Thursday, 6 September 2012

Cloud Riddle

You leave the door open so that someone else closes it. It never remains unscathed. Maybe you would be better suited to leave through it rather than expecting someone to cross the bridge between you and that space that can virtually turn into itself. Even if you die, you may not be able to finish the process. Your ghost will still try to lock and unlock doors on its way to some sort of mental peace but someone else will still be there to create another door.

Those thoughts were assaulting my mind as I walked this morning through the streets of Cracow. The sky looked harassed by clouds, violently shifting as pieces of a round corned and puffy puzzle pieces. I wanted my thoughts to be focused by my ideas were are scattered as those clouds above me, my brain as harmed as the timid blue that escaped through the cracks in the sky.

I wanted to dwell in pure darkness, to swim in completely still black waters. I wanted no noise from around me, but especially no disturbance from my inner spirit. I wanted to shut it all inside, quiet and light. I wanted to be free from anything that moved and touched me.

The thought of complete blackness made me think of death, but would any kind of death be silent? Even if I ever managed to be dead, would I ever cease to speak, write or listen to words?

I then finally realized that I will never stop thinking, writing or speaking. The word would find a way to break inside my bones and muscles and pull a nerve in my tongue. The blood drop pushing another drop, creating a spurt that would rush an impulse in my mouth.

"I am"

Two words that mirror the two bright spots of light that open between the black clouds in the sky. It rains some blue and white and my mouth is wet again. I still walk and I still breathe.

"I will"

My steps take me back to my street, where the soul will meet my body again. The fingers creating written words, the ideas flowing back.

"I write"

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