by Paul Belce
Motto: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way(…)”
[Charles Dickens – A Tale of Two Cities]
- Rip out the heart of summer
Here it comes, the moment of a programmatic attitude. The moment when you rev your engines, let the reins free and work your way into the unknown. Not entirely unknown, because there is a familiarity in these glimpses of happiness, in a place that we cannot call home, but it resembles it the most. This is me standing before the Oracle of Delphi: and what it did to me resembles a mirror work. If I were a madman, I would go to Hades; as a hedonistic nature, I will chase all that resembles me. For Man is not something of an eternal being; if it was so, Death would not touch us. Pointless or not, the hands of the Universal clock move further and further, carrying us along new pathways, exhausting us and showing who we really are, not who we were taught to be. And at the end of our journey we can encounter some place like Room 101: did nobody realize that this cathartic passage may end in one of the most wonderful experiences, instead of our greatest fears?
- The unforgettable place
This country was everything to me: I have my roots here, my friends; I buried my love in this place. Oh, cruel parent, the less you give us the hardest it is to quit you, just like in a Stockholm syndrome congregation. Each day the same cycle of mindless work, deceived expectations, subordination to the West (or East), pointing us the way but never letting us fly. And one day when we finally get along well, tired and bitterer by the fight, I shall leave. I write these words in the winter of my heart, knowing that hopes can be fulfilled, even if it’s elsewhere.
- Racing for the sun
For the island warmed by the sun and seawater, there is no history. Although there are megaliths and caves spread all across the land, I lived in a continuous present. Newcomers came and shaped the land, left their marks and vanished like waves. The Solaris Ocean, always regenerating, self-conscientious and self-sufficient, symbolizes this island and its inhabitants. Maybe I am afraid of your Moebius appearance, where time and space overlap one onto each other, maybe I am racing for new experiences, for new ways to see, but I can find solace in your harbors, just like many other wanderers did before me.