Heart versus Head - Damsel In Dior

Outfits 10 years ago Heart versus Head

It was 7:30am on a Friday morning outside Siena, Italy. A wobbly, white haired, older man wearing a crisp white linen button down, baby blue pants and brown shoes made his way out to the beautiful gardens at Castello la Leccia.

He was a bit taller than you would picture, yet a bit hunched over and shaky. He slowly approached the pebbled walk way that surrounded the garden square. I sat in the near distance observing him, only a few dozen yards away in a clean sofa and table. An empty ashtray rest before me as I kept to myself reading a book. I watched as he intently raked the pebbles. He must have sensed my eyes on him because just as he glanced up our eyes met and we exchanged smiles. “French?” he asked with the thickest of Italian accents. I shook my head with a smirk. “American?” and I nodded a smiling yes. He made his way over to the chair next to mine. “Do you mind?” as he pointed to the chair, simultaneously holding up a cigarette. “Not at all,” I responded.

We sat across from each other in silence for what seemed like seconds, but in reality several minutes passed by. It is always refreshing to be in the presence of a person who makes you feel fully comfortable being present. “What book are you reading,” he finally asked. “Oh, just some self help book about controlling your mind,” I answered. “Why on Earth would you want to do that?” he asked as we both let out a one beat laugh. And in that moment, the man tilted his head and said something to me that I will never forget.

“You must be a writer! Only an artist would try to tame the wildness of their own mind. To fully allow your talent to breathe, you must allow your mind to wander.” He took a puff from his cigarette. “Put the book down. Look at where we are. Take in the smells and the scene. They say the heart wants what it wants and the mind wants what it wants, but you must also be aware that the two are two. Your brain will give your heart energy. So keep it fueled.” And before I could decide how to fully decipher what his intent was, the older man put his cigarette out and stood up to leave. The sounds of the pebbles under his feet and chirps of birds in the distance were all I could hear until he made a slow turn back toward me with a wave. I waved back.

It was the only time I saw the white haired man in the castle for the two days I spent there. Perhaps he was a ghost, perhaps not. But either way I will never forget him and his words.