Sunday, October 31, 2010

Writing is like breathing

Writing is like breathing
Like running on a slippery ice crisp winter morning
With northern wind burning your lips
And clouds moving fast across the sky
It's like a life, with ups and downs, losses and gains
Unbridled happiness and abysmal despair 
Or even bigger because it includes all the 'what if's in the world
And it's forever because time isn't an object
It only matures with it like a good wine
With pulse of hunger for knowledge and passion 
It grows only stronger threatening to outlive you
Even when it seems so far from happening
It grows under your skin and may lay dormant for years
To only blossom one of the springs
When it can wait no more     

Friday, October 29, 2010

On my toes

Writing keeps hunting me down. At home, on the go, in my sleep. It pulls my sleeve, it wakes me up in the middle of the night, half asleep, half aware.
It pushes me around like a dilligent boss that won't stop until the work is done.
I am looking for an excuse why not and can't find any. 
I've been in hibernation for too long. The powerful wave is coming and sweeping everything on it's way. I'm holding on to my notepad (or should I say Ipad?) as a lifebuoy to help me swim to safety, sanity, serenity...
And I am spinning and spinning in this roaring water, knocking on the stones along the way, going down with the glassy wall on a waterfall ride, resurfacing just to breathe and trying to keep my head above as much as it's possible. 
Gripping cold, insane speed, exhilaration it brings, slamming into your face wind, the heart almost out of beat ... 
And then it's slowing down, slower, slower. The work is done and I am free. For a little while.
Good night all.


Sometimes I get tired of formulating my thoughts, to others and to myself. Words are crowding in my head, talking louder and louder, until the noise becomes excruciating.
That's when I start dreaming of the oblivion, just going with a flow, without so much as considering what my next step would be. Not knowing - what a liberating concept. Moving on, taking things in as they are. I'd become an observer of life instead of running it's marathon. 
Get off the lane, sit on the grass and watch days go by until it doesn't thrill you anymore. I am a realist and know it wouldn't last. But at this very moment it feels like a bliss. Slowing down to a complete stop, listening to the silence, operating on a completely different dimensional level. Even breathing slower would be quite an adventure.
Seeing life stroll by, detached, relaxed, devoid of all worries. 
I might notice things that are usually a blur. I might need time to process them, write or just stare. What would that be like? Unexplored terrain of simplicity without yesterdays or tomorrows, where Today rules the day. 
Everything else is erased, cushioned, descended into a fog...
Colors, sounds, smells, touch. 
A dream in a dream, the kind that leaves a soft, cosy feeling you cherish in a first few seconds of waking up. 
If only it could last.

Morning rush

Some days aren't worth waking up. This was unfortunately one of them.
Soaked from the pouring down rain she managed to squeeze into a crowded morning train just to hear the announcement that this particular and fastest service is cancelled and they all need to change to another, local. People were rushing out to get on even smaller train that would be stopping at every stop possible before arriving at the city center.
'Not my day', - she said to herself indifferently stating the fact. There were no surprises at what was happening. Just another rainy, sunny, snowy etc. day in a big city with few promises of reliable transport. 
Another day of been late for work, another reason to apologize to the already irritable boss for the faults of not her own. Despite all the best efforts reality has chosen to test her patience one more time. 
Smashed inside the coach, barely able to stand, balancing on the shaky floors of carving train she dreamt of warmer, sunnier and friendlier place with much fewer people, buildings, cars and less wasted time. So precious time, not enough for sleep, rest or life itself. Endless hours on trains that seem to run in circles. Morning - to work, evening - from work, again and again, in monotonous unchangeable pace. 
Every time her train arrived at the new stop, more and more people were pushing into a seemingly packed to the fullest coach and somehow magically managed to stay there. If only like in a fairy tale it could stretch and accommodate all wishing to be inside, rushing to work, escaping from merciless rain that seemed to be enjoying the chaos it was bringing upon everyone.
The heat from the sheer number of people, too tight proximity were becoming less and less bearable. As if awaken from the bad dream she started to get worried. It was just few small, cold pangs at first, uncomfortable but surely manageable. In a while they slowly and steadily grew into a primal fear. Small stream was getting bigger and stronger like the rushing behind the window water. She closed her eyes every time a new portion of passengers was getting ready to storm her little coach that shook and cried in sad squeaks - 'Enough, or please enough'. And swaying with the rhythm she was begging an invisible Being about the same thing - 'Please take another train, please. It will come, soon. Please don't come in anymore.' It didn't help. People kept coming. Until she couldn't stand it anymore. All the fear she was trying to contain broke lose in a panicky feeling of preserving her life, her sanity, herself. 
She desperately fought for the way out through the quiet wall of unmoving zombilike morning travelers, elbowed her way out as if it was her last chance, like a drowning would save his last breath to get to the shore, safety. People looked at her attempts without any curiosity or sympathy, with a little human left in their  blank and ignorant eyes.
 One more step - and she was out on a little station platform hungrily breathing the fresh air, oblivious to the pouring down on her rain, being simply happy to be free. 
All the worries in the world could wait until later.