“There is nothing new except what has been forgotten.“/Marie Antoinette/
I find these days more colored with a painful beauty that urges us to rise. Everything in nature amplified its presence, as we removed ourselves from the front stage. In this slowing down motion nature expands its presence and makes every movement more noticeable. Silence superimposes itself, and birds begin the song of many songs.
They seem utterly indifferent to the human world. The air is cool and distant, piercing our lungs without any intention of disturbing the mind’s vigilance. The silence persists. I am breathing the distant air, and the heart loses its strong ties. The mind is watching the spectacle with fear and envy, and natural convection keeps the motion; the flow that has no beginning and has no end.
There is an activity deep within that is wearing out at sunset, and awakening as the sun rises. I feel like a dancer under the guidance of internal forces I don’t know. I hold tight on them and fake the courage to surrender. I can feel my body rising above sunlight and falling into dense black earth.
A phreatic eruption heats the groundwater; an old stream of deep water is trying to find its way to the surface, as I fall. I put on a cool facet. It makes me feel in control.
The mind is far beyond all this experience as if has no way to get in touch with what has been forgotten.