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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:49 pm 
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I respect this silence of the heart; it even feels sweet in recalling
the stain I have hidden with shame for so many years. My desperation of childhood.


That desperation born of time. The time of children is too long….you count all the seconds to make a minute….the minutes that make the hours. Because life claims back every instant, urges on, does not want to be wasted.

So it is always too long the time of childhood….the long spring afternoons before the open windows of the corridor dreaming of the future…and out…a tall wall of mysteries to come…all those afternoons peering out the windows on nothing…like a white sheet fluctuating in front of me….shadows dancing behind it…I inside…life outside.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:50 pm 
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The sorrow of a child is long.

Like on the eve of the night before departure…with eyes open wide in the dark to pass and re-pass and over again….every particular moments of days, years past…to bring them with me whole in the desert that would swallow me tomorrow. My mother preceding me down the stairs carrying a suitcase, me following her…the two of us not wanting to look back to say goodbye to our house…

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:51 pm 
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Without realizing it, I have re-entered my mother's bedroom in the shadow of a shutter ajar…but slowly closing by a soft gust of summer wind.

And the reflection of a light gleaming within which something is slipping in a gentle flutter.

Made of air…a gown, long and white, speckled by roses…envelops a light step…it is a moment and the image is so disturbing that it shoves me crouching upon the old easy chair next to my mother's old makeup cabinet mirror.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:52 pm 
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Today as yesterday, I remain gazing …and in the afternoon sun…she walks to me …a white fluctuating figure…hair to her shoulders…tied in a lazy knot…

And glued to her hand…the hand of a small child with shorts and white canvas shoes…lost…as two birds without a nest.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:56 pm 
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By now a gray cloud cascades all around me…the day looks as night.

My only feeling is one of sleepiness…until she, with a last yank, breaks my old _Marionette cord….and suddenly disappears whence she had come.

In the silence of the senses I will slide a little at a time into blessed sleep.

Drifting off it seems that someone has silently entered the room… now seated besides me….a tainted dark robe…sandals worn from the long walks …

I recognize the visitor…yes…it is the great master of doubt…

under the hood…in the depth of the darkest eyes…he stares at me…but...wait... it is the lucid look of reason…and now I am not afraid…I know what he is doing here.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:58 pm 
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I hear the click of the front door opening….why do I feel I must sneak into the old garage, tip toe through the back door, get into my silver sports car and speed off and dive again between the dark mountains whence I came.

Maybe I will find her very_ old…but her grown son at her side ...

Will be smiling at me.

It is the last fork in the road…maybe I am still alive.

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PostPosted: Sun Feb 13, 2011 5:50 am 
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And then...and then...

There comes a point in your life when you realize:




Who matters,

Who never did,

Who won't anymore...

And who always will.

So, don't worry about people from your past,

There's a reason why they didn't make it to your future.

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PostPosted: Tue Feb 15, 2011 7:55 pm 
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Memories of yesterdays _ morosely culling the sounds of my dreams…the ringing of the church bells, the patter of rain upon the tiled roof, sunlight slivers reflecting off marbled floors...

the voices of dear old friends calling out from the courtyard , the promises of new glorious days...

while humming ballads and dreaming of a better future_ I could not bear the thought of leaving my ancestral home.

For me, to lose a single inch of the old house is the worst disrespect to my forefathers_

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PostPosted: Fri Feb 18, 2011 6:52 am 
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It is dark by now…you are sleepy…but a certain glimmer in the mirror holds you transfixed.

You have grown older and you are back home.

In your mother's mirror ….You see images of your life’s mistakes, but even as you have accepted them, you realize you have been thinking of them a bit too often.

You see mysterious shadows in the glimmer of the mirror…stern figures you recognize with a thump of the heart.

And now grim thoughts exceedingly pervasive…the worst being that, as time goes by, the whole world around you is getting older, and it is mainly other people, those who are dear to you, that go without your being able to do anything to detain them, out _one by one from your life_ until you are left desperately alone.

When you are born there are very many of family around you: parents, grandparents, uncles, cousins ... even a great grandfather or great-grandmother, and then there is the variable of older brothers, who might be there or not, but in the absence of those - likely in the future will come children to increase the size of your family.

And if in your early years … a ninety year old great-grandmother or a grandfather in poor health, go suddenly, you can not even miss them for long, because you're too busy to grow, to discover the infinite potential of the world around you, and after all - those elderly people who will remain alongside you for so short a time have not been able to deposit large traces of their memory in your childhood.

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PostPosted: Sat Feb 19, 2011 12:25 am 
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In the mean time …as you grow day by day ….some persons will acquire more importance in your existence…so much so that, over a long time span, their presence will become indispensable: parents, siblings, sisters, loved friends of the heart, men or women.

Later, when with the passage of time, it will be them to start to go one after the other …every time it happens…a small part of your life will die along with them, be your son, brother, companion…

All this seems bespoken to you by the shadows in the mirror.

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PostPosted: Sun Mar 06, 2011 5:32 am 
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Why do I keep going back there? Why am I even writing about it? Only because I dreamed it again last night and its residue is clinging to my consciousness at this very moment.

Maybe dreaming is a way of the mind to open a dialogue with the self about the things we suppress …like the knowledge that we finally leave no trace of ourselves in the scenes where we have lived our lives. We vanish entirely.

I suppose we are all either haunted or nourished by our childhoods. Maybe these dreams express nothing more than that universal yearning to go back and fix something, find something, or figure something out.

At times all seems both familiar and strange. Like the night that I dreamed of sitting alone in the 'radio room' also containing my father's library, a large sofa _ leather chairs and an oblong 'game table' where there had been so many pleasant and not so pleasant and strange happenings.

I was sitting at the table in total darkness and looking out the balcony over to the house across the street waiting for my dear childhood friend to come out holding a soccer ball.

Then the moment all changed in agony of sad memories in that same very room.

Maybe reoccurring dreams are most likely triggered by similar feelings or events that happen in our wake life.

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PostPosted: Sun Mar 06, 2011 5:47 am 
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But my mother. A times I think of her as being on some secret trajectory of the stars on her own....but then, somehow, she always was very brave, hardworking, cultured and intelligent, resourceful beyond belief when it came to providing for her children...a wonderful singer...

and now...moving along the stars ....I can hear her singing herself to sleep to dream of days she was happy.

Maybe I met her in her dream last night, tending a child in the place we used to live, old and alone but not aware of it. :cry:

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 4:25 am 
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The room is surrounded by a bright intense light as first light of the morning.

I got up, not realizing how long I had been sleeping??…I left the room and began walking the long corridor with the same light of the 'awakening'.

I reached the last window by the front door …that as the rest of them along the corridor….overlooked the big garden and the adjacent railway tracks and station, over the retaining wall.

I drew the curtains and only then I remembered having slept an entire afternoon and that days before I had suffered a swollen ankle from soccer game sliding tackle that had put me out of commission for a while.

And while grounded unable to get around …. I had received comfort by 'Sirena', my most beautiful German shepherd dog ….my faithful friend watching over my life in all that I did…she had not left my side for one moment.

As I admired that immense spring sun over the trains on the tracks…I caught a glimpse of young little Paula on her bike, running circles around the Chestnut tree in the garden, she blew me a kiss and I responded with a smile.

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 4:29 am 
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All seemed a dream, the balmy air, the light, the sleep still in ambush in my eyes.

They were days where all was suspended in something invisible, imperceptible, something that I still did not understand, and I lived my young life unencumbered by worry…in lovely streets between sea and mountain sides , sailboats cavorting off the beach, the tall sunflowers….

...the mornings with their silence and intense smells of life promises …my grandfather with his cursing…my mother with her warnings…the sweets of grandmother…the arguments with my cousin…the dark nights with the howling of dogs and the whistling wind through the trees of the garden…

…that small piece of heaven was my first look out the window of life.

And now, as in a strange dream, out of this window I saw so many moments of everyday life.

Then suddenly all was changing…I saw it all occur in slow motion…people's faces becoming tense….furtive and silent looks …a continuous come and go of people between the sun's play of shadows in the midst of the beginning of that fateful May 19**….

Many events came to mind, faces I had never before seen, grey uniforms amidst civilian's clothes, and an old lady … bent over by time and sorrow that in those days I would go and visit. The memory of this became clearer as the light around me.

From the corridor…to the left of the entrance door…I entered the magnificent guest's reception room, which was always 'off limits' because of the footprints one would leave on the gleaming red waxed floor …thus reserved for special visiting occasions……and from there I tip toed into my 'secret room' that overlooked the beautifully cultivated side of the garden under a canopy.

…how I loved to look out that small window….feeling secure in this 'secret room' _

…and there on the bench under the canopy…. sitting… I saw my mother, my grandmother _ my aunt, and my beloved uncle who had become a war prisoner of Nazi Germany.

He was tall and handsome and women chased after him constantly.

He had been able to escape the concentration camp and on his way back home a beautiful German lady had taken him in and hidden him from searchers

….until one day safe to cross the mountains on foot and finally come home emaciated beyond belief.

I observed the scene attentively….my grandmother was looking towards infinity, her look lost upon an indefinite point in time and space, where I could never have caught up with her… I knew.

My uncle had a sphinx look to his face….my aunt was reciting the rosary….my mother with a bowed head was following along as in a mysterious murmur….but that position reminded me that life had come to a stop years back.

My mother was sitting next to the lifeless body of my father, in silence, in a long uninterrupted cry of sorrow, dignified tears that creased her still young face. I realized that all were dressed in black mourning clothes….my mother's sorrow was internally locked…legible in her eyes…

But it must have been a dream out of synch….because my father had abandoned her in middle age…and she had been the first to die with me at her side.

I called out to her….she slowly turned towards me…and a smile brightened her face…illuminating my eyes.

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 Post subject: The Cathedral
PostPosted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 3:32 pm 
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So again… Why do I keep going back there? Why am I even writing about it? Only because I dreamed it again last night and its residue is clinging to my consciousness at this very moment.

And it must be true that ....Maybe dreaming is a way of the mind to open a dialogue with the self about the things we suppress …like the knowledge that we finally leave no trace of ourselves in the scenes where we have lived our lives.

We vanish entirely.

I suppose we are all either haunted or nourished by our childhoods. Maybe these dreams express nothing more than that universal yearning to go back and fix something, find something, or figure something out.

But at what cost??

I suppose dreams can be like asking something of the self…and in asking…a drive is created to go seek for the answers…and this drive is possibly what creates more dreaming…and more questions that in turn create more dreams in a vicious circle.

And so this dream is indeed very strange….where and what could be the answers?

~~

A caveat here: This that follows might be a bit scary for some...so enter the Cathedral of the dream at your peril....

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