It has been days of search
Time runs different in this state of mind
Strange worlds pass by
I found myself wondering in deserts, crowded cities, along an anonymous coast
sometimes as a salesman or as a teacher or as a carpenter
and now in this forest- like place.
In the distant – seemingly far away
I caught site of a construction
perhaps a building or a carved stone?
There was no sense of perspective or measurement
Could I approach it in one step or
is there still three and a half billion steps to go?
Should it awaken my curiosity?
I have seen too much by then
Everything seemed to exist in its neutrality
everything was nothing more than matter
massless matter- transformable forms
nothing frightening or appealing
nothing seemed to be the matter anyway
the affairs of unconnected things
I approached the building – in a moment
ignored to guess how long it took or
how many meters-millimeters it were .
is it big or small?
each wonder transformed it from big to small
and myself from ants to giants.
I opened the door ignorant
a door like a palace door
and no one inside
feels like an ordinary house
long, very long distances
a large space, too large to see
no shadows just a pink shiny transparent floor
I have never seen such a floor before
definitely this building didn’t belong to this forest
as if it were torn from another region and placed here.
Which forest? Has there ever been a forest anyway?
Feels like I have been wondering on the same spot for ages.
the more I walked the unreachable it were
the edge of the stone – the horizon disappeared with a blurred image of the space.
Something was transforming to somewhere else
through vague lines towards another clarity.
A square room- a square polished floor
furniture – a traditionally furnished library
books everywhere – tidy and too many books.
a disappointment that things tum out to be such a mysterious cliche’
I decided not to look at the books and walk away.
Whose story is this anyway – or dream? Mine? – If so,
am I getting now angry towards my boredom?
maybe I have nothing to do here? – where am I ?
I knew where I was
I could recognize everything… just that
it was not possible to describe it in any way by my language.
There you go
run towards the door and escape
convinced it would disappear or change its size again
touched the handle of the door
and remembered something
something that you always see and never remember.
I found myself in a narrow short corridor
leading to another door again
next was dark – then light
an intellect scene of sunset and dawn
And it was definitely the same library again!
Before I finally gave up in that very library
I’ve already made an age tour of corridors, daylights and doorhandles
All the books looked the same but none were identical.
I didn’t try to understand what made the difference
I just knew.
same cover, same size, color, lines and carves.
I opened one cover
clean and untouched – blank pages followed
how many of those have I checked enthusiastically before I got tired and mad
with a hope to see a letter, an ink mark or a readable symbol
I knew these were books – I even knew they were printed books
Why were they not readable then?
I gave up and kept a rhythm of turning the pages
with eyes closed
it was a melody then
I started singing something- a song – fluently
haven’t heard before
as if a rhythm of turning the pages could make words, pitches, speed, repetitions
“I am composing a symphony!”
informal, serious, harsh, slow, pitiful, cheerful, hasty, fragile, logical
as if I turned a whole life.