Part 6. An American Tourist in Paris: Keepers of the City.

NOTE: The Author would like to gently point out that his observations are his and his alone, and they are not meant to be some sort of factual record on what Paris is. This is simply a collection of observations on what he experienced for 8 days in Paris during the summer of 2011. It is meant to be an honest account of his feelings and experiences, but should not be taken as complete truth to what Paris and France are. How could it? That's ridiculous. With that... PREVIOUSLY: PART 1: TOUCHING DOWN PART 2: MEETING THE LIZARD KING PART 3: MY NEMESIS, THE METRO PART 4: BLUE SKY RAIN PART 5: THE GINGER WINS

They sit there. Watching.

Faces contorted into flaps and folds which beg you to decipher their emotions.

Keepers of the city.

I love them instantaneously.

I'm sure others have come before, seeing nothing more than a few funny looking stone sculptures. But for some reason, this isn't what I see at all. No, I see everything within their gaze.

By factual nature, it was just a matter of moments ago when I collected myself and began the climb to their domain. Moments before that, the conflicting relationship I have with God filled my mind. A natural effect when standing in the middle of Notre-Dame Cathedral.

And even though this all occurred at half past the hour, and even though the clock hands rest firmly upon the hour now, it seems much longer. Perhaps another lifetime?

It doesn't matter. Right now, I am enthralled with the vision of the gargoyles. Their massive heads dwarf mine by comparison, a casual nod to my inferiority. They're glorious. They're beautiful. And they've disrupted the perpetual motion of everyday mundane events in my life to declare their presence.

I realize this may all sound a bit grandiose, but it's true.

Because dear friends and readers alike, this is what one feels like upon being ignited with inspiration. When you're creative by nature, you surf the waves of illumination in hopes that somewhere along the ride an idea resides.

Let me put it this way- the gargoyles have awakened me.

The beauty of these winged Gods is not lost on me, and I am forever grateful for our time together, time I wish wouldn't come to an end.

While I stand in awe of them, the gargoyles stare out at all that lies below.

I think of all the lives they've encountered. The dreams they've been a part of. The romance. The pain. All of it.

And in those moments, my mind races with clarity.

What I thought was just another excursion to the top of Paris is nothing of the sort. This was an invitation. A welcoming. The gargoyles laugh at my earlier endeavors. They dare me to do better. To try.

I think of Hugo. I think of his breathtaking presence as a writer. I think of it all...

And when I do, clarity sets it.

It's not just the skies that are clear.

It's me.

And I have the gargoyles to thank for it...

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