The eternal life awaits me, in front of me lies the vast desert
of a life in anticipation; my eyes look for you. There is no comfort
in solitude, no comfort in myself, only a sort of trembling in the face
of the infinite and the vast. I would give myself willingly to you
if you had a body. Then my love would have been meaningful, a pure
sort of love. Now, the bonds of kinship are disintegrating, and all
that remains is terror.
I have lauded my imagination, my ability to make meaning when confronted
with incoherence. I have thought understanding is the greatest virtue
that one can have. But is that true, is that the most beautiful ability,
or is it the ability to lie, face down, on the earth, and inhale the smell
of fresh earth, and newly sprung grass?
It is a terrible thing to feel affinity. I have felt affinity with you
when your mind was in motion, but no never turbulent, never turbulent
like the river which springs in cruel motion from the mountain, and challenges
you to witness cruelty. The gushing stream annihilates the flowers on
its banks; the sweet flowers which blossom only to be destroyed
by one more powerful than they.
I have felt affinity with you when your arms have held me like the river
holds the flowers in its crushing grasp.
And I have been afraid.
Why do the bonds of kinship break? Where is the tenderness of a mother's
embrace, I want to hold my father's hand again, and hear my grandmother
sing me to sleep, but all I see is a long and endless stretch of sand,
a sun dazzling in its intensity.
And I have felt a strange thirst
which no river can quench.
In the distance, a child dies
but I cannot see it. It died
without being aware of the limitless,
it did not see the grains of sand
in a sand-clock. It did not
hear the minutes ticking by.
I do not know whether it was a girl
or a boy.
My eyes looked for you,
but found the sea instead.
As they gazed at the sea,
a bird flew from the north
to the south.
And I was astonished.
You would say
it is incoherence.