Month: September 2018

The Transformation of Pain Helps us see Value in Suffering

/ ginnyburges / Leave a comment
“Behind every beautiful thing, there’s some kind of pain.” ~ Bob Dylan

Pain – either physical or emotional, is something most of us seek to avoid. Yet our pain is just as valuable as our joy.

Such perceived undesirable feelings are at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum from joy and ecstasy, but are essentially all part of the same energetic material. Pain is one of those things that we strive to remove and resolve once we’re feeling it, yet it has immense value to our lives if we can use it constructively. As a form of feedback it is invaluable.

It can lead us to an expanded awareness and an equanimity that would not otherwise have been possible, but for our moments of pain.

Pain that has been transcended can be compared to the physical pain of childbirth: it hurts like hell at the time, you have no idea how long the labour will last, how long you can bear the intensity, but when it’s finally over you have a priceless gift – a new life. After a few months it’s not possible to recall the acute pain of childbirth, it is consigned to a murky memory; all you know is that it was worth it, because you brought a human being into the world.

What recondite depths have inspired composers, writers, poets, artists, social entrepreneurs and people from all walks of life, wanting to make the world a better place for others?

Two Fridas by Frida Kahlo
In 1939 Frida and Diego divorced. She was devastated and her emotions were reflected in this painting. She drew two identical Fridas, but with different personalities. One is the “Mexican Frida;” the one Diego Rivera fell in love with. The other is “European Frida” – the new and independent artist that’s recognized worldwide, but also, the woman her husband abandoned.
Their hearts are exposed over their clothing, and there is a thin vein passing through them both, uniting them. Victorian Frida holds surgical scissors that cut the vein in her lap, and the blood spills on her white dress. Frida was experiencing real sorrow, the kind of sorrow that made her feel she could bleed from the pain. Both women are holding hands as if the artist accepted she was the only person who understood her, loved her, and could help her to move on. ~ Matador Network

Such motivations do not normally emanate from pain free lives. When we have experienced profound pain we genuinely develop more compassion and empathy, and are probably more willing to help alleviate suffering if we come across someone going through a similar situation.

Pain is a powerful motivator: it can spur us into action, prompt us to change course, widen our perception, and in many cases, make us more accepting and less judgmental and align us to a meaningful purpose.

“Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it.” ~ J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

For me, intense pain formed the bedrock of my determination to follow my dreams and made me a stronger, more resilient person. I learned to listen to the inner longing that wasn’t based in my head.

Through pain I liken myself to a carbon atom that has been pressured, pulverised and heated inside the earth’s mantle; a violent process that forms a striking crystalline structure which is dense yet clear, still rough around the edges, yet with further cutting and refining will one day gleam with the best of them.

I have taken the gems (no pun intended!) of my own suffering, and used them in a coalescence of knowledge, experience and imagination in the form of my novel, The Virtuoso. 

There was a time in my life when I considered making an early exit from existence, but fortunately I decided against that idea. My love for my family spurred me to turn my life around. One day at a time.

It has been said that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Most people don’t want to consciously end their life, they want to end their pain. Sadly, not every one can get past their pain.

The Death of Chatterton by Henry Wallis

Tarquin and Lucretia by Titian c. 1571

The other day I was reading an email from Vishen Lakhiani, the founder of Mindvalley, telling a very personal story about how a painful experience became the catalyst for the values he lives by.

In Vishen’s words:

Your values became the healing you want to give to the world because of past pain.

My first core value was sparked from a horrible incident in 2003.

Just imagine, for a minute, being forced to leave the country you love because you were put on a watchlist based on a bullsh*t idea that, because of your place of birth, you were somehow a potentially dangerous immigrant.

But that was the situation I was placed in 2003 while living in America. I don’t blame anyone…it was the years following September 11th. And this was part of global politics. But boy was it painful…

I had lived in America for a decade and it was a place I had called home. My wife from Estonia and I lived in New York. We were newly married and I’d been living in the United States for 9 straight years. This was our home and I wanted my son born as an American.

But then – one day in 2003 arriving at JFK airport I was taken into a special room and told that I could no longer travel as freely. I had been added to an early version of the same Muslim-watchlist that Trump has been recently pushing for.

See, because I happened to be an immigrant from a Muslim-dominant country (Malaysia), I, alongside 80,000 other men, weren’t afforded the same freedom of movement as everyone else. I could no longer board flights or get off a plane without enduring 2 to 3 hrs in interviews in tiny rooms at the limited airports I was allowed to fly from.

Worse, I was expected to report to the government every 28 days. Interrogated for hours, get my picture taken, and have my credit card purchases scrutinized. Sometimes after waiting in line for up to 4 hours. And I had to repeat this. Every. Four. Weeks.

The funny thing was that I was not even a Muslim. Nor should that even matter.

Waiting 4 hours in the cold New York weather every 28 days just to be subjected to a really degrading process was something I could only tolerate for so long.

That was it.

And I had enough.

I was deeply saddened that I had to leave America this way, but I felt I didn’t really have a choice but to relocate Mindvalley to Malaysia.

In the end, in 2008 the then-new President Obama ruled the whole dumb process unconstitutional and this Bush-era regulation was tossed into the garbage bin.

I was finally free to travel.

But this pain served me. It set me up for the value of UNITY.

Unity is the idea that we align not with our country, our flag, our religion, or our ethnicity first — but that we align first and foremost with humanity as a whole.

My kids are half-Indian and half-white. You know what that means? It means they look middle-eastern. I don’t want MY children ever ending up on some stupid “watchlist” because fact-challenge old men with racist tendencies think something like a Muslim-ban is somehow a good idea.

So, I made it my mission to bring humanity together.

And the result was the value of Unity in everything we do at Mindvalley.

For example, our events typically welcome people from 40 different countries. Our team of 300 people now come from 49 countries.

And we make effort to represent the under-represented. Mindvalley University for example had 55% women speakers. Our courses feature people of all ethnicities and sexual orientations.

And we actively stand up for pro-Unity politics.

Unity was a value that made me who I am.

I was once on the popular talk show “Impact Theory” and the host Tom Bilyeu asked me.

“Are you an entrepreneur or a philosopher?”

I replied that I think the label ‘entrepreneur’ is pointless. Anyone can be an entrepreneur.

“What defines a person”, I said, “is not the label – but what they stand for.”

I could lost my business. I guess that happens to many people. But it won’t make me lose my identity.

But if I lost my stand. And my stand is Unity. I would not be Vishen Lakhiani. Everything I do, including Mindvalley, is designed to bring unity to the human race.

That’s how deeply entrenched unity is in my DNA.

And you can see how PAIN – can lead to the strongest values.

The healing, transforming power of music

Nowhere is the transformative quality of pain more evident, accessible and immediate than in the experience of listening to, performing and writing music. Like all the creative arts, music can be a miraculous medium for ameliorating pain – leaving a legacy of great benefit to many people, no matter if they are alive at the same time in history.

The Violinist by Joseph Rodefer DeCamp

All types of music fulfill this role for people. Some prefer rock, pop, country, jazz, tango, rap, heavy metal, dance anthems, not forgetting the more established and earlier types such as romantic, classical and baroque.  I find my mood and activity selects the music, but the kind that reaches the parts others cannot is – surprise, surprise – classical music.

I have included a few examples of pieces that continue to resonate with audiences centuries later, due to the emotion that was fundamental to their creation. It seems many of the most loved and enduring musical works were hammered out on the anvil of pain…

As you can imagine, keeping this list short is quite impossible for me, so forgive my alacrity if we’re not on the same musical page.

The andante con moto of Schubert’s chamber masterpiece ‘Death and the Maiden’ speaks to me deeply of pain. When I hear it, any unresolved pain I feel comes through and tells me it’s there…

It connects me to the composer, to myself and to humanity.  It has even inspired the title of a trilogy of psychological thrillers, quietly brewing in my psyche.

Schubert composed the String Quartet No. 14 in D Minor, D. 810 in 1824, after he had been seriously ill and realised that he was dying. It is Schubert’s testament to death. The quartet takes its name from the lied ‘Der Tod und das Mädchen’, a setting of a poem of the same name by Matthias Claudius which Schubert wrote in 1817.

Only one who suffered such as Schubert could have written it. Much of Schubert’s music reflects the deep chasm of human emotion. It some of the most heart-felt music I think I will ever hear.

“My compositions spring from my sorrows. Those that give the world the greatest delight were born of my deepest griefs.”
~ Franz Schubert

An incredibly moving performance of Schubert’s Piano Fantasie in F minor, D. 940 for four hands, by Dutch brothers Lucas and Arthur Jussen:

The bittersweet quality of the melody and their sensitive, nuanced interpretation makes me well up.

The touch of a master makes the Impromptu No. 3 Op. 90 sound like it’s coming straight from Schubert’s heart…

“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” ~ Rumi
Variations on this sentiment:
“There is a crack in everything God has made.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Antelope Canyon – by Madhu Shesharam on Unsplash

“The crack is where the light gets in.” ~ Leonard Cohen
“Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light.” ~ Groucho Marx

Beethoven similarly expressed profound depths through his music, in way too many pieces to share here. Works that could only have come about because of his physical and emotional wretchedness. He was the epitome of the tortured genius!

The Piano Sonata No. 23 in F minor, Op. 57 (Apassionata), was written at a time of great political and personal turmoil, and it seems that Beethoven has bared his soul within the notes. The famous triadic motif from his fifth symphony can be heard in the opening movement, indeed, it pervades much of his musical output.

You can hear the violent rage, anguish, torment, passion and determination expressed either consciously or unconsciously by Beethoven, as if he is unashamedly showing us his inner core, which was clearly on a stormy setting at the time.

He was reeling from a broken heart, just when his brother Karl announced his marriage to Johanna, a woman Beethoven despised. He could not bring himself to dismount from his moral high horse and be happy for them.

Oh my, it was quite the maelstrom… I think Richter played it like the mercurial maestro would have:

Prior to publication of the Apassionata, Beethoven erupted with fury in a disagreement with a great patron of the arts, his aristocratic benefactor, Prince Lichnowsky. The altercation supposedly took place one stormy night at the prince’s country estate near Graz.

Lichnowsky asked Beethoven if he would perform for him and some of Napoleon’s officers he was playing host to. Beethoven refused in his combustible, irascible manner, and strode off into the rainy night with his Appassionata score under his arm; but not before telling Lichnowsky that there were many princes, but only one Beethoven!

The blotches caused by the contact of rain and ink from that fated evening are still visible on the original autograph manuscript.

Even though Beethoven never quite forgave Lichnowsky for his transgression, he still wrote to his estranged patron sometime later to complain of his “thoroughly lacerated heart.”

The pain of parting is so beautifully transferred to the ivories by Alfred Brendel in this recording of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 26 in E-flat major, Op. 81a, ‘Les Adieux’:

In his brilliant analysis of Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Major, Charles Hazlewood highlights that the piano and orchestra are in a conversation; a dialogue that becomes increasingly tense through the first and second movements.

He enthuses that Beethoven created a new era for the role of the piano by not starting the concerto with a grand orchestral opening, as was the custom, but instead with a tentative phrase on the piano, which seeks to dictate terms to the orchestra.

Discord permeates each phrase of the conversation as the tension becomes more pronounced in the andante con moto. When the piano finally breaks out it seems that the gulf between the piano and the orchestra is unbridgeable, until the third movement brings about resolution and reconciliation. The piano mollifies the orchestra and they unite musically.

I could not leave out the incomparable second movement of his Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-Flat Major minor, Op.  73 (Emperor), which seems to encompass the entire history of mankind at the molecular level within its sublime, poignant melody.

The whispered opening makes me hold my breath for eight unbearably beautiful minutes, floating in suspended animation, soaking up the apotheosis of all that is…

James Rhodes blends notes and emotion perfectly in the third movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109:

Backed by Stanford University’s Ensemble in Residence, the St. Lawrence String Quartet, Robert Kapilow, (composer and radio commentator), explores the notion of illness as a potent source of creativity, (e.g. appreciation for existence) through Beethoven’s ‘Heiliger Dankgesang’, which Beethoven wrote in thanksgiving after recovering from a life-threatening illness.

Tchaikovksy could also pack in the pathos, as expressed in his Serenade Melancolique Op. 26, via Itzhak Perlman on his violin:

The sobriquet ‘Suffocation’ is a fitting description for Chopin’s Prelude No. 4 in E minor, Op. 28:

I think the addition of the cello brings out a lyrical, lugubrious quality to the melody:

The original lyrics to ‘So Deep is the Night’ by André Viaud and Jean Marietti were set to Chopin’s Etude No. 3 in E Major, Op. 10 ‘Tristesse’, perfect on its own:

In the medium of opera and vocal works suffering finds an outlet through the voice. I find  Camille Saint-Saëns’s ‘Mon coeur s’ouvre à ta voix’ from Samson et Dalila one of the most moving arias ever written. Maria Callas was no stranger to emotional pain, and you can hear it as she pours out her heart:

Callas is also unmatched as Norma in Bellini’s eponymous opera singing the aria Casta Diva:

Puccini and Pavarotti are a match made in heaven…

I love the strong sentiment in this interpretation by Marita Solberg of Edvard Grieg’s ‘Solveig’s song’ from his Peer Gynt Suite:

Bach’s eternal, prayerful and beseeching ‘Erbarme dich mein Gott‘ (Have mercy Lord, My God) from his epic St. Matthew Passion:

Get the tissues ready for Handel’s signature aria ‘Lascia ch’io pianga’ from his Opera Rinaldo.

Let me weep

over my cruel fate,

and sigh for freedom.

Let my sorrow break the chains

of my suffering, out of pity.

Dimitry Shostakovich takes us to the abyss as he performs the andante from his Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Major, Op. 102 in this vintage recording:

Albinoni finds a sorrowful voice for the oboe in the adagio of his concerto No. 2 in D minor, Op. 9:

I couldn’t leave out maestro Mozart, who proved he was equally at home with a deep and meaningful as well as a galloping allegro.

Vladimir Horowitz always takes me to another dimension with this recording of the adagio of Piano Concerto No. 23 in A Major, K. 488. The heartache is palpable…

In my humble opinion this is no ‘feeble adagio’ as Brahms had labelled the slow movement of his Violin Concerto in D Major. The oboe, bassoon, brass and violin share the profound melody.

To me it is poetic and purifies the soul.

Franz Liszt wasn’t always a showman, as he proves in his nostalgic and tender Consolation No. 3:

Love hurts and pleasures at the same time when Wagner gets involved! The immortal Tristan und Isolde, Prelude & Liebestod:

The Symphony of Sorrowful Songs is a symphony in three movements, composed by Henryk Górecki in Katowice, Poland, between October and December 1976.

In the second movement a solo soprano sings the Polish message written on the wall of a Gestapo cell during World War II, from the perspective of a child separated from a parent. The dominant themes of each of the three movements of the symphony are motherhood and separation through war.

The symphony is constructed around simple harmonies, set in a neo-modal style which makes use of the medieval musical modes. The nine-minute second movement is for soprano, her words are supported by the orchestra and the movement culminates when the strings hold a chord without diminuendo for nearly one and a half minutes.

The final words of the movement are the first two lines of the Polish Ave Maria, sung twice on a repeated pitch by the soprano.

Maternal Affection by Adolphe Jourdan c. 1860

Górecki dedicated the work to his wife, Jadwiga Rurańska. He never sought to explain the symphony as a response to a political or historical event. Instead, he maintained that the work is an evocation of the ties between mother and child.

You can certainly feel the fathomless pain of parental separation, as well as the music’s roots in the Holocaust, and indeed every war:

Honestly, I could go on forever, but I think you get the idea!

In his book, The Joy of Music, Leonard Bernstein makes a point about the futility of trying to extract the meaning of music, contending that it stands in a special lonely region, unlit…

The composer and musical artist bring their own ‘wounds’ and life experience to their work. In the process there is catharsis, release, healing, beauty and meaning. For them, and for us.

For violinist Ji-Hae Park, music was part of the pain and the resolution:

One could go as far as to say that a completely happy life provides no substance for a creative individual.

Hirzel, Switzerland by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

I have had my fair share of pain, but also incredible joy, and it makes you appreciate the good times. I’m reminded every day to extract every drop of life from each precious, present moment…

Letting go

Letting go of pain takes patience and practice. At least for me.

When I finally decided I was sick of the perverse way my ego was getting off on my pain, I decided to let it go. I could stand in the fire and not be burnt by it. But that took time and awareness.

In hindsight we can understand how our painful experiences have made us who we are, and how they may have served us, but rarely is this possible when we are in the thick of it.

When we step out of the victim archetype we regain our power.

I find this profound teaching by Dr. David R Hawkins (in terms of the paradigm of Content and Context) really helpful in managing and transcending pain. The best course of action is to focus on the totality of the experience, (context) and not the specifics, (content).  He was a wise and wonderful real-life Yoda!

#BeTheBowl

I recently had a candid chat with a good friend of mine, who happens to be a spiritual coach, and I was relaying what a horrendous first six months of the year I’d had, and how I’d struggled to maintain my usual positive outlook and get back on track with my plans. I put on a humorous slant, relieved that I’d got through it. She listened and smiled, and gave me the most amazing advice.

She said, “Ginny, be the bowl!”

I must have looked a bit dim and confused, because she went on to explain that in Japan, they have a custom of not throwing out damaged or broken things. So a precious vase that may have been knocked over and smashed is glued back together using a special gold lacquer.

Rather than cover up the imperfection of the object or throw it away, they appreciate and celebrate it.

I really love that ethos. The practice is known as Kintsugi.

I thought #BeTheBowl would make a great hashtag  to embrace life in all its manifestations.

We all go through rough patches, but rather than bury the hurt, or wallow in it, we can always bring it into the light to mend it with our personal application of liquid gold.

Our life experience comes moment by moment through our thoughts, emotions, words and deeds, and to expect that it will always be perfect is setting us up for unnecessary suffering. We have to just roll with the punches, knowing that they are coming, but not necessarily how hard, how many, where or when…

It seems a much more reasonable proposition to love and accept each other despite our random gold seams.

#BeTheBowl is my new mantra whenever I’m feeling low or the proverbial hits the fan.

#BeTheBowl helps me see myself and humanity as a work in progress.

Khalil Gibran’s poem On Pain, from his timeless book, The Prophet,  is a great reminder that pain is the divine taking us to a different dimension of life. It’s futile to oppose and resist the inevitable.

The only reason we suffer with our pain is that we don’t want to accept its existence and don’t recognize its value. We think that pain is not fair, that we didn’t deserve to experience it, that perhaps we are being punished for something we have or haven’t done.

My biggest question to God during the depths of my despair was always, ‘why me?’ In truth, pain chooses us when it sees that we are ready for transformation.

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.” ~ C.S. Lewis (The Problem of Pain)

I can’t think of anyone who transformed his pain into such beauty and an enduring legacy more than Beethoven…except Jesus!

As I tell the W.I. ladies whenever I do a fiction talk, there is no greater fodder for your fiction than that of your life, or the lives of loved ones.

Grampians National Park, Australia by Manuel Meurisse on Unsplash

The soul has to be breached to be opened, and wounds do the breaching. The deeper the wound, the richer your story will be, the greater the journey, and the more satisfying the transformation.

This is just as true for real life as it is for fiction.

“Only the wounded physician heals.” ~ Carl Jung

Breathtaking Memories of the Alhambra – A Rare Jewel of the World

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“Though the shadows of these walls have long since gone, the memory of them will live on as the final refuge of dreams and art. And then the last nightingale to breath on this earth will build its nest and sing its farewell song among the glorious ruins of the Alhambra.” ~ F. Villaespesa (plaque beside the Gate of the Pomegranates).

Lately I have been tearing around preparing three of my kids (two for new schools), like something of a Mad Hatter on caffeine overload. The moment we arrived back from holiday I had an extra guest in the form of my eldest prodigal son, and various activities all requiring mum’s taxi service. GCSE results day was soon upon us, followed by a grammar school sixth form interview, as well as making sure our kittens weren’t able to produce more kittens…

It turns out my worries were unfounded. An embarrassed phone call from the vets confirmed that the one we thought was a she (including an earlier vet inspection), is actually a he, so I hastily renamed Saffron Samson!! Fortunately he seems to have recovered from the early gender confusion.

Amid the recent chaos I have tried to eek out, here and there, some precious time to reflect on a holiday that wasn’t particularly restful, but certainly had its highlights – one of which was a visit to the Alhambra.

The Mirador of Lindaraja – Palace of the Lions

Alongside numerous other tourists from all over the world, in a state of high anticipation, we entered the ancient city walls of the Alhambra Palace in Granada; nestled at the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range in Southern Spain.

Our arrival was marred by the fact that Iberia had lost three of our cases due to a delayed outbound flight from Heathrow and a rushed connection through Madrid.

Our brief time spent visiting the Palacios Nazarias (palaces of the Nasrid dynasty), will stay with me forever. I enjoyed it despite a petulant youngest who made it clear she didn’t want to look around and was determined to moan and do her best to make us leave as soon as possible, (which included getting herself lost).

Cultural sightseeing with a reluctant child is enough to test the patience of saint, let alone an overheated parent’s patience!

I got the ‘why are you making me do this?’ stare from my youngest at the start of the tour in the Golden Courtyard of the Mexuar Palace.

Now that I have seen the historical, architectural and cultural gem that is the Alhambra with my own eyes, I can fully reminisce and revel in the music ‘Recuerdos de la Alhambra’ performed by John Williams and composed by Francisco de Asís Tárrega:

The Nasrid Palaces of the Alhambra took my breath away. The Sultans of the Nasrid Dynasty certainly knew how to express their power, as well as utilise nature to their full advantage and pay homage to the divine hand of creation.

I was bowled over by the intricate stucco decorations and sublime geometric patterns carved and tiled by long dead hands onto the floors, walls, arches and ceilings. There is a sheer timeless effulgence to the Alhambra – it dazzles in every respect!

It is quite simply jaw-dropping.

“The only conqueror is God.” ~ Nasrid motto inscribed in numerous epigraphs at the Alhambra.

The fusion of indoor and outdoor spaces is in perfect harmony with the landscape, designed to incorporate nature and paradise into a man made masterpiece.

Somehow it transcends the searing Andalusian summer heat.

The clever design of the palace and the orientation of the columns means that they can be effectively used as sun dials, being aligned from north to south to within tenths of degrees.

Shade in the Courtyard of the Lions

Apparently the rooms receive much more light during the winter months than in summer, mainly because of the wide, overhanging eaves and cornices. Certain secluded corners are said to be warmed by the slanting winter sun but sheltered from the wind.

During the summer the sun is so high that its rays rarely penetrate the sheltered corridors to warm the marble walls and floors. The places that receive most sun in winter stay in the shade in summer so many of the south-facing rooms remain as cool as they would if they were air-conditioned.

The name Alhambra has evolved from the original Madinat al-Hamra, meaning ‘the red one’, thought to be a reference to the colour of the soil of the hill itself and the red clay used in the building materials.  It could also allude to part of the name of the founder of the Nasrid dynasty: Muhammed ibn al-Ahmar ibn Nasr.

The Hill of the Alhambra Granada by Samuel Colman

I noticed the pervading redness of the ground inside the walls of the Alhambra, apparently due to oxidisation of the soil. The plateau on which the fortress and palace complex sits is aptly named ‘The Red Hill’.

The Fortress of the Alhambra by David Roberts

Our timed entry was mid-morning. In order to preserve this very special and unique UNESCO World Heritage site, a limited number of people are allowed in to the Nasrid Palaces at any one time on any given day.  Even the Alhambra’s existing quotas felt like too much. It’s crowded on and off as new groups are admitted, which makes decent photography limited. It didn’t help that we visited during peak season.

Having said that, it’s still a magical experience.

Apart from the middle-age fort of the Alcazaba, the Nasrid Palaces are the earliest buildings of the Alhambra, (consisting of the Mexuar, Comares and Leones), which were inhabited and expanded through the centuries by each subsequent Nasrid generation.

They were eventually altered in places and added to by the conquering catholic monarchs, to encompass the sprawling fortress complex that commands the hill top today.

Luckily the technology of the present enables audio recordings to help visitors understand the aims and achievements of the palaces and their previous royal inhabitants.

The Mexuar

The Hall of the Mexuar is one of the oldest surviving parts of the royal palaces. The council met within the square formed by the four columns to decide upon important judicial matters, being the royal court of justice originally.

Elaborate wooden coffered ceilings in the Hall of the Mexuar

Facade of the Comares Palace in the Courtyard of the Mexuar

Comares Palace – The Courtyard of the Myrtles

Substantial amounts of water are harnessed throughout the gardens, palaces and especially in the Courtyard of the Myrtles; which is both stunning and serene.

Courtyard of the Myrtles – view towards the North Gallery and Comares Tower.

“Water forms the mysterious life of the Alhambra: it allows the gardens to grow exuberantly green, it gives birth to the splendour of flowering shrubs and bushes, it rests in the pools reflecting the elegantly arcaded halls, it dances in the fountains and murmurs in rivulets through the very heart of the royal residence.
Just as the Koran describes paradise, ‘An orchard flowing with streams.'” ~ Titus Burckhardt

The Courtyard of the Myrtles has inspired quite a few artists in recent centuries…

The Court of Myrtles Alhambra by David Roberts

A more detailed view of the North Gallery by the American Orientalist Edwin Lord Weeks:

A Court in the Alhambra in the time of the Moors by Edwin Lord Weeks c. 1876

The Courtyard of the Myrtles and Comares Tower by Impressionist painter Childe Hassam c. 1883

The tower and archways of the North Gallery are reflected from the water at the entrance to the majestic Sultan’s throne room in the Comares Tower, magnifying the sultan’s power as well as symbolising abundance. It may have also served to amplify the elusiveness of ‘reality’. The use of water to mirror the structure above it was also employed centuries later to great effect by the builders of the Taj Mahal.

The combination of natural and man-made elements mingle in ethereal movements of space, air and light in the Alhambra like nothing I have ever seen.

The Alhambra feels like an eternal Moorish Elysium: a sanctuary made up of gardens, fountains, pools, halls, towers and courtyards; perched high above fertile plains, yet with a view of lofty, mountainous terrain.

View towards the South Gallery from the Hall of the Boat

Perfect and secluded, yet an intrinsic part of the rugged and ruddy landscape, the Alhambra is now a well restored and preserved physical window into Spain’s Moorish past.

Comares Tower – The Hall of the Ambassadors

The Comares Palace was built between 1333 – 1354 during the reign of sultan Yusuf I, during which time Europe was beset by the Plague and the 100 Years War began. His son Mohammad V, decorated the Comares Tower in some style between 1362 – 1391.

The Hall of the Ambassadors was the symbolic centre of Nasrid power, and contains the faded but still magnificent vestiges of the last Muslim court in Europe.

Windows and ceiling of the Throne Room – Comares Tower

The ceiling of the Hall of the Ambassadors (or Throne Room), in the Comares Tower is a sight to behold. The mosaic roof contains 8,017 separate pieces of wood in seven concentric circles with cedar wood adornments and a mocarabe boss in the centre.

During repair work a wooden peg was found protruding which had written on it the original colour scheme, that surely would have appeared even more stunning with whites, reds, ochres and greens a few centuries back…

The sultan would have had a psychological advantage over his subjects and visiting dignitaries when seated resplendent in the hall, surrounded by glowing, golden walls and vivid colours streaming in from the stained windows behind him.

The centuries have taken their toll. The windows are still impressive, even without their once colourful stained glass.

The explosion of a gunpowder factory in the valley below in 1590 destroyed the stained glass, which was geometric in design to complement the surrounding tiled dados.

The Hall of the Two Sisters

The cupola of mocárabes contains an astounding 5,416 alabaster pieces.  As the square walls meet the base of the ceiling they become octagonal in shape, with two windows placed in each plane of the octagon. These windows were said to be of stained glass until the late 16th century, giving the effect of movement on the ceiling, imparted by the light according to its angle at any given moment.

There is a poem inscribed in the walls of the Hall of the Two Sisters which extends around the room above the dado, written by Ibn Zamrak, comparing the beauty of the room with a garden.

Here is an excerpt that relates to the cupola of mocárabes, (honeycombed gesso):

“How much pleasure there is here for the eyes! In this place the soul will find idyllic reveries. The dreamer will be accompanied by the five Pleiades and will wake to the gentle morning breeze. An incomparable cupola shines with beauties both hidden and open to the gaze. “

My photograph does not do justice to the incredible cupola of mocárabes in the Hall of the Two Sisters

My gaze floated up over the exquisite honeycombed arches, as if being drawn into shimmering celestial realms. There is so much beauty and symmetry throughout the Nasrid Palaces it’s hard to take in.

My brain was on aesthetic overload!

The Hall of the Abencerrages

The hall is accessed through the Courtyard of the Lions, but the lore of its violent history does not detract from its magnificence.

It is said that in Granada legend and history are so so closely intertwined it is impossible to distinguish between the two. The name of the hall is derived from the Abencerrage family who played an important part in the politics of their day.

A conspiracy was engineered by a rival family, the Zenete, involving the Sultana in an amorous affair. In a fit of jealousy and rage against the offending Abencerrages, the sultan invited 36 men from the Abencerrage family to celebrate in the hall and then had them slaughtered in it.

Portrayal of the slaughter of the Abencerrages in the Alhambra by romantic painter Mariano Fortunay c. 1871

The russet veins in the bottom of the marble fountain are cited as the bloodstains of the murdered courtiers in such perfidious circumstances and manner. Others believe it is the oxidisation in the marble itself.

Ceiling of the Hall of the Abencerrages

The Courtyard of the Lions

This would have been the focal point of the sultan’s private dwellings, (including his nearest and dearest), and possibly also used for some aspects of the sultan’s political and diplomatic affairs.

My eyes absorbed the timeless radiance shining forth from every facet of this cloistered style courtyard, and its seven hundred year old energy filled my whole being.

As I passed through the entrance to the Courtyard of the Lions I was rendered speechless. I could see it was having a similar effect on other tourists too. We were  wandering around in awe, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, taking photos from every possible angle as we spotted new, alluring vistas of shadows and light against the pearl like marble and fine filigree arches.

Courtyard of the Lions by Orientalist painter John Frederick Lewis, resident at the Alhambra between 1833-34.

It’s interesting to see how much more foliage was growing in the Nasrid Palaces (as depicted in various Romantic art works), compared to now.

The 19th century literary guest of the Alhambra, Washington Irving, wasn’t a fan of the gardens: “The court is laid out in flower-beds, instead of its ancient and, appropriate pavement of tiles or marble; the alteration, an instance of bad taste was made by the French when in possession of Granada.”

The Courtyard of the Lions by Leon Auguste Asselineau c. 1853

“Space in the Alhambra is as open as in the desert, where intimacy itself is to be found beneath the stars. The Courtyard of the Lions isn’t a house with a garden but a garden containing a house, which should be looked at from its corners at floor height…”

The shaded central chamber, (east pavilion) the privileged area for the sultan and his retinue.

Symmetry and perfection adorn the exterior of the eastern pavilion of the Courtyard of the Lions.

View from west to east in the Courtyard of the Lions

The Palace of Charles V looms in the background over the Courtyard of the Lions.

I can but try, but in reality the Alhambra defies description. You have to trace over centuries of vanished footsteps to properly experience and appreciate first-hand the artistic brilliance and reverence of the craftsmanship embedded in the fabric of its architecture.

The elegantly cloistered entrance has been described as ‘walking through a forest of gilded pillars, which little by little began to appear like “gold fringes of lace hanging from the sky”’.

Heavenly archways crown a pavilion of the Courtyard of the Lions

“The architecture, like that in most parts of the interior of the palace, is characterised by elegance rather than grandeur, bespeaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a disposition to indolent enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy traces of the peristyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is difficult to believe that so much has survived the wear and tear of the centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the quiet, though no less baneful, pilferings of the tasteful traveller: it is almost sufficient to excuse the popular tradition, that the whole is protected by a magic charm.”
~ Washington Irving (Tales of the Alhambra)

I later passed through the governor’s rooms in the Lindaraja wing of the Palace of the Lions, famously inhabited for several months in 1829 by American writer Washington Irving. He duly fell under the spell of the Alhambra and revealed her legends and secrets in his book: Tales of the Alhambra.

The Hall of the Kings

The Hall of the Kings runs along the whole of the east side of the Courtyard of the Lions and is divided into five separate areas. This design creates a wonderful interplay of light and shade among the richly decorated three larger chambers that open out onto the court, bordered by the two smaller closed porticos.

Light, shade and decoration in the Hall of the Kings.

Al-Andalus by Wilhem Meyer (The Hall of the Kings)

The Hall of the Kings Alhamba by Leon Auguste Asselineau

Alhambra – Hall of the Kings by David Roberts

Isaac Albeniz – En la Alhambra, with Juan Carlos Garvayo on the piano:

The history of the Alhambra

The Alcazaba (old citadel), was first constructed in 889 by Sawar ben Handum, at the same time Alfred the Great was King of Wessex. The founder of the Nasrid Dynasty in Granada, Muhammad I, (1238 – 1273), rebuilt and extended the Alcazaba as his feudal residence, and his ancestors each built and consolidated the three Nasrid Palaces.

The Alhambra covers an area of around thirteen hectares enclosed by more than two kilometres of walls reinforced by thirty towers, of which twenty or so are still standing.

The 14th century witnessed the zenith of the great Muslim builders: the sultans Yusef I and his son Moahmmad V, during whose time the Palace of Comares, the Comares Tower and the Palace of the Lions were constructed.

Muslim rule in al-Andalus lasted for seven centuries, and the Alhambra is an outstanding example of medieval Islamic art that has its roots in Persia and North Africa.

Entrance to the Alhambra on foot can be made through the Justice Gate

Gate of Justice Alhambra by David Roberts

The last Arab monarch to rule in Granada was Abu-Abd-illiah Muhammad XII. To the Castilians he was known as Boabdil, and his retreat from Granada ended Muslim rule in southern Spain during the reign of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in January 1492.

King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella were originally laid to rest in the monastery, and I saw the alcove where they had lain for a time before their remains were transferred to the Royal Chapel at el Escorial, the final resting place of Spanish monarchs.

It was Ferdinand and Isabella’s daughter, Catherine of Aragon, who eventually married King Henry VIII of England. She was the aunt of King Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain.

The Departure of Boabdil’s Family from the Alhambra by Manuel Gomez-Moreno c. 1880

The Capitulation of Granada by Francisco Pradilla Ortiz

Palace of Charles V

The Nasrid Palaces became dilapidated and left to ruin in the wake of the Reconquista. The neglect would last until the 19th century, when the stories, poems and art that was produced by the romantics helped to instigate renewed interest and restoration to its former Moorish glory.

The importance of Granada as a royal site ultimately proved beneficial in its preservation.

The undisputed queen of Celtic music, Loreena Mckennit performs her evocative and lilting songs inspired by the Alhambra, and of course her Celtic roots, in a special concert inside the Palace of Charles V :

The New Royal House, the Palacio Carlos V, was conceived as a grand new monument by Charles I of Spain 1500 – 1558 (also Charles V Holy Roman Emperor 1519 – 1558), built to consolidate the powerful role of Granada in political and royal life without destroying the existing Muslim architecture.

It was thus differentiated from the Nasrid Palaces, which were referred to as the Old Royal House.

The Marquis of Mondejar, (governor of the Alhambra), was in charge of the new palace’s construction, but the actual building of it was entrusted to Pedro Machua, who had trained in Rome with both Michelangelo and Rafael. His legacy was to create a monument in the Italian Renaissance style that was popular at the time, but never fully completed.

The Palace of Charles V stands on an old Christian quarter in the lower annex to the Nasrid city.

Washington Irving also had an opinion on that era’s architecture too:

“In front of the esplanade is the splendid pile commenced by Charles V., and intended, it is said, to eclipse the residence of the Moorish kings. Much of the Oriental edifice intended for the winter season was demolished to make way for this massive pile. The grand entrance was blocked up so that the present entrance to the Moorish palace is through a simple and almost humble portal in a corner. With all the massive grandeur and architectural merit of the Palace of Charles V., we regarded it as an arrogant intruder, and passing by it with a feeling of almost of scorn, rang at the Moslem portal.”

Accommodation

We were fortunate to stay in a small boutique establishment, Hotel America, (one of only two hotels inside the Alhambra’s walls), close to the Parador de Granada (once the Friary of San Francisco).

Hotel America Alhambra

Hotel America is a far cry from the elaborate Moorish Islamic art that attracts millions of visitors every year to the Alhambra. However, I loved its authentic colonial style and the cosy vine covered courtyard for dining.

Its simplicity was refreshing. Some rooms had small balconies that opened up over the courtyard. Sparrows made their home there and were not afraid of guests as they darted from floor to table in a bid to grab morsels of food.

The night we arrived we had a traditional meal at the café of the Parador, overlooking the valley and the Generalife. For a while we could hear the voices, guitars and castanets from a nearby flamenco evening. We were able to walk among the gardens of the old monastery which were lovingly landscaped with exotic plants and flowers from all over the world.

View towards the Generalife from the Gardens of the Parador (Monastery)

You can’t help but be filled with a sense of tranquility and peace. The setting sun was casting a warm glow over the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada and the sacredness of this site filled my being.

The 1926 live performance of Sviatoslav Richter performing “Soirée dans Grenade” from Debussy’s Estampes (composed 1903):

I wished I’d had more time (and willing offspring), to explore every amazing nook and cranny of the Alhambra, but the portion I was fortunate enough to see was an unforgettable experience.

If you haven’t yet been to the Alhambra I’d recommend putting it near the top of your bucket list.

As Washington Irving so eloquently stated in his book of tales:

“My object is merely to give the reader a general introduction into an abode where, if so disposed, he may linger and loiter with me…”

Alhambra Photo Gallery