A kaleidoscope...
A kaleidoscope of frames, pictures, fragments, barely outlined, intricate, hard-to-grasp contours, changing, moving, creating repeatable and unique images, creating on the verge of reality and unreality, symbolic and non-symbolic, surreal, miraculously transformed from the past, as if visions expressed on an impressionistic canvas , creates a stream of consciousness that helps you touch eternity. At different times there is a touching of eternity. Perhaps most often this happens in solitude from the bustle of people, at night. It seems that this could be confirmed by many, including the well-known Robinson Crusoe or the unknown Mario, who is on Riesco Island and listens to the silence of the night, or any person who woke up from a strange dream, trying to understand what happened to him there, in another, bizarre world, intertwined with fragments from real life, what was happening, but without fully understanding it, involuntarily peering in the night room at the vague outlines of doorways, the outlines of a chandelier on the ceiling, at the contours on the wall of a large painting on which during the day the Atlantic Ocean, the island of Gorriti and a fantastically beautiful sunset are visible, in the contours of numerous flowers in the night room on the chest of drawers, on the coffee table, on the windowsill, one suddenly begins to feel, sense, oddly enough, the objectivity of time, which, it would seem, is always amorphous, invisible, but in fact sometimes it still appears, such as, for example, an incredibly huge disk of red-violet sun that appeared at the end of the day, once in the spring time hanging over the very middle of the avenue in Minsk for several minutes and unexpectedly reminiscent of what was seen in the distant childhood, the amazing gaze of boyish eyes, the sunny haze at sunset over a field of sunflower caps that had just been cut off by a combine harvester, like a sword. Perhaps this is a touch of eternity in this complex, contradictory, colorful life, with its wide variety of colors, from gray to bright red. Touching eternity can happen unexpectedly, for example, by opening one of several windows on the loggia and leaning over it to see on the right side a shabby corner house with paint peeling off in many places, faded with time, but still very similar to the pink house of the French artist Maurice Utrillo, and in these seconds to feel the unified spirit of the time and the cafe in Montmartre, and the corner pink house on Moskovsky Prospekt. Yes, yes, this is a touch of eternity: a huge solar disk in Minsk, a sunny haze over a collective farm field, a corner pink house in Montmartre. And the amazing Mario, unknown to everyone, who wished to come to Riesco Island in order to touch eternity alone, and the amazing man unknown to everyone, similar to both Mario and Martin, drinking Cafe latte at night and looking through the window at night at the corner house to feel a single spirit of the time, and Daniel Defoe with his Robinson Crusoe on a deserted island, all of them trying to touch eternity, to feel the unique diversity of life from all its angles. The question may arise whether it is so important to see, feel, feel all this, especially at night, especially on a sparsely populated or completely deserted island, is it so important to wake up at night and think for a long time about a strange dream or watch the picture “Pink house" by Maurice Utrillo, which brought him enormous success? How to answer this question? Everyone has their own priorities in life. And this is good.