My eyes are slowly taking in the shapes and colours of the painted walls and colums, the floral pattern on the ceiling high above, and I sit here, no longer shaking from the cold wind outside though my hands are still cold, and for a moment my mind wanders from my friends who sit besides me somewhat weary of sight-seeing, and I breathe slowly for a change and feel thankful for the music and the silence of the audience, the serenity of the Bach toccata played by an invisible organ and a lady whose name I won't remember, and everything falls into place as the pictures that were flashing in my mind all day long slowly cease and fade, and with my mind at rest the rest of the world gets shut out when the guard with his almost royal and medieval looking white dog comes and locks the entrance of the 13th century church with a huge iron key, and I think such precious, rare moments to share in is what life is about, so if I ever ask you what the purpose of life is, please remind me of what I said, just remind me again of what you told me.