Journeys ...

 

Ithaca. Journeys in search of our souls. We are born in foreign countries and with every new day we discover another grain of life inside ourselves. We fight, we fall, we hide, we cry in loneliness till we see no more, we hope, we are betrayed, we catch, and hope we shall be caught, we dance, sometimes with unknown people, sometimes with dear ones, sometimes with our own hybris. In all of them, we paint our own portraits.

Some people live outside, in a country named Romania, America, England, France. Some people live inside themselves, in a country named Ithaca. Today I have realized that in my own land the spring wind is blowing gently, as if it is tired by something inside this land, and that I have two little houses, in which my heart is resting.

I have my kids, those noisy little beings, who are always making me laugh, who have taught me so many things in the art of teaching and surviving in their world … they taught me patience, playing and sometimes being an actor, they taught me that life is hard for some of them from the beginning and EDUCATION, family education, kindergarten education and school education forms their character. How can we judge a man if we knew how much violence is inside its soul, if he/she didn’t receive any rays of heaven? How can we react when we see Fight in a kid of 5 years, who wants to be the best, and his family life is a nightmare? How can we react to their dreams, to their tiny hands and bodies that are running towards us and are expecting us to let them hug? How can we define Good and Evil if we knew, if we only knew, what has been offered to some of them?

In another house, I have my books. I am a collector of books, from the most stupid ones to the ones that I adore. There cannot be for me the term “too many books”… I have a relative who is giving me for my birthday, every year a blouse, and I hate this, giving the same present over and over again … however, I have a friend who is giving me every year a new book. From literature most of the time (this year - from philosophy) and I like this at her, knowing this insignificant obsession of mine (among others) … there is LITERATURE, there are good books, there are personal writings, there is a heart inside of them and a will to go on walking on this road, building up this small house of mine …

I have my God, above these houses, deep inside Ithaca. I cannot say I have two Gods, because for me the traditional God is dead, as Nietzsche said (tradition, woman inferiority, Heaven and Hell, churches …) My God is forever Life, kindness, nature … my God is Friendship. Because in a way or other, friends build ourselves, gives us the force to move on, and friendship lies on the feet of family ... because how could a family last in time if there is no Friendship there? Some will start talking me about love ... Love, yes, love … what kind of love? Huge word for me, too strong to pronounce it to anyone, because for me Love starts in Friendship. Love for lovers, for friends, for sisters, for brothers, for teachers, for parents, for pets, for us … I’m NOT a romantic being, I’m a cold and insensitive one in many aspects and I don’t believe in Love at first sight, I don’t believe in Friendship build in a day or a month, I don’t believe in “I love you” which shall last if it isn’t build in TIME and in FRIENDSHIP … so Friendship, above houses, above goals, heart of my Ithaca. Because this God of mine is warm and here from childhood, because I believe in It with my own being, because It is those gentle hands  catching, or pushing us in Dreams, because It is the people who believe is us, because It is Acceptance, and yes, top of all, because It is Love.

Gentle wind, touching my thoughts and feelings, moving slowly to haunted places … I look around and I see a house full of kids, and another one full of books, and I feel the God inside of this world, and I see a green field, far away from here ... I am playing chess with my own being … and there is a knife laying on a table, and there is a I too wounded, and there is a Game for the Future, and there are Voices screaming or whispering to stop … Falling. Getting up. Heavier steps, in a heavy pain. Moves on the left, or on the right, Time running from my fingers, Words melted in this heaviness ...

Will you tell me when the lights are fading Cos I can't see, I can't see no more ...

 Words screaming inside myself, I really cannot do this anymore, or insensitive ghosts who push us in Fights ...

Will you tell me when the fighting's over
Cos I can't take, I can't take no more
Will you tell me when the day is done
Cos I can't run, I can't run no more

Chess game, in my own land, because there is too much Fear and Tiredness resting inside myself.