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PostPosted: Thu Oct 17, 2013 5:31 pm 
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PostPosted: Mon Oct 21, 2013 11:26 pm 
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I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday
:cry:

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PostPosted: Tue Oct 29, 2013 5:33 pm 
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PostPosted: Wed Oct 30, 2013 5:33 am 
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The stairway entrance to the old house I had seen in a dream. It was very old but solid as a rock in spite of the crumbling caresses of time. Image

Old but inviting with a door that accessed a hive of all the beauties of the world deep inside that sacred space.Image

Those stairs led to a surely magic somewhere… because through the huge side windows, light filtered and danced invitingly in a strange darkness with a promise of an enchanted place waiting. The dream in the dream was to live in that house.

Immersed in the depths of the dream, the door heavy and sturdy had opened with a gentle touch of my fingers. An elegant lady all dressed in mourning black with sad eyes behind a black veil, welcomed me with tenderness in the first big room to the left of the long corridor …revealing a secret.

She vanished quickly after as if she had never existed, and I had felt the house had been abandoned for a very long time. But the thoughts of my dream continued to desire that house at any cost, even with that black cat that seemed to have taken the lady's place.

I had walked the long corridor all the way down to the kitchen at the very end, through a playroom and large dining room.

I had fallen in love with a kitchen of carved wood with a foreboding mezzanine. Fantastic sight and such a homey feeling. In the dream it seemed fanciful and that sensation comforts me even now.

Suddenly I realized all my family had lived in that house.

Walking my way back _ there were a series of doors segmenting the corridor corralling big rooms to my right and with big windows on the left out looking on a garden and the railroad station beyond.

I would glance to the rooms without a 'face' as if I did not see them, as if they did not exist.

Then I went out the front door and down the stairs out into the street. People were looking at me knowing I lived there, smiling at my good fortune knowing that that front door was always open for me.

From dream to dream, I had known a thousand faces out that door, down the stairway and into the street, and it seemed that for the major part of the times I already knew well all those people that had accompanied me in the story of that old house.

Maybe they were all the people who had read and keep on reading my diary.

I had read somewhere, maybe in one of the books in my father's library in the house… that dreams are easily generated subconsciously on the basis of our thoughts or happenings in real life, and of secret ancestral gifts.

Maybe this was what the lady in black wanted me to understand in revealing that 'secret' _

And so it is possible that this recurrent magical escapism is something that once having lived it in a life so far away…is indeed an ancestral gift knowing it brings me happiness.

So tonight I pass on this gift to you. I these dreams I live in a world entirely mine, devoid of hurt and sadness, and it isn't said that _moreover, this world could not become magically 'ours'_

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2013 6:13 am 
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It is true that old houses are like living things...alive with all thoughts and memories of all who lived in them. And those thoughts and memories go on living as long as the house stands.

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 3:24 pm 
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The voice of the sea and the wind _I had never forgotten since early childhood having been born in my house so close to the sea.

As a child…I first became conscious of that voice once during a rain storm when, with my face glued to a window, I would listen to rain drops strike the glass in rapid sequence seemingly as a continuous sound. I remember the creaking of the chimney fire as the wind blew from the sea rattling the window panes.

Within that small concert there was also a comfortable distant sound, as a voice broken up in single words or fragments of words…a sound as made one of different voices at once.


Now…That rain was coming from the sea bringing with it fragments of that voice that had been in my subconscious ever since I was born in that house.

Just over the entrance door I found myself in the central corridor of the household, and I quickly became aware that my flashlight was not the only source of light_ from the stairs ramp of the upstairs floor there was a softer and warmer light basking down below.

As I had imagined that light was from the exterior of the house. As I stepped over the door at the top of the stairs I found a different scene than the one the floor down below.

A portion of the beams that once held the ceiling had collapsed. What had to have been a matrimonial bed had been crushed and reduced to a splintery pile.

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 3:28 pm 
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I went back down to the first floor where it seemed I would possibly find more useful clues to this dilapidated house.

Contrary to floor above, advancing through the first floor corridor, all was enveloped in deep darkness.

I had stepped into a large room. The flashlight was only bright enough to lighten small sections of the space and it took a while to become aware of all that was in that room.

It was mostly bare of furniture…a large table surrounded by a couple of chairs …a small utility table up against one wall…and a glass front credenza across from the entrance door.

Shining my flashlight around, I saw no objects anywhere…a sign that the original owners had taken all with them when departing.

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 3:30 pm 
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I went closer to the credenza hoping to find something left behind. In the center of the glass enclosure I did see that something had been left behind…a fancy glass bottle and six silver bottom small vermouth glasses looking vaguely familiar.

Hoping to find more, my attention was drawn to three drawers down below the glass enclosure. I began to open them…then I changed my mind…something to do a bit later.

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 3:31 pm 
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I step out onto a beloved balcony, still holding together…I am not afraid of falling…I look at the sea hoping to hear that magical familiar sound.

I hear the sound of the waves that refract off the retaining wall…a strange sound…almost as a confluence of different sounds…that all seem to change with each wave…becoming more articulate and deep.
I had not been able to crack a smile since a most profound sorrow had poisoned my soul.

But now my lips cracked a tiny smile…so many years had passed, but the ocean and wind keep on story telling as if we had only being apart a few hours.

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PostPosted: Mon Nov 18, 2013 3:34 pm 
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Fragments of stories, voices of people I don't know_ broken thoughts as tales without end.

A little at a time all begins to make more sense, maybe it is me learning to listen anew, or maybe it is the sea that has understood the why of my difficulties and is speaking to me more gently.

By now all around me is dark, huge clouds have covered the already timid sky…some rain drops begin to fall but I am not aware of them.

It slowly dawns on me that a story has begun, one of someone that I knew and had loved and cared so much for.

The rest of the voices begin to thin out, I don't understand what is really taking place, but I know there is an unseen power at work in that darkness all enveloping.

At my shoulders, the sea and the wind seem to dance together; nobody knows what they are telling each other.

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PostPosted: Sat Dec 07, 2013 7:01 am 
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My bedroom of the old ancestral house…I loved it, yet at times it would terrify me in the night as I knew an old aunt had died in there and I, not yet understanding death as a small child, could not come to terms with someone just lying there, not moving…I would yell…why don't you just get up and walk?

But now in the darkness of that room, sensing that unseen power…the house continued to tread its life, unaware of what was happening to ancestral owners. It was just there where it had always been…a live witness of unending joys, sufferings and mourning.

There hadn't been great changes to the structure, both inside and out. All that I remembered as a child seemed to be in place the same.

In all nights of day after day…every corner of the house was under the reign of silence and darkness, the rooms, the furniture, the objects, from the largest to the smallest, had become habituated to eternal stillness.

But suddenly, in the apparent immobility of my bedroom, the large window overlooking the road on the sea was hit by a gelid and aggressive gust of wind.

The air crashed upon the window glass with such force that the shutters gave way easily fracturing wood and glass. The flying chippings, confused among them, formed a messy mosaic, with each fragment bringing with it a ray of the sun, and the moon, that in time they had passively absorbed.

The flying glass shards covered every inch of the room…coloring the floor…the sheets and blankets…every unimaginable angle of the room…and once at rest…continued to absorb and reflect light to other parts of the room that had been always dark through time.

Observing all the sparkle of the mess in the darkness…I had difficulty in thinking that up until a few moments before, so much calm and silence had occupied my old childhood bedroom for years ongoing…now something was being awakened.

I don't know if I was being perceived as an intruder…and had arisen the ire of some jealous power of old in control of memories locked in that space or if I was being greeted by the voices of the sea, the rain and the wind…welcoming me back to my childhood.

In my reveries…I was shocked to realize that beautiful window I had loved so much….now no longer able to protect me from the stinging rains, the cold, and the passenger winds of my beloved town. Where would I sleep tonight?

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PostPosted: Fri Dec 13, 2013 7:43 am 
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A bit dazed, I remained at the window looking out not caring about the gusting wind and the chill of the rain. But then I flattened up against one damp wall staring in the darkness.

The images of my mind were only great and cold shadows that chased each other on an ambiguous backdrop made of nothing. I was thinking we are an expression of a mystery, victims of our own destiny.

The obscure mechanism of our dreams assails me with the same river of events, a continuous flux of impressions and memories that returns in all hours of the night and conquers my sleep, leaving me in a state of absurd wakefulness, obliterating all sense of time.

And when one has no more sense of time…all seems to be out of logic initiative.

But the dream would not explain why it had chosen of designing, all around me, the contours of a so familiar 'landscape', that for the first time was shouting in revealing for what it was…that I was behind time, in a place hidden from the rest of the world, where the obvious did not find space, and to discover it…I had to follow the mirage.

Who was the one tired of the sorrows of the world? It was impossible to determine what this incongruous state was all about.

It was difficult to tell which of us was re-writing his past…was it me or my old house?

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 19, 2013 4:32 am 
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The thoughts continued to assail. My house had always been a magic place where so many strange, beautiful and fearful things had always happened.

But now there was nothing more of all that; what remained was desolation and wilting. The house resembled an old ruin with falling plaster and broken windows.

As I was shaking in the wet and cold _'time to move' I thought …so many rooms I could explore even in this darkness to find a comfortable place to sleep.

I know...I will try my father's library, a place I was always forbidden to enter as he did not want anything touched or moved out of place.

I made my way slowly in the dark to the room I knew it had been his 'kingdom'…I wondered in what state I would find it. I exited my old bedroom _walked along the corridor in apprehension… and stopped in front of the closed door on the right.

I remembered that door well…very well…somewhat massive and foreboding…I began to open it slowly in the oppressing darkness…afraid to discover what still could have remained of what I remembered as a child _an alluring place to sneak in and out.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 19, 2013 4:33 am 
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Just as the door opened wide_a bright beam of light exploded in the room and I was overcome by a strange gust of warmth coming from the far wall. Walking over, I saw a big photograph hanging there.

Tears began to flow as I recognized an old picture
Of my mother and father, together and smiling at me in happiness.

I remembered that once, at three AM…I had heard a noise, my father's library door was being opened.

Afraid but curious, I got up out of bed and peeked into the library. There_ was my father, very tired looking, hanging his coat on a hook. He told me to go back to bed, that he had had to work very late…a duty to his family…and that one day I would understand.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 19, 2013 4:34 am 
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Now in that pleasant warmth of the light and the picture of my parents smiling at me, I felt I had an invitation to be in that room and to look around_ as now it all belonged to me.

It was a tranquil place, with fine furniture_ Victorian style, a bit stressed by time but in good condition. The leather sofa against one wall…all covered by a thin layer of dust…the imposing desk inlaid in mahogany wood_the comfortable chair on wheels_
The oblong table in the center used for card games with family friends in times gone by… times of laughter and merriment, the smell of fine cigar smoke and liqueurs.

Tired and sleepy…but I was lured, by a compelling force, to seat at my father's desk and to rummage in every drawer and space. There was so much stuff still left in there…not in any particular order.

After a few minutes my hands fell upon an album of old family pictures. I began to leaf through it feeling joy and sadness…all those years at my fingertips...years of happiness and sorrows, years of magic moments.

At the back of the album, were the largest photos… and there I found the picture of my mother smiling at me…Image
She was so beautiful and loving.

I then remembered this day's date…December 18…the anniversary of my mother's death after a long night's vigil at her bedside holding her hand. Sadness overcoming every sense.

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