In the darkness….the realization comes that I am nothing but a "time witness" _wondering like a phantom between the rooms of my old house, deserted, silent, cold, dark…thunder and lightning punctuating the stillness…I become aware of 'Time' in my life.
We consider it as an 'enemy'_ one that gives no quarters_ punctual_ inexorable_ and equal for all. Day after day, year after year, hour after hour.
Past, present, future_ and nothing can 'condition' its momentum _ impalpable_ it 'passes' but we cannot see it or touch it_ and when we become aware it is about to 'arrive' … it is 'present'_ and it is already gone.
It is unreachable, abstract, and often its passing is for us unconceivable, and unacceptable.
To be able to domesticate and control its passing _ is the most sought after mirage of the human condition. It is the strongest adversary to subjugate, the most astute and loyal. It makes no distinctions, it is impartial and its fleeting doesn't allow any lateness_ it passes and never returns…it is all what was and never will be again.
It is the father of today_ and of tomorrows_ of which it has obsessive custody …it allows us to taste and savor a small part of it_ and _ concurrently it is generous of its grand heir__ The 'Past' _son of time and of men.
In our 'witnessing' of Time_ when we realize that our lives have accumulated so many yesterdays, we might think of it no longer as an 'enemy' but as the greatest of 'masters' and realize how precious it is.
Feeling my way from room to room _ head stormed by internal dialogue, the "Dialogic Self " most assertive…_ I take a seat on an old chair, an old box of toys…in reflection…soon it will be morning I know… Dozing on and off_
And now I open all the windows…fling open the balconies…it is all clear and bright and the morning's sun rays burst in to give light to every corner, all rooms and all memories.
The precious cherry wood library in the 'radio room' reveals, through the slim glass, my old books, some encyclopedia, scholastic texts, collections of various objects, an antique bible.
My old desk is covered with random written pages, pens that probably will no longer write from the dried ink…a few old drawings I had been so proud of…a small stack of old magazines containing my vision of the future…
Tickets, photos, all forgotten in a drawer no longer opened in ages…today I open it and find it contained an entire world: agenda booklets put aside at the beginning of each new year…covered in leather, in colored cloth, red, blues, according to my taste and having received them as gifts…invitations to all kinds of events_ illustrated post cards sent from various parts of the world in testimony of trips of friends and family…letters exchanged with friends I no longer see or hear from…
So many things that were to be thrown out_ but still here…maybe because every object has its own indelible whys of existence.
I say this out loud as if someone could hear my voice…but the Minotaur, Theseus and Ariadne continue to gawk at me from the wall painting…
I am being observed in silence by a heavy muscled beast_ a hero with a formidable weapon and a princess in distress.
It all brings to mind when we all flew away from that house toward more promising places and future in studies and work.
The house seemed to have remained empty and silent…an empty nest …a deserted island…but jealously guarding the mysterious space for my returns through time…against all intruders_
a living thing forever attached to me…and a place I will never be able to separate from.
Nostalgia is a sentimental longing for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations_ and this feeling engulfs my heart and swells my eyes to tears.