from Lake Geneva, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
So there I was in the middle of my very own fairy tale. The endless lake shimmered in a perfect sunset, and on the tip of the waters edge, framed perfectly and precisely in the grandeur that can be achieved only by Swiss tradition, the mountains looked over the golden castle.
Inside, the lilting sonata of the minstrels blended in harmony with champagne induced merriment. My palette for aesthetic precision was entirely satisfied on every level. The magic the minstrels wove in the twilight, transformed the courtyard into a medieval tapestry, complete with handsome knights & exquisite ladies’.
In the courtyard, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
When we went in for the fantasy medieval dinner, the magic continued. The gathering of academics, these earnest dreamers of morality, logic & reason, who despite their penchant for the aesthetic would have been as happy in a dreary dungeon with each other for company, was reaching a fever pitch of excitement. The animation of new projects, proposals and papers, the exhilaration of analysis and cross analysis feeding a frenzy of debates, and the quiet and delicate contentment of completed threads of inferences approaching meta theories; this was academic heaven.
In the courtyard, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
“Isn’t this perfect!” I enthused to a charming fellow academic next to me, a native of Montreux; “this is where I want to come when I die!”. “You can’t imagine how fortunate you are living among all this beauty!” “It is a perfect evening” she agreed quite sincerely, and then I noticed my faux pas… she was blind. I escaped looking for the powder room to overcome my awkward embarrassment, and characteristically got lost, and found my self in a tower room.
It was an unlit room that my eyes took time to adjust to, and one open window looked out onto the lake.
I walked over, and for while was lost to the beauty of the shimmering haze before me. A knot of emotions, gratitude, wonder, sorrow, frustration, and fear came from some deep forgotten pocket that I had no idea existed. I ran back to get a knot of friends who could share in my wordless epiphany (and then try capture the evanescent on film).
a peek at eternity, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
AME Banquet, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
Back at the table I found that my blind colleague was an artist. Despite her visual impairment she seemed to have a clear sense of my bewilderment. So she elaborated on her synesthetic experience of colour and the aesthetic. I was suddenly grateful that the creator had not left the blind aesthetically handicapped. And then she explained it quite simply, ‘Beauty is a matter of the Soul!’
He it is, the innermost one,
who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes
and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart
in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.
He it is who weaves the web of this maya
in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green,
and lets peep out through the folds his feet,
at whose touch I forget myself.
Days come and ages pass,
and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name,
in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.
-Rabrindanath Tagore
from Lake Geneva, Château de Chillon, Montreux, Switzerland.
