and when I
go out straight into the fresh hair of grass, the evening is darkening and the
clear air is hazing over, when fifteen storks are flying over my head and the
day is fading away to the meter of distant trains, I am wondering why this all cannot be the essence of functioning, striving, beginning and aiming.
knowing the
hierarchy of phenomena and events – feeling the tension of meaning in the
countryside when the summer is slowly swelling – reading texts written in a
language as dry as good old wine – listening to music so humbly and thoughtfully
replacing the respected silence – knowing and recognizing
and yet
getting on
mental and literal subway every day, letting it exhaust you like an animal –
depersonalized, numb and helpless.
knowing it
all so well, feeling it like some organic kind of truth – still not being able
to find its way to the daily reality, to every breath, to every gesture.
I miss it
I remain
in debt.
