Warszawa

It was not so long ago a happy musician who had left his father's house and seeking fof the fulfillment of a Dream came all the way to the Music Hall in Warsaw.  Andrzej Turkiewicz was his name.  His Father gave him a choice that was to stay home and following after him to inherit the family business of the printing press, a shop that was somewhat famous for bringing in the information that was not so old to the neighborhood, nor was it too freshly new that nobody knowing anything about it.  And, of course, the other choice was to go a long way to seek fortune that the family owned printing shop would not be able to give at the time of the political situations all across the Slavic neighborhood.  No mention of the horrific experience the Land had been through, yet, the future was still an uncertainty to the youngster when seeking after the traditional trades among the then socialized economic block.  It was a good thing belonging to the big family that everything a person could have needed could be met without much effort of one's own.

 

However, the fate that was awaiting the young pioneer was not so sure in a given moment to hand him his hot cash and liberty that was freely deprived and secretively demoted from the regime of the then bureaucratic society.  Marched on and down the street the stature of Lenin could be seen, eventhough he was not a national hero in the eyes of the Polish farm boy, nevertheless, whoever that was some what important in the forging of the October Revolution would have a place if not a spot in the square that the soclalist party assigned to, so that their heroic deeds or historic events could be retold without citing from the book that the native Polishes could not find especiallly for a Tartar to hold the frontal page in a rather civilized Polaski social-ecionomic block.  Well, it was all that meant to be, had any person wanted to challenge him or herself, just come up with the reason to fight and the way would have been forged for the one like it was for the rest of the souls that were either surcombed to the webs of the infrastructure or set aside as an element unfitly made for the Socialist Republic.  Here the government came into play:  Not that they were not awaring on what went on in the tinny corners of the block, rather that was the way to stay in power while vacuuming all that had been deemed rotten element to the progression of the Glorious Socialist Party.  Partly because that it had been known that the Polish history meant something in the textbook, and partly because of the Historic Kingdom of Poland had also been the key element in formulating the modern history of the then Eastern Europe, and now the Eastern Block.  To us it was rather Forget Me Not, yet, during the detante it was to Remember Me No More.  One could not be a properly denison without the title given by the nobilities from the Old Poland.  Howbeit, it was had to be a Citizen of the Polish Parlimentary organized teamster without belonging to or by virture a member of the local Kosomo.

 

The rain drops still fall on the soil of the Polish terrain, the silent field still echoes anew the vocal oratorial chants of the singers, if not the Yeddish Chanter from the nearby Synagogue.  The colorfully decorated artistic mosaic pictures depicted many stories and presenting to us the totems and symbolism the remotely recent past had produced such a void, only the notes could fill the place.  A place deeply embedded in the souls of all those who had participated in the cinisters the smoke filled the melodic sanctuary without murmuring nor complaints fed up the gaps by the obnotious neighbors like that of the surreal neighborhood.  The whole world know the uprisings at the Ghetto of Warsaw that had marked the end of detention and ignited the beginning of liberation if not inspired by the broken seige of Starlingrad.

 

Obviously, it was not the Polish game the neighborhood had interests of knowing the outcome.  It was the seriousness of the Business mentality that had the entire group of people being driven due to that fast development and the vast interest of the people in the West had pushed the Polish economic to a newly negotiated stage.  Dairy products would never go away, no matter what happened.  Likewise, the shipyards that had been the harvest field for many manieul workers had to yeld her relative share to bear up with the progression of the modernization, i.e., the hardly believable Five Year Plan of Economic Boom.  Poland was once a power house by producing all kind of stuffs people needed, and after the war Poland was not to produce as much as everything that had been invoiced to produce.  There were other autonomous blocs producing what Poland and Polish people used to produce.  Of course, the art cannot be shared simply because of the trade mark bearing a polish name.  Afterall, everybody is part of the Pan Slavic Socialistic Union.  At least, they had to speak some sort of Russian language is not the language of the nobility that had been truly knighted by the Arch Dukes or Duchess or Regents of the regime.

 

Art had had its unique way of expression of feeling of identity that was not easily removable nor relocatable.  Melodic expressions highlighted in the picture could only be played by the ones whose ancestry had participated in the event of creating such a work -- the master pieces that could only behold by the one who had not only a taste to it, but also an eye for it.  The insightfulness of the eyes of understanding and perception coudl decipher the codes of simplicity and perfection out of the beautifully made work of time.

 

Fire had to be applied to the ore in order to produce Gold and silver for the advancement of economic leaping forward pursuant to the modern mind of business.  Likewise, the genuiness of the Creativity of the musician could not be depicted had that everything went his or her way.  Talent might have been inheritant, but opportunity was not.  Only when the one being tried by fire, nobody knew what kind of temperment would have made them the one and only candidate of Fortuna.

 

Via Dolorosa was and still is the anme of the Street whereby all sojourners will have to pass by in order to see and to know that way the passion had been made.  It was through such a tormenting experience one learned to embrace the work of Cross of Jesus Christ, and inadvertently to learn about Cruxificion. Nobody had been ordained to suffer more or less to an artist whose life was a direct producer of the way via Dolorosa with passion for the art and compassion for the work of Art.  Wripping apart the chain of suffering and slavry, the future then will unveil to the eyes of spirit and the eyes of flesh the plan of Salvation.  A plan only applicable to the one whose life had endorsed such a message and whose livelihood also expanded such a conquest of the impossible through dreams and visions to face the reality of life in the impossible realm -- a realm dominated not by the mandates of the worldly government nor by the headlines of the local newspapers nor by the word of mouth, but by Faith and facing it alone to see to the outcome of one's life.

 

Owing not to the public the calls of one's duty and the answering to the call to duty in a society the social media dictated the general concensus of the public arena in almost all spheric of streaking sivery linen inlaids.  But, such a domination would one day earn him or her the freedom to permissively accept such a challenge to face the reality that he had once relently requested and released and redeemed.

 

There was to him or her a Great Poland, and there was to him or her a beseiged Poland, and there was a partitioned Poland, and finally there was Poland.  From Gdansk, from Crancow, from Lvov, and from Eb River, we have Poland.  The blessings the Pope John Paul had pronounced across the language baririers to all the world.  The Pianist we lived with from the siver screens of ins kino.  The Chinatown movie made by Roman Polanski,  the Jewish chantory piece of forgiveness and repentance -- Kol Nidre -- Kaddish, and the Schindler's List have also bring us back to Poland to experience Polishness and to be Polish.  "Avinu Malkainu" can just be the acronym for being Polish if not the blessings of being a citizen of the Kingdom of Poland.

 

Adopt a Synagogue in Poland, if you truly love Poland and being Polishness.  It is not polite to look down on some one or something just because you do not understand them.  The Word has never asked us to understand why what He was truly meant to us by then and for now.   When a patient to go to see a doclor, sitting in the armed chair to hear to the verdict of your health report, and the consequence was not a lectur returned to you as one adopting the peniscilin to concealing elucidated doctor of his understanding of you. Seldom could one be found of the one whose hands can vividly cure you of your heritary misfortune.   Likewise, by facing one's challenge head on, you left nothing more than your footsteps along the trails of prayers and intercessions up and to the end the victory much expected must accept you when your desire is to make it a condiment to be added to the soup for the thought.

 

Perhaps the best way to see Warsaw is to take a trip to visit Poland.  What was old but now new are the testimony of time that changes not only the people, but also the place whereby the many stories of war remind.  Going back to the historic past is just like going forward in time in order to have a better understandings of what the artist faced or would have been facing when there was no other choice, but one.  Picked up the dirt covered picture of an old Polish Officer with his horse of gallantry surrounded by one's family, and to dust it off to see even closer the smile on the faces of all those who had been receded into the history past, one must pause and meditate on the next to move not away from then, rather to forward march onto the future.  Accumulating all that fruitfulness the people Polish had left for us, and to build up again what was the Glorious Days of the Kingdom of Poland, she who once was the pearl of the Central Europe and the bridge to Ukraine will only bring unity and peace in time to come -- A gem on the Crown of Europa.  Was that not the dream of the young artist who had to depart in order to return: so that his many dreams could have come to pass: just like the white horse and the shining armor sold separately.  Yet, he made it home with Glory and Honor, just as whence he had to forsaken all that was precious to him to free Poland, like a Liberator.

 

Unbeknown to him that action of returning to his native Country -- Poland -- had kindled the hope for many to see to the change to make a new Poland and some will never keep the good news for themselves.  They simply cannot do it without notifying the World of the tragedies taken place there.  When one visits the Yad Vashem Memorial Museum, the story will then be told.  Then, you will know how important it is to be able to Keep Justice and Peace for All people, even if it is not in Poland.  Welcome to Warszawa!

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