Search

Story of (from) a Heart

Heart stems both beauty and darkness. Sometimes within the same moment separated by blink of the lids...

To the sound of the battling wind. Late in the night, too early in the morning. There was a feeling from the dream zone. I blinked few times to push it away, let it stay in the unconscious. The sound of the room settling in the silent night. Cracking of the floor pannels still relaxing, giving away the sounds of the stretch, pipes of the heating transferring air bubbles, pushing them. When I close my eyes all that forms a music. Soundtrack of the night. Tic tic tic boom boom crack. And silence


Will the sleep return? Find its way into the silence of my brain. Or will this night be a special, one for the creation.


Wind answers battling against the non existent tree trunks. Must be hitting the walls of the houses, gliding the roofs, finding its way into aghast chimney shafts.


The train like sound adds beat. Fading away as soon as it appears. The wet streets drizzle with memories of yesterday. The bridge between then, now and future. Moment where birds yet do not awaken. Shielding their little bodies away from cold.


This is the time for the few awaken. Their space to be...


"Don't worry about your heart, it will last you as long as you live."

And then my heart forgot the beat. There was a sound of birds singing in the trees, there was a piano somewhere far behind...


I could feel it on my fingers like it never stopped. And the birds were singing even louder now like the world was never meant to finish. Like it would be there forever. Yet deep inside of my heart there was a fear off disappearing one day. Falling off the edge of the living. Leaving it all behind. Blue sky and the sounds of the dogs barking at the neighbour, the sweet taste of the freshly baked cake, the laughter and tears. Yet it would stay forever. Bigger trees with deeper roots. And the piano sound of the sky falling onto my knees...


And one day the ground would vanish. It would take over light in the earth. Giant ball of fire. Part of the Universe. And it would never matter how much I achieved... it would never matter what words I wrote, what colours I used to paint as it would all vanish one day...


All people I met. All relationships I formed, it wouldn’t really matter...


And there is a piano playing somewhere in the sky again. Like it didn’t care. So why do I fight so much to stay alive? To create? I can’t go against it. I can only go with the fear that holds my heart in the prison. The box of memories. The box of the past and the present and the future.


Box registering each moment, noting and preciously storing. Treasure of living: past and future always present.

And I have peeked behind the curtain. Through the veil of the memory and it feels familiar yet unknown... And for now the story continues...


TABERNACULUM.