It all started a rainy afternoon back in Sparta. I had already had a difficult day inside the military camp. Thankfully that day I was given the permission to leave the camp for a few hours and take a rest in the town of Sparta which lies some klm away. I needed my free space, my alone time of recollection, so I preferred to refrain from following my fellow-soldiers who admittedly care only for bars,pubs and cafes. I took a walk, around the narrow stone paved streets of that striving with history small town. I walked and walked pointlessly around the town, having my music on my ear-buds and my mind wondering around millions of things. What would surely be a drawback was proven to have been a strange kind of blessing. The raindrops were not so hard, and not annoying at all. On the contrary they did create a moody but widely accepted by me atmosphere. All this scenery drown me deeper in my already troubled mind. Strolling around finally brought me to the main street of the city. The main long avenue. I decided to walk it all the way to pass my time. While walking upon that mildly glamorous street I stumbled upon a man. He was crippled. He had one of his legs amputated. He was a rugged man with a deep dark tone on his skin, obviously from another country. He was a beggar. Yet not the traditional kind of beggar. What caught my attention was that this poor beggar was holding a guitar. I stood over him listening to his music. He was actually singing in his mother tongue, a song totally unknown and unfamiliar to me. His song though, had a strange kind of charm. Not my style at all, nor my kind of taste. But strangely his song touched me. His peculiar melody found a pathway into my heart. He was not the best singer in the world. Not the best performer or guitarist. Far from it I'd say. But he had a certain charm. A charm you don't usually meet in people of his kind. I was standing in the middle of the pavement. People were passing by around me. I was standing there listening to that man's music, in a place where no one else would bother. I began wondering "Why the hell don't I leave him alone?".The first answer was simple. "Cause I sympathize with his problem". That was not true. I encounter many beggars on my way and although I have the habit of helping some of them it was not this that kept me standing over him. The second answer came immediately after."Cause he has what you don't". True. This man was not a beggar. He was a performer just like myself. Life took him everything I would speculate. He was missing one leg. He was missing probably a cozy home,a warm plate of food or even a friend or a family. And in my mind I felt so blessed having these back home. This man had nothing at all, but had something I did not have at this point. He was holding and playing a guitar. I had been away from my guitar for almost two months and the truth was that I had really missed it. While these were taking place, that man had already noticed that I was staring at him. He gently changed his songs, making them somehow even more pleasurable for me. He had a fan, and he loved it as it seemed. I slipped my hand in my pocket and through in his "begging" basket (which was almost empty) whatever change I had. Being a soldier myself I had to be a little careful with spending. But at this moment I can't say I cared. He needed those money way much more than I did. It was not much of a serious amount of money. But for him it would probably give him the luxury of eating like a real human for 2-3 days. He thanked me with a big smile and an even bigger nod, while he kept singing and playing his old guitar. It was my time to leave. It was my time to get out of his life and let him get out of mine. For a strange reason we were not strangers for some minutes. We both had a common point of interest. The guitar. I was about to step away. But I don't know what power made me do what followed. I stood there and nodded back at him pointing with my finger at his guitar.No words had to be said (and we never really spoke to be honest). He stopped his song half-way through. He extended his arms bringing his guitar close to me. He offered me his means of making money. I did not care whether snobby people around me would look and judge me. I knelled next to him, holding his guitar in my hands. I played the first chord. The the second, the third and then a progression of chords, until I was playing a catchy tune I had just discovered. And now the roles had changed. The beggar was being entertained by my music. And not only by my music. In his dull life of begging he stopped asking for money for a while and began having fun. As much fun as I was having playing with his guitar. As much as I liked it, I did not play for long. I stopped after a while, and returned to him his guitar. He was smiling, just like a small child. I was too. Our brief interaction gave both of us a reason to smile in this moody dark evening. That day I found a guitar, and a strange few-minutes friend. And that man found a smile in his heart and some money to spent the next days. I turned my back, walked away trying to get back to what was my normal rhythms of my life. Just a few steps away I heard him talk from back..."Ευχαριστώ (Thank you)". I only turned my head while walking away...."Εγω Ευχαριστω (I Thank you)" I nodded back at him and never saw him again.
What I later that night discovered is how different our lives could have been if we all shared with each other. Share small insignificant things. Share feelings. Love. Share words. Share in general whatever we have with those around us that need it. Share,share,share. A song I like says "What you give you get back". Indeed. The more we share, the more we get back in return.........
