…and it reminds me of something long past. Still

, it provides a sort of shelter, a cocoon, in which I taste the lingering ember of affection and attachment. Someone. So foreign now – the word, not the feeling. Really, it isn’t my hat I’m wearing.

I am dressed in memories, seeping into my heart, letting it swell, ambushing me as I consider. Conceiving a thought, I refuse this birth. The true jubilation is closer to the heart than the mind. I have wrestled with reason too much

, too long, to no avail. The crown of my head serves well to shoulder this hat, that will suffice. A beret.

A scent woven into its fabric; I recognize immediately. One encounter, brief beyond time, has me standing on a bench, overlooking the village roofs. Chimney tops and the passing smoke, faint in its rising, swept away by wind. No, this scent does not dwindle into the night. It is you I bear in the depths of my heart.

So I breath. And I want to say I smile. My parted lips are a release, soon chimney too, a nimble liberation as no part of me needs act

, just a vehicle for breath, soft and free. There now, cocoon and scent, my universe in a waltz through time, no hands whizzing round minute and hour. All I am, is wearing a hat – your hat – and I like it.

Blank. First thing that comes to mind – blank. I am drawing a blank. A hasty outline, which I then gently fill, one stroke at a time. I missed myself swirling across the hidden chambers of such a profound blank. The brush of life uplifting the canvas. Each advance of the hand revealing the obscure in colorful whims. The trace they leave dampens the mind and stills the heart. A merciful beckoning for a worn man and woman.

The pallet of paint will not dry. I feel the texture of the whirling colors with my eyes. One moment I caress my longing to keep them open , then silently prod myself to turn away. Now the outline dances as the delicate borders lose their fringes, deliberately seeking liberation from their confines. Oh what wonder in the rapt furor of colors spreading out boundlessly. I savor the mighty disturbance, breaking down limits we ourselves installed under the pretence of keeping safe.

I glide on the tightrope fearlessly. I shed myself of the restraints that were meant to safeguard me. I face helplessness as I balance myself on the tips of my toes. I shuffle forward on an imaginary line , golden in hue , bright yellow, a frail zigzag fading in the distance. The underbelly of swirls and ropes and brushstrokes, a quiet abyss. If I fall now, I am enmeshed in colorful ribbons, transcending this human experience into far more, far more. It matters little. I flail and flutter some, then leap and turn, spin my core inside out, am dancer, am color and tightrope and abyss. Glad to be a passerby in this timely adventure.

Behutsam zieht ihr eure Runde – sie gleicht einer Ehrenrunde – die letzte in dieser sichtbaren Welt. An jeder Stelle

, der Bedeutung anhaftet, macht ihr Halt. Wie aus einer Hand hebt ihr den kleinen, blauen Stein mit den feinen, weissdurchzogenen Schleiern hervor, und lässt ihn sich jeden Moment verinnerlichen. Die Frage nach einer weltfremden Magie ist hinfällig, zu sehr ebbt hier Leben in aller Kraft auf als, dass ein Zweifel Nahrung finden würde. Was sorgsam anmutet, ist das Bewusstsein über das Leben, wie jede bedeutungsvolle Regung der Muskeln in der vorgehaltenen Hand verrät. Stein, wie bist du sichtbar! Ein Glühen entspringt dir, fesselt sanft das Herz, wie die Hingabe dein Wesen erobert.

Es liegt die Kraft in euer Beiden erscheinen. Eine stille Feier des Lebens, die eurer Anwesenheit bedarf. Mutter und Tochter. Erst Zuschauer

, dann Akteure im brodelnden Muster der Zeit – heut ein Streicher in andere Gefilde, indes die Unendlichkeit sich euch öffnet. In jener Öffnung hat dich seit Anbeginn die Lebensblüte umgarnt, dich mit dem Menschsein verwoben, dir Atem geschenkt, dich in diesen süssen Nektar geweiht, von dessen Ursprung du dich immer erfrischest; durch alle Gezeiten: Kindheit, Jugend, Alter. Ein weicher Kuss verweilt über deinen Geschichten. Erinnerungen. Wenn Steine lächeln und Winde tanzen, das Blau seinen Schimmer säht, seid ihr innig verbunden.

Steinträger, nun selbst ergeben, einmal noch Besucher, das Wesentliche im Herzen. Es ist die Begegnung mit der Schöpfung. Im Inneren ein leises Pochen, wie ihr die Funken deiner Jahre aufblitzen lässt. Hier hast du gelacht, deiner Mutter gedacht, in dir dein Kind getragen, etwas hinter dir gelassen, und dort der Musik gelauscht, seine Hände betrachtet, Melodien, die in Tulpen münden, ach die Farben, die dir Tränen entlocken, immer noch das Blau. Eine zarte Welt von Furchen umschlossen, in diesem getragenen Gewand deiner Gestalt, ein wissendes Nicken in Richtung des Horizonts. Stein und Liebe vereint. Niemand nimmt nichts. Zeit lauert

, blickt beinahe zärtlich über die Schulter der Veränderung, auch sie hält inne, nur zwei – ihr zwei; eins.

I shift in my seat. Some kind of order decays before me. Squinting playfully – add a hint of fatigue – I cheerfully mistake the lights for stars. But they concern me not, not today. If I were to give rise to meaning, I would stick with the stars, yet am intrigued by more earthly matters (in terms of how we perceive them). For one, I am tempted to write about a rock. I would dip my innermost into the depths of such an ordinary word as “beauty”, to circle the feeling besieging me as I slip the rock into my hand. Then I close my eyes. I rub the vision away, and my gaze rests on my palm anew, now met with the display of a little egg. The shade of turquoise on its exterior has me wondering about the life hidden within. A felt heaviness I meet with an involuntary tremble. I know the egg as a pod for life will not be able to carry this one forth , too far from nest and mother, just a passing visitor in my open palm. Though I receive it with outright reverence, there is nothing I can do. Our impermanence unites us – an unblemished egg, what may have been bird, arrested in meeting life outside its shell, and a sole human specimen looking on.

We walked a few paces in abstract love, neither speaking beneath the lustrous sky. The stars never faded. In my innocent stretch of understanding I took the soft soil, right where tree and forest floor converged as a resting place for my tiny mate. I may have been mistaken but carry no guilt. I covered you with brown leaves , unspoken words – who would have understood? – the ground shaking – or was it me? – just a drizzle touching my brow, a flicker in the heavens, there, then gone. Beauty, was it? What a dull word in the light of such an honest and brief encounter.

Seven – keep counting…eight.

The pendulum stops. Not in mid-swing, but in peaceful and meaningful transition, just a relaxation forming and molding this new discovery. Thumb-and-finger warmth

, a recognition of touch as some sort of slowing appears. The notion of less – less swing, less movement in-between the tick of time, aptly reveals a quiet fold, bearing the universe in its midst.

The gentle clasp of hands containing all, sitting patiently, asking nothing, ever present

, waiting to be seen, like the hidden cavern behind the cascading flow of life. If you will: the deepest mystery within two heartbeats. A remarkable window – easily missed – no push or pull, simply here, an open space in the heart of hearts. No requirements, nor efforts needed; right before the heel prods the ground to give shape to another step forward, listen to what has always been here – see, feel, smell, taste – and you too shall fall in grace.

I touched the light, and the top of her wing caressed the surface, a fresh awakening, oozing out of color, rain, snow, sleet, names on mailboxes, now gravestones, a wave on a ladder letting go wholly.

Truth. Remember the movie “Melancholia”? The planet is bound for earth. It could be a comet, anything big enough to destroy. And I’m laying here in my bathtub. Not entirely at ease, but mostly. A peculiar thought really, that we may be imperiled. I dismiss it soon after. Stuff like this happens on tv, in films. Somehow the conviction persists that it never hits me, definitely someone else, before or after my time. I remember a quote very vaguely, must’ve been some story with a moral. Though I can’t retell the tale, I have a recollection of it pointing out the ignorance of humans as we read about death in the tabloids, hear it on the news, expose ourselves to the same in movies, books, games – you name it – and still, somehow push the truth of our own certain death aside. I’d like to stray from the topic of death though, because in this moment the scene of the bathtub and a planet on collision course with earth is more gripping. A mere thought. But why not us?

The frame is frozen , the planet suspended in midair, zooming in, somewhere in the midst of this bizarre image a bathtub and a lone human being. How intoxicatingly plain. I am drawing the outline with my finger, eyes closed, like an artist with pretend brushstrokes in thin air. Now if you stand right in front of me , a little to the left, you can see what I see. You can feel what I feel. In the light of despair and annihilation a moment of nothing, of silence. I have rarely met the same magic fill my throbbing heart with bliss.

In this standstill, allow me to walk you to the next frame. It’s a little sketch, some lines are smudged, not without purpose. I am sitting on a couch cross-legged. The planet – of course – forgotten. Not so a certain feeling dancing across the endless plains of what may be my self. A hint of ecstasy fastened to the vibrance of the rocking sea. Just a gentle sway, a slow dance of the heart, so rich, so sweet. Do you recognize the glistening surface? A show of affection as the water cradles the open sky, such tenderness, a seesaw of devotion united on the horizon’s thin line. I am the onlooker and sometimes more. You may part from this painting in search of added excitement or in fear of boredom, but by doing so you walk right past me. I’d like to invite you to join me on the couch. Shh.

From time to time, I look up, not even a recognizable movement of the head, just the fleeting glance to meet you. I am closer to recognizing that I do indeed know of the planet zipping toward us. The wick is so unimaginable short , the light so unimaginable captivating. And all so insignificant. The push , which I now lay to rest along with my resistance makes way for surrender. A thought for another day – maybe. Because right in this instance, my glance meets yours. We have been friends for decades. Friends. Before anything else matters, we collide utterly, absolutely, without the slightest hesitation. We are the unmatched “boom” of earth and comet in reckless, unfiltered, heavy, full, ripping and wrenching love. So pure, so, so forceful we are torn to shreds. A universe falling into a universe, in reverse, a black hole exploding, just the near impossible stride of the basilisk kissing the horizon, uniting heaven and earth, and all is none.

Ok, time to go.

Constantly craving more

, better, newer. A walk through town is nothing short of immersing oneself in a live showcase bombarded by impressions left, right and center. Society mirrored in every aspect: the latest in fashion, technology and just about anything spinning on wheels. A parade in the gleaming sun, the natural spotlight restless in an attempt to capture every new swag. Modern day exhibitionists strutting along busy streets to be seen, recognized and talked about. Outshining the competition: a firsthand ego-booster like sitting atop the Marlboro stallion, the self-proclaimed king of the boulevard, instant fame, the sought after amend for all the hard work and suffering in this twenty-first century act of appearance. I would rather it were an act of disappearance…

Let the raging sea sweep away the superficial scrap of our limited expression. Helpless without our comitted choreography of human artefacts on a fading stage. As the lights slump their heavy heads

, we fall silent. Finally. Then (maybe), the sudden recognition that we are naked and exposed. The cascade of words spills into gutters and washes away. So much spoken and so little said – of value, of truth, of authentic interest for another. Slabs of words to fill space and time with the regurgitated accounts of odds and sods…politics, sports, weather – some favorites to name a few. Substitute at free will for the grandeur of gossip, money spent and the chatter of the latest (fill in the blank). I hear the manhole shudder in its struggle to swallow the unending wave of decaying, hollow words.

Would it be unbearable to meet in silence or to withstand the temptation to talk just because? Or is there still a deeper meeting as we seal our lips and open our hearts?

After the clouds unleash their torrent and disperse, after the flood turns into a trickle and leaves us standing in perfect union,  I wonder what you see as you look into your partners eyes as if for the first time. Now child, now brother, father, mother, friend. See. (And remain quiet – at least for a moment).

Warm, sweet, beautiful death – massaging my throbbing heart with grace. Too many beats to count, slipping through the cracks of my awareness. Utterly sweet the fading dark. I feed on this nectar like a babe. Behind the cowshed my bed awaits me. I hunger for more. More warmth , more sweetness, as I drop into the realms of another dimension. Here a lark brushes its tail feathers over my pursed lips while I strain to keep my balance. I touch its lingering breath to my soul and spread my wings into distant lights. That very same warmth wrapped tightly around my limps, I soar across every border of my imagination. What sweet freedom grants my pounding heart eternal peace. A cascade of feelings left behind as I break through the barrier and all ascends into wide , open stillness.

I would be lying if I said I knew anything about chocolate.

I would also be lying if I said knew anything about life.

Undoubtedly, I would be the center of ridicule, if I were to say that chocolate is no less, no more a measure of the universe as are we in our human form or a tree or a grain of sand.

Let this be a testimony to the evaporating sensation and satisfaction of chocolate. Not chocolate in its raw state, but chocolate processed into bars, infused with flavors, affiliated with precious ingredients, evoking wholly and unimaginable states of completion.

If I were to die this very second, I would so with a taste of chocolate hugging the corners of my mouth. I cannot separate life from death, but I can close my eyes and let myself be carried away by my senses. Here is how I attempt to capture my chocolate-experience:

An apparent and illusive mist, twisting its way into my depths, casually leaning against the trunk of a tree like a gentleman tipping his hat

, a rocking motion luring each leaf into a duet with the radical energy escaping me. I am a quiver, a cold shower, my senses spinning as the mist has turned to fog – I am a mess. A jumble and a jitter, an ecstatic call for more, frowned upon by my receptors, now in overdrive, prodded tirelessly by sensation. Tie me down, I cannot sit still, this wild shiver is bending a part of me into higher spheres. All feelings put on hold, to answer them would be facing a wave a mile high, so powerful it would slam against my very core, I might die in defeat…absolute and willing. To die would be to give myself in full to this naked moment, not in thought, not in body, not even in emotion, much much deeper – without any effort. Just a pinch of salt, a carefree carol oozing through my veins, delirium on a sledge passing by, let the comet hit – I am free. Free, Free, Free!

I know that you exist.

What more is there to say? Doesn’t this innate knowledge complete me?

I am a shiver and the silent smoke, drifting amid the evening sky. In my gentle sway of being lived, I want to surrender to you in my entirety. Ever since I felt your existence. Will you believe me when I say that part of my thoughts have perished? Half-finished sentences cut my surface , the substance leaks formidable drops of my-self – faint, faint echoes of years swollen into this deceptive reality. I make no sense. I am driven by far more than sense alone. It is both beautiful and terrifying , for nothing else matters.

A single taste of you has me swinging on a fresh breath of air. On the mantelpiece memories rest. I feel the dust tickling my nostrils. All evaporates within you. I entertain only the minor tantrums of social constraints. As I said: it is meaningless.

I am firm. My memories are not. The obscure gives rise to a new form.

I hunt for words to capture you. If just a fragment, I will carry you in the bowl of my hands, on the crown of my head, in the core of my chest, forever. And still, you cannot be owned.  I crouch on the ground behind a giant boulder. I press my feet against the hard soil. Tears escape every part of me. It must be the overflow of the uncontainable. Discovering you in my inner experience has me admitting every defeat at free will , yes, seeking defeat just to be in your presence, releasing my wings in full flight, cutting the cord, and breaching any contract with morality, heeding no one as I would readily slash my loyalty with all foils of gras at the prospect of sitting with you for the rest of my life.

I am a butterfly and I cast a shadow upon the moon .

Silence. I deliver myself to you. Empty palms and an open heart. Can it be that you are love too? One final recognition and I do not need one more breath, not one more heartbeat, not one more touch – I already am complete.