My thoughts: osenochen.livejournal.com
2005-02-13: The trace of your passing
It is raining here... the feeling of happiness is so tangible that it feels like happiness can be scooped up in the palms of your hands. Then you wave your hands above the water and throw it into the air - and it splashes out like a shower of glowing lights, mixing with the rays of the invisible sun and returning back in droplets of sparkling blue fire into the bed of the overflowing river. The spring river flood... There is so much happiness that it overflows the consciousness and vibrates inside ... spills out, seeps through the pores as a misty fog and slides off your skin over the surface of the water merging with the river, rustling the leaves of the trees, soaking the air with blue saturated moisture. Space becomes light, warm and illuminated from within. And it goes on, the happiness inside vibrates and seeps through the skin leaving a cool wet trail, merging with the space around, mixing, morphing, until it becomes an endless, limitless peace. Such simple happiness.
A duck crazy with joy is flying low over the river against the rain, barely above the surface, and its wings touching the water are splashing tiny fountains of sparks. The world, permeated with rain, is losing clear shape. Suddenly you feel like the duck - flying against the rain, at a loss for the overwhelming feeling of sudden joy. Droplets of rain on your shoulders! Your muscles are young and toned, the air is warm and cool. Light everywhere! And then you hear the raindrops rustle on the canvas roof of your boat. And you feel the fish nearby freeze trembling, excited, sensing the change of the season. And you marvel: what is this? This nearly imperceptible joy that permeates and saturates everything around and brings a light shudder of recognition? How long have we all lived here, on this planet, that we so fused?
Everything around is happiness when a warm spring rain comes over the river. Even the sun, invisible now, is warm. And the rain continues into the dark, when silence reaches such depths that not even a whisper is heard. It is no longer possible to watch the raindrops, the pomegranate sunset has faded behind the haze of the rain. The trees on the other bank have turned into a secret forest: fears and hopes, fairy tales and curses live in it now. Love, struggle, and all of life lives in it now, and you can see it there in its entirety in a single moment. The forest draws you in, life is lived one after another... But suddenly sleep descends on the earth imperceptibly taking you captive; space has touched your hair and there are no more shapes. No strengths. And no life.
And only in the morning space becomes unusually light and clean, - washed. The sun, bright and young, warms the air and fills it with color. The world is full of hubbub, squeaks, quacks, splashes, rustles, conversations. You can hear speech, you can hear the whisper of grass, the creaking of trees, a boat, unchained, is clicking lazily down the river leaving an ornate trace. This is how spring begins.
What will be the trace of your passing this spring?
Feb 2005, Sac Freeport marina