Artwork: Jonathan Grösel
I came to a halt – to meet him, but he did not appear. My lungs were filled only by the icy, thin, dirty fog of winter. That blackness, inhaled and exhaled by everyone, made its nest inside of me and I felt that it took more than it gave. It stank of emptiness – insidious as venom, gnawing at the healthy mind – from the inside.
In that mist I saw nothing but my own shadow. It was with grief that I realized that we are one with it. The shadow – as if alive, followed me, begging for attention – insistently. I bowed my head down in the cold – filled with a heavy loss – and gazed into it.
The light that gave birth to it – it appears sickly. In its rays I did not recognize that force, which makes it tremble in the eyes. It seemed to spring from somewhere – unsought for, abandoned, orphaned, and the emptiness inside of me killed every desire to find it.
In this bottomless moment, in this poisoned well of time I felt old – older than the world – I felt its end, tasted the discord of the energies, which hold it together. The arms, dug into one another – to this day – let the other go, and the fingers – clinging to one another, pale with pain, slipped from the source, which keeps them warm and fed – they did not manage to save themselves.
The Death of the world is awaiting us all – like a patient, old dog – blind and deaf it breathes in a day that is still untouched. In the distance something burns – a happiness – it trembles, dances, hidden out of sight. The shadows that it casts are alive. The light that it breeds – is young and strong, blessed. The road to it is riddled with ugly, wilted flowers. Death hides there – in the dirt – in the stupid remaining warmth, waiting to be swallowed by winter.
That moment, which had long abused my hospitality, still weighs over me. The old age of the world, my old age, the ever weaker spin of that green rock around the Sun – they hang over my hungry consciousness like sour, unripe grapes. I will chew it before my stomach corrodes from within – that body, where they imprisoned me. I will stupidly watch its shadow, realizing that this light is unreal.
I will look for Him in this dead, still living world – He will dance in front of my eyes – here and there, and leave me behind again – to live out my days – in the long, narrow tail of time.
In the end, having squeezed my old, scarred, worn out,
wrong, blind and deaf,
through the rough end of the world – I will reach Him
and find rebirth.