BIRD

Twenty months later.. .. ..

2011-09-24T12:25:00.002+02:00

The only antidote i've found to the emptiness of existence is opening up the dream space within my waking life, ie, escapism. I'm not an escapist because i'm passive, but because all you lot don't make sense to me & i'd rather replace the absurd with the abstract. It's not the happenings that i fail to understand, for everything within the world does happen for a reason, it's rather the point of sheer presence that i just don't seem to get. Sometimes it's crisp & clear, like the flick of a lighter amidst the depths of exquisite silence, but it's always an ephemeral moment that flees my mindspace shortly after it's born, and i'm left there stripped of all constant but change, and bare of all belief but in transience, for timelessness is exclusively momentary, and truth is but a fleeting instant, which i think has just made an appearance as i serenely exhaled, but eventually vanished along with the fumes.

Fragments of a vision

2010-03-27T15:44:00.007+02:00

I am a single mother of thirty something, with a child, a little boy whose name I do not know. Night time is befallen over the cottage where we live, in some faraway place full of rustling trees. The boy does not speak. Not that he does not want to, he could not speak, he does not know how to speak. For a second it occurs to me that it's all my fault; because I myself am deadly silent, and I figure that I have never spoken with him before. It is well clear from the befallen silence that I had long given up on words, and that I had decided to raise a mute child.

I am a very old lady, and the signs of age are sculpted all over me. I am sitting on a chair in the open fields, but there are no traces of a home anywhere in sight. I have no idea how or when I got there. Every single wrinkle on my face, and every single white hair on my head is a different tale to be told; but I remember none of them, because time has devoured my memory, just as it did to my home & every other thing there once was. All I have left is the chair I am sat on, and the sound of the trees in the field rustling.

At this point I am not so sure what I'm waiting for; I could be waiting for death, and I could be waiting for life.

Tree branches are growing out on me. They are coming out of slits on my arm. There is no blood, no pain, nothing, just tree branches fast growing right before my bare eyes. I am sort of terrified. Or not quite terrified, I am rather left in awe. I observe my treeful arms for a while, and then I close my eyes & take a deep breath.

I am a tree. Silent, still, and perfectly rooted in the soil. I can feel the wind, and I can feel the contentment of being rooted in Earth, of having a home. I am comforted at the fact that I do not have to speak, I do not have to remember, and at the fact that no one is going to take my home away from me. You would say I am dead, but I have never felt more alive. I arch up a little, and I remain standing there in eternal peace.

It's Been A Long Night's Dream

2010-02-07T09:57:00.013+02:00

It's those seconds that matter the most. The seconds in between dreaming & waking; the ones in which your dream's melody starts to fade out as silence fades in until it echoes no more; the ones in which the faces of your dream start to dissolve beneath your eyelids, wash out until they vanish into thin air; the ones in which your dream born emotions begin to fleet away from you heading back to their fantasy world. Hold on to them, grab gently but firmly for maybe, just maybe someday they'll pull you there awake.

Ticking Clocks

2010-01-14T20:55:00.013+02:00

The last thing I ever remember doing to a ticking clock was smash it down. But last night was different, I was caught off guard. I was drifting off into indefinite space

& so the ticks were not rhythming my present but rather rhyming my past; the past which I woke up to find I had been sleeping with all this time, when all I really wanted was

to wake up from sleep in the arms of another.

From the Depths of Inner Silence

2009-12-20T01:52:00.002+02:00

It's this tiny thin thread between being & feeling. Right at this moment, I am, but I don't feel anything.

Just for the Dream of It

2009-12-01T00:55:00.026+02:00

There's lovers turning into strangers & strangers turning into lovers,

there's one self & multiple selves & endless change.

There's one story, there's mine side of it & yours,

our version of it & theirs.

There's new stories arising from old stories & the world is born.

There's things I do & things I don't remember,

things I will & things I won't do again,

things I miss & things I try not to.

There's me, there's you, there's him,

& her, and her & him, there's them, there's us.

An us that is, an us that never was,

& an us that never will be again.

There's lost, there's found, there's one casting me out,

& one taking me in.

There's days, there's weeks, there's months,

& there's years to come...or not.

There's time, there's timelessness, there's eternal now,

& a never happening then.

Breathe in, breathe out, fade out & fade back in.

I only hear what you say in terms of silence,

gaps in between utterances,

& I tell what I've got in words unspoken.

It's the first of December, there's passing thoughts sometimes.

I'm hiding, right here, just for the dream of it,

and they cannot see me, not in my mind.

Right Then & There

2009-11-24T03:28:00.011+02:00

He intimidates me. It feels like three mighty decades are staring back at me every time he looks me in the eye. I face every breath he's ever taken, everything he's ever seen & everything he's ever done. I stand before his glorious story; vulnerable, weighed down, and scared of all the unknown bits of it. But when he smiles, the ice mountains melt & I peacefully float in running rivers & streams.

One Two Dreams

2009-11-17T04:00:00.018+02:00

Feet on cold glass, surrounded by & embracing mirrors & I don't know where to look; reflections of light & thought & sun & signs of His presence & the lack of yours; shadows on the inside concealing the answers & even worse; concealing the questions. I don't know whether to wonder why I'm here or why you're gone or why one day you weren't or why one day I was or why I should wonder about anything at all. It's all too transparent but the glimmer is blinding me.

Covered in layers of white cloth; layers of different meanings & all possible explanations.

Come back to me.

Undress me.

Layer after layer, sheet after sheet. Strip me of my confusions & tame the beast inside my head. Get to the core of my weak self & show me the truth, naked.

Guide me, blindfold me, and I will follow. Because I've got no strength & I cannot but surrender. Get me out of here, I do not want to hear my breath anymore; take me into the night where the skies are dark & the moon's blush pink & the clouds soft rose. I want to hear the folk rejoice about it, I want to break the silence before I turn into a madman. I want to be distracted. I want surreality, I want thoughtlessness. I want you to help me put an end to all of this.

But then again, what is this?

& who are you?

This Mess I've Become

2009-11-14T00:53:00.001+02:00

The problem with having written too many stories is that I don't know which one this ending belongs to.

Motion Picture

2009-11-10T21:04:00.021+02:00

This isn't it; this is reflections of light on a side view mirror,

Shadows of swaying trees on the wall,

Echoes of the full orchestra's song;

Ringing like reverb in an empty hall.

I have seen tall buildings & obelisks & pillars

Stretch out to touch it but they don't,

And I've seen us replicas & minor actors

Think our roles are leading as we flaunt.

Foolish is the one who claims to have the wisdom

For this is just an image & we know nothing at all,

A sage is but a quester & doesn't have the answer;

All what he's read is chapters, but the story is a whole.

There's nothing I can do now but be still & look above,

And stare quietly at His painting that I long to be part of.

Uncertainty

2009-10-30T11:33:00.036+02:00

It's this millisecond where fantasy & reality meet. You try your best to mix & blend them smoothly like paint on paper joining sea & sky at the horizon.

And a flying bird.

But you fail. Maybe because you haven't been given a chance. Or maybe because you're using the wrong kind of paint.

Or maybe because you dream too big.

Sometimes it's hurtful to see things for what they are.

Outside your head.

And what hurts more than missing someone is realising that they never were but a false impression you've had of them. And so it turns out you're

missing a ghost.

It sounds quite fanciful to be in love with a ghost, I know. But sometimes, some days, when all what you thought things meant fade away, you stand there naked, vulnerable & confused, and the imaginary doesn't seem to help cover you up.

Make believe breaks down at times.

It's a rainy day today, and you don't like the rain. But I'm not allowed to care anymore.

Scenes of the Heart

2009-10-11T22:49:00.010+02:00

Scene #1

We're sat at a cafe facing each other. There's tea fumes & cigarette smoke. We're speaking about big things; things so big it feels like we've been sat in silence with hands crossed all this time; because only silence can explain big things, for words are not concrete, and nothing of what holds the world together is. Love, hate, happiness, anger, it all exists in fluidic dimensions. And so we speak, but we're really just keeping silent. I feed on the quiet, and I grow.

Scene #2

We're sat side by side as we both stare out into the space before us. Big things are space, because only space is open ahead, and words imprison big things. We decide not to utter them this time. There's the sound of the car engine, the sound of cars passing crosswise one after another on the other lane of the road, and the sound of the wheels rolling over speed breakers every few seconds. There's silence in patterns, and there's big things. Then there is his scent filling me up. It feeds my very own inner space, and I grow.

Scene #3

It's all crystal clear now. I drink the water with eyes closed, and I feel like a red rose with thick green leaves. And as I swallow, I feel the water going down in streams into my body, flooding every single deep root of me. And so I bloom.

And I grow.

When the World Stopped Spinning

2009-10-09T17:10:00.010+02:00

The apparition of his face amongst the restless world:

A conjuration of the feminine; an embracement to it

A Letter to Sun

2009-09-30T04:45:00.028+02:00

I have displaced all sorts of order present in the chronological sequence of things, and transformed all conceptions into subjective ones where time & space has been far transcended. I have lightly stepped into abstraction where everything that is, was or going to be has been stripped down to its elementary form to become but a radiant purple beam. I have gone past tangible things and transient acts and fading seconds and hours and days and years and reached a twinkling where the world has ended & human history has been compressed to fit into a tiny star & sent off to sway amidst the milky way. I imagine a world as timeless as being fast asleep, shapeless as the water of the seven oceans, and trackless as the spirit air you're breathing in now. I imagine. You would say it's fiction. An inaccuracy. A mistake. A distance; the distance between us & reality. But I'm only doing it for you. I am doing it because tonight is the last night of September, and tomorrow the last morning thereof, and I wanted to capture this day, today, and grant you it in an eternal form to keep safe in your heart, and you in its heart…until September comes again next year.

Love,

Caroline

Into the Blur

2009-09-24T15:54:00.015+02:00

So it's like a strong bass note in a song that had been playing whilst you were sleeping woke you up for a second when it hit the bottom of your spine & then you went drifting back to sleep in sync with the waves of its echo, or like having unexpectedly opened your eyes to witness that very moment when the lights went off then gradually faded back into sleep as the flashing circles faded out into black right behind your eyelids.

It's like impossible to speak about, because you woke up in the morning to find no song playing & you never sleep with the lights on to begin with, so you just don't understand when it started, when it ended, how it happened, or if it happened at all.

Hello Stranger

2009-09-16T14:17:00.016+02:00

I want you to act like you already know me. Skip the petty conversation about name & age & current affairs & all what we speak about only because we have built shields of pretentious propriety around ourselves. Be a fisherman, cast your fishing line ahead of us both; go forward in time & get to the point where there is nothing more left to say, and start from there. Ask me about my dreams, and tell me about yours. Tell me if you like watermelons or riding bicycles. Share with me a childhood story you only remember when you're silent. Ask me what colour I am today, for maybe it matches yours. Tell me about your fears, and I'll tell you about what I try to ignore but can't because it just seems like bird sounds amidst ugly noise & I can't help but deliberately listen. Tell me about the warmth of your pillows, or the lack thereof, and I'll tell you about the warmth of a body that I call home; a body whose smell melts me down to the bone. Tell me that you feel we've already met in another world, assure me, just for this moment. And just for this moment, tell me that you love me, then walk away. And I promise I will not call out for you.

The Door

2009-09-09T05:41:00.016+02:00

A rosewood photo frame, carefully placed on the cabinet amidst the brass figurines, lit candles, lavender oil and musk ambrette, dried rose petals, and tree leaves in red and green and brown and yellow. Smokeless tea incense, an hour glass, a cup of black coffee and a rocking chair.

I am not waiting for you, I am not waiting for anybody. I am not waiting, I just am.

The photo frame is empty, because everytime it ends where it begins, because things are not supposed to make sense, because understanding is illusive, because what we think is one wholesome long story is but a hundred little unrelated happenings; a hundred different days where we sleep, and awaken, and each previous day becomes a faint echo of a dream.

And I keep on rocking in my chair back and forth.

I will give you space to come and go, because you're ever changing, because I'm never definite, and because we're all; all things in every way.

I will never blame you for things, because everything just is. I will never ask you to explain, because I prefer my endings open. I will never ask you where you came from or where you're going next as long as you step in quietly, and step out just as quietly leaving me uninterrupted and my photo frame empty and untouched.

And I keep on rocking in my chair back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth.

Now Is Eternity

2009-08-29T05:28:00.040+02:00

I will sum it up for you, I will make it simple; I wait. I wait because patience is a virtue. I wait because I'm beautiful, and everything else will eventually fall into place around that. I wait because you are beautiful, and I like to sit & watch you live your life. I wait because I like to let go

of myself

and float upon my back in the river. I wait because I am taken good care of. We are beautiful, you and I.

So I wait.

I wait because we are helpless & needy. I wait because time goes by on its own. I wait because the now is always all I have; for at each & every new second the one before is gone & the one after doesn't belong to me. I wait because there will always be something yet to come. I wait because I smile, and smile because I wait.

I wait because life exists not elsewhere, but rather here, now, and within me. I wait because life is what happens whilst i'm busy being so impatient. I wait because I breathe

slowly.

I wait because I'll get there, I wait because if I don't get there I'll get somewhere else. I wait because no one remains forever unfound. I wait because I'm never lost, I'm always here; somewhere; anywhere. I wait because I like to know what I would miss if I don't wait.

I wait because I admire destiny. I wait because I am grateful, I wait because I believe. I wait because I surrender. I wait because I don't wish to understand.

I wait because I know we're all going somewhere, or no where. It doesn't matter because I wait, and I wait because it doesn't matter; it never really mattered, and probably never will.

And I wait, because unknowingly, we're all just waiting eternally.

The Mandala

2009-08-18T22:10:00.017+03:00

I reach out to touch it, but it's got density like that of deep waters. I swim across the ocean & into the cold high mountains as my hair tickles my face in the wind. I ride on the golden pony, we float together & red rubies start to dance around us as we sink into the heart of the milky way. This is our world; this is us; me & the golden pony. I breathe in the fog & as i exhale my heart slips out of my feathered body to chase the green kite racing against the blue skies. They both lightly swing & slowly land together as i breathe my heart back in whilst it twirls & brings about magic dust as though it's a little sea fairy spinning in circles. This is such a strange world isn't it? But i do like it here, i like strange worlds. I've spoken to the Tibetan king with the royal gold crown & he's taken me in. It's his golden pony i'm riding on now & i do not want to go back aymore.

And i wonder why one can only imagine in two dimensions.

Lady and the Bird

2009-08-12T19:29:00.011+03:00

If it had all been fictional, I wouldn't have wanted a man on side. I would have wanted a big white bird under whose wide wings I would hide.

Softly as It Fades Away

2009-08-07T23:11:00.025+03:00

I have been silent all day today. Things always happen when i'm silent. Nothing ever happens when i speak does it?

The world rotates when i'm silent. The sea waves roll & crash one after the other when i'm silent. The music plays when i'm silent.

I realise i've lost my love when i'm silent.

Because big things can only fade away in the quiet. And i like things to fade away softly. Softly as in a morning sunrise, softly as it fades away. I don't like to make a mess, you know. No one likes to make a mess i suppose, but some people just fail to see that things always happen when they're silent.

Had i been dead or did i just die?

I want to go back to the seaside. I want to go back.. .. ..home.

I want to go back to mornings spent doing absolutely nothing but reading & breathing silently.

Because things always happen when i'm silent.

Narrow Down World

2009-07-30T10:16:00.020+03:00

For the first time in eternity, the centre of the world turned from the very point where i behold how much space there is far out there to the very point where i realise that this space far out there is all there is.

I'm not sure what i want right now, but it doesn't make me happy to see the sky i always considered a getaway become but the roof over my prison cell.

I am in desperate need to break free & breathe.

The Little Princess

2009-07-19T01:10:00.015+03:00

The little princess was born the day she saw a prince charming for the very first time. Who said prince charming doesn't exist? He most certainly does. He even outgrows his existence in fairy tales, because in reality he exists numerously. Prince charming does indeed exist in many. Ever since the little princess first found him once, she's been finding him over & over again in those whom she knows & those whom she doesn't. It never matters if she does not know them, because she always well knows him; her prince charming present within them. Oh well, the prince & the princess might have not got married like in the tale, but how could they when he's always imprisoned inside an entity? Yet still, they might unite after they die. Yes, we might unite after we die & live eternally in the seawater.

Lost and Found

2009-07-07T22:55:00.013+03:00

I have always loved long, long rides, and i love them for a reason. I do like to think that staring out of a moving vehicle for long gives me enough time & space to detach from images. And after sometime, everything out on the road becomes a motionpicture show & no sight feels the least bit real nor actually ongoing.

This other morning i decided to track down my 'self' & find out where it goes missing leaving behind all what i see seemingly fictitious & unconnected to me.

And so i did.

It turned out my soul escapes like a miniature transparent apparition & curls up to rest in the inside of my ear separating the sight from the sound. So the road & everything visible turns to feel like a long forgotten past which i no more contain within me, whilst sounds feel like the truth; the happening; the now.

I am quite grateful to have finally found where i exist. Despite how weird it might sound, i do exist in my ear.

And i do sort of like it.

Beside the Seaside

2009-07-03T02:47:00.007+03:00

Something about water makes me drift & swirl in streams from the inside. It's just hard to phrase. If i'm to try & explain i'd pick a paper & a pencil & i'd draw a wave; one single wave; so quiet & so slow.

I've been there & back, but part of me decided to stay. I left it safe & sound by the seaside until i go back one day & unite with it; her; the rest of me.

What about Us?

2009-06-08T22:57:00.007+03:00

Right so i thought instead of having to introduce myself in sentences, i might as well just sing you a song. Sometimes sounds do make much more sense to me than words.

Baby Steps

2009-06-05T23:37:00.002+03:00

Let's just say i'm trying to track down the chronological order of things.

Now let the first page of my diary be empty.