Dedicated to Teah, Peter and Dorothy
Artwork: Antonia Avramova
All I know is blinding madness and mindless stupidity. At times it’s different. At times it feels as if the world around is shaking and I – motionless –flow into those moments like water, filling the crevices of time and space with my Self. I move gently, subtly, barely touching the ground, but my footsteps are lent a titanic power, an immeasurable significance – captured in an instant – and gone in the next. Matter flows away from my path, heeding me or the One who stands behind me, who has my back, who keeps me from falling victim to the atrocities of the world.
Me and Him – we walk together, we dance in a seemingly chaotic fashion, but in a higher state of being our movements are calculated, perfectly aligned in an effortless swirl. I worship Him with every swing of my hands, I worship His Magnificence, the exquisite nature of His Work and the Intricacy of His Design. We gaze upon the same stars and drink from the same spring but I am only a deer – a fragile, elegant creation – yes – but my eyes do not see further than my own insignificance. But He, He protects me from Himself – the sight of Him could melt my eyes and burn my heart with joy.
The Man in the High Tower. The quiet room. The stillness of time, the sweet anger of the primitive mind, the agony of hunger, teeth screeching in anticipation – a naked man in a storm – each freezing drop a needle, an ordeal – and then – out of the nothing – He arrives. His coming is absolute, unmistakable, undeniable. I tear through my days and at the end of that thorny road – He awaits me – in a place which I have seen in my dreams – not a step further from where I was destined to fall into His arms – and He takes me away.
A dead messenger He sent – his horse throwing his body in a lashing motion – his face covered in blood, his empty eyes staring into the Nothing. He passed me by, but trouble soon followed. At the end of that ordeal I found that it was all a lie and the maddening screech of my fear, the deep dark well that I drink from desperation, the slow, gnarling voice of countless troubles – all were gone.
And He took their place.