Reflections from January 2004, 18-22 November 2005
January 2004:
1. i just love the weather, this is just what my soul needs, the grey misty soon-to-rain and abandoned city with naked suicidal trees... No! in no way i'm suicidal, those who've seen me at least once in their lifetimes know that i'm not, but it is just the attraction of my heart. I was walking alone in the center of the city singing aloud the song i just made up in my mind and i didnt even understand any one word but i just knew that that was the way my soul felt at the moment. Can you imagine that? alone, in the center of the city, the grey mist surrounds you, and there is no one else around, and you just sing...
~and may the evil and the kind abandon us to ourselves~
2. this is all very twisted, you know that you cant leave the world as it is, and at the same time you know that all of your efforts will not come out as you wanted them to, and in the end you cry on the remnants of the utopia you thought you built. IN the end you realize that this utopia, the neverland, has turned to be Hell, and you are the ruler of it. a paradox, isnt it? so what do you do? stay a coward or turn into a dictator? i havent decided for myself yet, but i know that cowardice is not for me...
Во тьме народа
В гуще сна
Пою
18th November:
I lay, awake on the camp-bed, in the darkness of my shared room, covered with a quilted blanket, staring at the ceiling. The distant sounds of the TV in the next room - a Hindu show, an old classics, with my first crush - provided for a useless background. The rhythmic flashing of my sister's cellphone, blue, otherworldly blue, kept on lighting up the room. Such mysticism. The smooth surface of the vanity reflected vague shadows, were they dancing really, in those brief moments of light. And I thought, I thought how low I have fallen. Gods must forgive me for forgetting my high purpose in this life.
I cannot be forsaken, for I am the crucial thread in the quilt of the universe. You know that, right?
Today I was walking away from the bus station in the direction of my house and I realized - why do I have to be such a liar, I've realized this long ago - that I no longer looked at the sky and the tops of the trees while walking as I did before. My gaze was fixed on the ground, discerning the smallest of details, getting lost in random thoughts about their origin, their meaning to my life, or just the combination of the incombinable. How strange. Instantly - pseudo-rebellion - I decided to turn my gaze away from earth and look up. I did, I honestly did - but then I looked back down. It was scary to keep my eyes fixed on the higher world.
Have the gates been closed?
They must have been. But I have the key now. I have the image of the key imprinted forever in my mind. Rusty, rusty, tied to the silky red ribbon, hanging down the twig of the tree. I was riding the bus, a few days ago, or maybe not: the scenery behind the glass had turned into one continuous silhouette of the world that I had no connection with, my pupils widened - associative memories - lost in thought. Then the bus halted before the red light and the world focused back, it focused back concentrating on one single object in the whole universe of that moment - the rusty key. Rusty, rusty, tied to the silky red ribbon, hanging down the twig of the tree.
No-forsakenness. They know all.
20th November:
20th November
Oh my. I just woke up and, of course, (predictable) I went straight to my computer - but why? Today I had one of the most urgent reasons. I had dreams. So many dreams I couldn't remember all of them. Violently vivid, burning the cortex of my brain, like a negative only much livelier.
There was the Lake. The Great Lake. At first I thought it was Issyk-Kul Lake in my country, but the people I was with said it was its twin. So beautiful and so clear. People were swimming in it even though it was November and pretty cold, or so we were told. Me and a friend (incognito friend, I don't remember who it was) stood there, all covered in fabrics and bags of all kinds. Jealous of those people, I entrusted all that I had to my friend and went to touch the water. So beautiful and so clear, and the feeling of it against my hands was indescribable. The crystalline water called me to enter it, seducing me with its innocence, the sun shining brightly, all suddenly turning into a tropical paradise - and I would have, I seriously would have, if I didn't notice a medium-sized fish swimming past my hands. There could have been bigger fish swimming in that lake, couldn't there?
I don't remember why we were on the shores of that lake and there was an incognito man, a tall man, mysterious, exuding an aura of total power. Never abusing it because he didn't need to abuse his power, confident in himself, even slightly benevolent. I think he was the leader of our group. And maybe our group was a mission even, because we walked and walked and walked, stopping for short intervals of time and then starting up again. The Lake was the sweetest of such intervals, sweetest and the most dangerous.
And then I remember we were in Norge. Or so I thought. It was beautiful, but I don't remember everything. All that's left in my memory is the feeling of awe and inspiration the second I wake up. But I am certain it was Norge.
22nd November:
Shhhh. Silence, hypothetical, restored. And I listen, I listen for the rustling of the cosmic wind, but it never comes. Does it care?
The first moment I saw him I thought - not again. A second passed and he spoke. All was changed, all, all. His voice - so strong, crisp, sharp even. He said, "Could you give me something to eat?" And he looked straight in my eyes. A metre and twenty centimetres, not taller, looking straight at me as an equal. Concession was the least I could do. In the kitchen I put all we had into a bag for him. I wanted to put more but Mother said it would be enough. I put something more anyway because she doesn't understand.
I dreaded that he would be gone - he wasn't. Extending the bag as a gift, not as a handout, I smiled. I acknowledged him as my equal. He paused, paused for a second, then accepted the gift. "Thank you," was his succinct reply and then he was gone.
His eyes told me, no, it was his voice that spoke volumes of his past lives and future incarnations. An angel, a dervish, an otherworldly creature. He came tapping at my door, dressed in a khaki coloured dirty jacket, bags and rucksacks tightly coiling round his thin body, blonde hair and fair face dirty, dignity shining through all. He accepted the gift and was gone into darkness.
The iron doors to our porch were still locked with the specialty code when I decided to go after him. She grinned, mocking me, she, the Darkness. I went through the street, sobbing, wishing I would find him again.
I now sit here, wishing I had talked to him. Wishing I had agreed with him to meet tomorrow after I get my money from the bank, so I could give him all I could. Wishing to befriend the boy, so we could talk, so we could develop together. He was a Friend, the ever-elusive image of Perfection, always round the corner. One that I keep on missing everytime the Moirae give me a chance.