Let it be new life.
Nothing of what exists is new. Nothing of what I see, nothing of what I hear. What I feel isn’t new either. It is just the same old friend: fear. Fear of anything, of everything. I watch her in her madness, grubbing my intestines. What could I do? Fight her? Since forever I fight her. I had fought her in my mother’s womb, even before that. I keep fighting and I keep winning. And how good winning it feels. But I am growing more and more tired. Well, starting today I am giving up the fight. From today, I promise, I am only watching her. She looks like a mad without any source of life. She is melting before my eyes. Tall mountains melt along, and darkness too. But this is not new either.
The New is somewhere else. To fresh to be touched or seen, to abundant for me to hold, and yet so … at hand. I can let The New to enfold me, make me wholly his, to disperse me, to change me. Here only freshness is.
New life. A pleonasm.
All it takes is a shift in perception.
“Don’t watch the windshield wiper. Watch the road.”
Illusion I can do something, I can change something. Yes, something perishable and temporary I can do or change. Only something without substance. It’s like a digital game with an excellent resolution. Who am I kidding? Nothing will remain, not even what lasted thousands of years will fall, will disintegrate in the end. And yet I do and change. And yet I move. And yet I play. And yet, in essence, I do not feel at all different than the way I felt as a child. So nothing essential I have done, nothing I have changed.
I wish to write about that light which is unspeakable of, which is unthinkable of. This light one can only know. And anyone may know it. It is just some refuse to take off their black glasses. In time. … And yet time … it can be made … the same way money are made, and houses are made, vacations … and others.
Better come back to your senses. Wake up … in time. It is time.
An eternity of game playing awaits.
Theo and Mira 