Heartsong Studio

Back home from Marrakech with love, this article shares with you some of the sensory feast, in far less than a thousand words.

Is a picture worth a mere thousand words ?

Our relentless desire to explain everything that happens may well distinguish us from fruit flies, but it can also kill our buzz.

When I first arrived in Marrakech, my luggage did not ! It was still in London. This was a gift that showed me one of my themes for this workshop – letting go of old baggage. The next day I taxied back to the airport to get it, and found another gift. The battery in my travel alarm clock had just died.

With the five times a day call to prayer from all the many mosques, I didn’t need an alarm clock at all. Workshop participants were urged to take a moment to surrender whenever the call to prayer was heard. This was a wonderful coming home to our inner selves throughout the day and night.

The impact of Marrakech on my senses was overwhelming.

Once I surrendered trying to explain it, the magic started to work its spell.

I had imagined the sights I’d see, from pictures; the sounds of voices in Arabic, French, donkeys braying, motorcycle horns, and musicians. But, I had forgotten smells, that weakest of our senses, which can elicit long forgotten memories.

Smells and tastes:

There were the smells and tastes of oranges, cinnamon, couscous, lamb, sweet mint tea, and a delicate incense. Herbalists with conical pointed mounds of spices held new and fascinating odours.

The plumbing must be patched together throughout 1000 years, but I was totally surprised by its smells. Absent were our western deodorized, manufactured scents. Instead was a natural, not unpleasant earthy smell of ages with a dash of old rust.

Sights:

Marrakech means the red city. Built nearly a thousand years ago of the red earth there, it is also an oasis in the surrounding dessert. Our Riad, or inn, has been lovingly restored from its former glory using a type of local marble for its terraces and steps.

Moroccan tile work, carved cedar ceilings, arched doorways, an inner open-air courtyard with tiled swimming pool, orange trees and bougainvillia, lots of rugs and artwork, scattered through all the rooms made me feel both entranced and at home.

The surrounding labyrinth of cobblestone streets wound through large squares with snake charmers, coloured scarves, jewelry, henna painters, metal smiths, wood workers, monkeys, singers, carpets, musicians, tiles, herbalists, and eateries.

Sounds:

Call to prayer five times a day from all the many mosques. . . bargaining with merchants. . . the buzz of motorcycles, braying and clip clop of donkey carts, all day long. Then at night, the sounds died down, except for a distant, irregular glug-glug pattern. I imagined it to be the ancient plumbing gurgling quietly, and it serenaded me to sleep.

On the last day, one of our members said he was glad the drumming workshop next door was over so he could get some sleep. I had a laugh at my own rosy picture, but was quite happy with my uninformed imagination.

Touch:

I generally talk a lot, as a Gemini, the communicator. From the second day, I developed a cough with hoarseness. At one point during the proceedings when I was feeling alone and unheard, someone sat beside me and lightly touched my shoulder. So much empathy and support was expressed in that one touch, it stirred me deeply.

Since then I’ve done a lot of communicating with my husband through touch instead of words. He’s responding with gratitude. Of course the irony wasn’t lost on me. I teach non-verbal communication. So often what we give others, we need the most ourselves.

Smells, tastes, sights, sounds, and touch are all worth a thousand words in any language.

Putting them all together is the theme of another article.