And he says: '' I haven't found the meaning of life yet.
Have you?'
''I?
I am the meaning of life!''
When I talk to them they are looking at the ground. And I imagine that under the ground is a basement and under the basement, a huge dragon is curled into the dirt.
Snores fire, feeds himself from the bark beetles of time, pleistocene, miocene, oligocene, hollow.
The hair on his back emerges on the surface of the Earth. We call them ''trees''.
So I imagine that my boys have the magic ability to listen to the dragon's dreams. Sometimes they are able to intervene to them. That's why I don't disturb them, I just keep talking to myself. My boys are worthy of respect for keeping the beast asleep. I prefer this image for my boys than any other. I could for example believe that they were captains and their ships sunk in a distant sea from a wild storm and since then, they have lost their minds. They don't look up, cause if they do, they start planning how to march through. But in this land, there are no marches for many years. Nobody goes anywhere. It would be painful having all those imaginary maps inside your head and not a single way to rejoice them.
If I figure out that they are responsible for shipwrecks I will drown them. They would've been the reason why am staying here, dry and fortified.
***In the Middle Ages you could point out a witch from a black cat that was following her everywhere, you can understand many things for a person based on what comes along.
Those animals that accompany significant people in a mystic dialect are called ''psychoanemistes''. I am not significant and definitely am not a witch. But a small bird always follows me, is a nightingale.
***If I had God in front of me, and I could ask Him only one question, it would be:
Would you dare for once to become human and see if you could find thy self again?
I already guess His answer:
I do it every day, all those who came and those who follow is me, who forgot, searching to find my way back over and over again.
I would be terrified by such an answer - well, that's why am in a position to guess it.
You think is normal that am setting up imaginary talks inside my mind? Perhaps someone should grab my shoulder and shake me back to reality, or just grab my shoulder.
*** My Grandfather was telling me a proverb: Don't invite during the night if you are farming in the yard. I often lay down on my bed and cry. All of a sudden. For no reason. My bedroom has no ceiling. Above my head, my nightingale is drawing invisible oval shapes on a blue sky.
Where I come from, animals are fed from love, just like the newborns from the breast. If they don't receive enough love per day, they become inanimate objects waiting to get older.
We used to be animals.
It appears that birds own a larger share of space than us. My grandfather used to say: ''Everything will be OK in the end, if not OK then is not the end.'' My grandfather managed to trick everyone at his funeral, he didn't make a sound neither he moved, at all.
I lied, my bedroom has a ceiling. On top of everywhere, I've been so far, there was a ceiling.
***
They don't like straight lines. They often move away, they are afraid of tidal waves. They remember everything and never make mistakes. They arrived here yesterday, they demand hugs for satisfaction.
Who knows what they have grabbed with them upon departure.
The curse of your bandit is that he can't stay with you for long.
***
My palms are gentle, my purpose is plain. I've been told that trees need the singing of the birds to grow and bloom in Spring. Every Spring my nightingale migrates, it flies to forests far away to perform its best. Underneath their roots, liquids flow. Each peak is a possibility that hasn't yet happened. The snow from the highest mountains melts in order to meet the trees.
The most precious thing I ever received, was a glass of water the exact moment I was thirsty. The era didn't matter.
With my own sword, I scratched my brand new back. We place our hopes on the base of our spine. Therefore, when hope is gone, we are bending over.
***
My other half is not a half. It must be three quarters or less. Everything fades away over here and is been a long time since then. I am afraid that when he finally arrives, there will be nothing left for me to recognize.
The journey is fascinating. The Unconditional scares me. This is the equation of my life. An equation inconceivable.
I am afraid that my other half is actually whole. And won't be able to swallow me or digest me. Oh for sure, my other half should be a tiny bit less than a half, in order to overcome myself, when I shall give it over.
Only then I will stop thinking of the journey. Because I will be further away than ever.
***
I lost my nightingale. On this Island, nothing can be gone for long. But is gone, I can't find it anywhere. It left behind it colorful feathers and enormous forests. Perhaps it went to meet the Unconditional. I am well aware though that the sea that surrounds us is holding the islands and the bridges we build are burned by the fire.
The bird was my only hope. No one will find me now. They would have seen it from afar and they would know that human life is under it. Isn't it what a castaway is doing? He is throwing something up high, in order to make himself visible, along with and across...
When you lose something you love, something precious, your reality gets darker. Regularly, when the night comes you go to bed to get some sleep. But if you've spent a lifetime dreaming, is impossible to fall asleep.
It happened all of a sudden. Shortly after my great loss. In the beginning, I was rising myself two inches above the ground. For a while. Now am finally flying, slowly and in circles. Just like my nightingale. Alas, though. There is nothing left beneath me longing, or hoping for.
