korinabisdris asked: קיבלת את התשובה שלי?
כן זה הכי מעניין אותי!
so the thing is that this year is ending in two three days. and R and i are making a video piece in which we ask our self and the people around us, what is it that we would like to wish for our self for the next year. and at this point in time , seeing the future is totally out of reach. and as the days go by, the next minute seem un predictable. from the cracks of my igloo the sun never felt brighter. stings my eyes and floods me . on my table are few red apples . and a candle that makes the sound of a real fire. in this new home i finally made my practice corner. and wrapped my cushion with a brand new cloth. perhaps this notion is one that symbolises the year of 2011. how elastic how liquid things are. how this thing of life and death are two ends inside a circle. and it’s matter is all the gray 64 zone. and even inside this are hidden doors, carpets to lift ,clouds to dissolve, unknown in glass little bottles and more words to kill. maybe i went through a passage of what resembles to a near death experience . from my perspective my little nation is full of bones that were left behind , i picture two sleepless hearts on that soil . inside, all i see is water level. no underworld nor upper worlds. my feet don’t touch no soil and my head not lays on any cloud. the water reaches right under my chin. enough so i can breath. enough so i can return back a smile. close enough so the tears reach the water fast and it all becomes one taste. my teacher tells me to rest in it.
this piece of story i read this year by Jorge Luis Broges.
I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I’d seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny — Philemon Holland’s — and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon — the unimaginable universe.
I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity.