Journal Entry, Week 6

I have often wondered what we leave behind us when we finally walk away. What portion of ourselves do we instill in the things that we have touched, the people that we have met, and the work which we have labored at? Do the things that we remember, remember us or help us to be remembered; and if so does that make us significant, does that help us to last? Often the idea of what is in one's blood can lead us to believe that we can achieve the impossible; if we have had some distant relative who has achieved much, does that make us more likely to do the same? Does sitting in the chair of a once great man, make us great as well?

I wonder all of this as I stand gazing at the armor of Louis XIV in the Louvre in Paris, France. Earlier that week I had seen his home at Versailles, and had stood in the bedchamber in which he slept, and walked the halls that he had walked as he commanded his empire. The vastness of that building had made an impression upon me; and I felt that same feeling now as I stared through the glass at the king's armor. Indeed, it seemed that everything that Louis XIV came into contact with (that I was aware of) seemed to have a certain awe inspiring feeling to it. Oddly, He might not have ever worn this armor, and yet it feels like he must have. As I examine it I can visually picture his kingly figure donning it; perhaps riding on his horse, or walking the lines of a battlefield. There is a certain, powerful feeling to it, as though it carries with it the essense of its former master; as though it is its master, or all that is left of him.

As I stand in the white halls of the Louvre, surrounded by glass, I 'm consumed by the powerful feelings that tug me from every direction. In the room ahead of me stands the great black stone which bears the famous Code of Hammurabi (the ancient Babylonian stone which bears the worlds first known written law). Behind me is the corridor which leads to the great Mona Lisa, and to my left the Venice De Milo stands, armless and surrounded by asian tourists. Though I am surrounded by thousands of people, the feeling between the Louvre and I is intimate, and private. I'm standing as close to the great men of the past as I ever will, and they are speaking to me. 

This building gives its residence eternal life; and that idea draws the millions that come to visit it and imagine. Each hoping for even a hint at what it takes to stay within its walls for all time; students, mouths agap, absorbing the teachings of the most experienced instructors known to man. As I walked into the Parisian night, I turned to see the Louvre once more, and take in one last breath of its power. It's light filled the sky, a glass pyramid shining in the dark; an everlasting tomb.

 I have never forgotten the intensity of my visit to the Louvre, and I never will. I learned that day that we each leave behind us, pieces of ourselves in everything that we come into contact with. The ideas that we have in this life, and the things that we do are impressed upon those that see them and into everything in our lives. As to how long those things are remembered for what they are is dependent upon how deeply we are able to make our mark. The memories that our work can inspire serve as fodder for the masses that observe them; and teach them that greatness is possible; tudors them. Once the human mind understands that something is possible, it has no limitations; and my visit to the Louvre was one of the best lessons my mind ever received.