Seasonal voluntary exiles

It is Warsaw and it is the end of November. The autumn clings stubbornly to the empty branches. Sometimes sunlight sheds on the gray faces out of its secret reserves of brightness. It seems that this year we are lucky.

Last year was not the same. The winter came early and shamelessly replaced everything that was still bright and breathing. Only the daily mundane duties kept the souls wear their bodies out in the lonely streets. Freshly washed feet deepened obediently onto the soft surface of reality. After a whole day spent in the neon-light bruised rooms you are almost surely more than half under this surface. It takes the way back home to get you totally swallowed up by this tainted liquefied matter. Finally sinking into your armchair the body starts forgetting itself. Angelic hands smoothly clean the feet preparing them for the everlasting morning defeat. But for now is evening and they could enjoy the soothing touch of fantasy.

It is now when the mind allows itself to take an independent decision. The thoughtless compliance to immutability of conventions of the daylight succession of moments collapsed right at its zenith. Reaching the total fulfillment of its autocratic rule, the time (as any empire reaching its highest peak) dissolved into endless disordered particles. They lose their meaning during their Brownian movement and then invade the mind as weightless thoughts. Here they voluntary submit to the endless power of fantasy, which is timeless and smoothly chaotic.

First particle. It is bright and warm. The water slowly invades the earth in a glissando. The soothing sound caresses the eardrums. The eyes close dreamily and fall into the void formed between time’s peaks.

Up we go and meet the clouds

Second particle. A branch was there to catch the eye from its fall and imminent crush with reality. Green and strong enough to support the indescribable weight, it throws the eye up to the next cliff in a dice roll movement. Up we go and meet the clouds. Here we are on the highest peak most thoroughly grounded but also most willing for taking off. Its height is the outcome of this fated paradox. Thanks to its donquixot-ian struggle, millions of eyes are pleased and as many bodies are tempted to stretch their limits. But these eyes and these bodies belong to the reality we just left out in the streets. We should not let them interfere in our dreams for too long. They might steal and force us back on those crowded highways and buses. For now we prefer the unknown paths or even the lonely footsteps.

No ray of light got lost

Third particle. The warning took place but it was in another story, in another time frame, in another inertial system. As we enter the third one, there is a vague remembrance of the previous but still too vague to be remembered. The bus is waiting. The wheels roll painfully on the icy surface. The faces are still there – pale and unhappy.

This morning no ray of light got lost from above the clouds for the morning frost. But we are brave. We could do without it. We know it only takes the day and then we have our armchairs. Mornings we could still try to remember what we have dreamt, noon is lunchtime and we could concentrate on the food. After the lunch break we know the day is almost over and that our supplies of optimism might be enough. We still pray to survive the bus ride, as we know that if we manage, we might win a bonus dream from our heavenly providers.

This article was posted in Online Issue III and tagged .

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