Tuesday, 25 August 2009
I have left the valley at dawn
I have left the valley at dawn. A fast blow of air shut the door behind me with a clasp of the hands. She waved goodbye from the top of the cliff and once again I saw the magic of the curtain fall, her white dress in the breath of the wind, sparkles of water rise up as the whiteness slowly dissolved in the blue depth. Once again I tried to remember something like a vague inconsistent thought that crossed the inner side of my forehead like a fast bird or a far away butterfly. Remembering that I forgot, though not remembering what, was the only indulgence memory allowed me. I passed my hand on my forehead and made way for my body through the waters that separated in front of me like the waves of the Red Sea in front of the Jewish people lead by Moses. Must have been like that. Water banks separate and a tiny corridor opens, just enough to let pass not even your entire self, but just that precise instantiation of your body in a precise second in a precise spot. Then water covers your every trace left behind by your steps, just as the space for your forward step is cleared in front of you. After a hundred steps of concentrated attention you realize that it is not water that clears the way, but rather water takes the form of your body and leaves the form of your body and yet again so that the instantiation of your body along a line may give a passer by the illusion that a human body is moving. Though nothing moves. Just this friendliness of the water allows you to give this full illusion to a casual passer-by. When there is only you and the water a mutual understanding emerges that between you and the body and the water there is hardly a separation. This perfection of non-separation, non-movement and non-perception is suddenly disrupted heavily gracefully at the same time as something appears so marvelous to the cumulated openness of all of your senses’ perception that makes it difficult if not impossible to resist, hence heavy, still beautiful. This I call love and it is this feeling that drives my steps in and through water increasingly difficult until I stagger, halt or fall. Love makes me weak conceited and self-conscious like a child craving for attention. It wears out my vitality, makes me slow, inattentive, dreamy and self—indulged. It emerges my whole self in a dreamy like world where reality slowly takes the shape of another god that fights for supremacy the triad of instantiation in the present time. This powerful god is illusion and I give myself to him unreservedly as it claims my senses, the focus of my awareness, my time and the energy that I invest in every thought with which he grows stronger and stronger, unmercifully thrusting myself out of the perfection of the present time, water and movement. As aware as I am of the devastating effect it has on my whole being, of its impermanence and illusory nature, I have never attempted to resist. I feel that I am to love what water is to my body. I take its shape and embrace it from the very center, as it spreads its non-existing branches through the warehouse of emotions and thoughts, putting its imperceptible veil on all of my senses at once and distorting the way I see the world and the object of my affection. As it projects much of my awareness in a faraway place and an imprecise time, love breaks like a fast sword the perfect union between water, movement, myself and the absence of memory.