My first approach to that blank page (after feeling its smooth texture) was to observe it closely. I found there was a very well demarked shade on it, greyish. My words spoke of enclosure, caring and horizons (met, not met, travelled beyond). These shades showed a clear line, diagonally traversing the sheet, as well as a semi-circle. I felt this line was perhaps too complete. If we are to speak of a horizon that may as well be a boundary, is can either be clearly demarked, or reliant on perception. I believe the latter to be more accurate. Brushing through this line is solid red, I felt like I was drawing the line I had imposed between myself, my caring womb, my place, my encircled smooth living, and the "great out there". There is a sense of protection, but also of vertigo, stillness and restlessness. But in the end, it might all be a consequence of how I perceive things. This quarantine has taught me to stand back and observe, to be more passive. Taking action does not always lead somewhere.
I hope for a drawdown. Drawdown on expectations, on action, on drive. More stillness, quietness, togetherness. Not always enthusiastic, frantic, rushing. But really being able to sit together and practice listening, observing, watchfully caring. Also, on a more practical note, appreciating my space, making of every stay a home. Doing less.
The planes stopped browsing our skies. In China, they went from grey to blue. I could hear the birds' symphonies from my bed. There was a stillness that - panic aside - made thoughts louder. People realized the importance of being together. Priorities changed from "desirable" to “fundamental" overnight. We all appreciated with great intensity the gifts that nature provides, the strong taste of a sweet tomato, the sweetness of a banana bread. And they felt as core to our survival. All this happened while in quarantine, all, I believe, traits of what could be a possible utopian existence, where things (actions, surroundings, emotions) just stood for what they were, ready to be grabbed, apprehended, felt. I'm not sure I still see this happening, though. But what I (and we) might have learnt is that creating room for these utopian events could very well be a reality. And we can do it effortlessly. Doing nothing.
Would you like to meet?
Asks the eye to its inner counterpart, stretching as far as it can reach, planning ahead, predicting, reviewing, sensing, mirroring its surroundings. The other, steady, flowingly, vigilant, feeling homy, strongly constituted.
So, goes the eye(s), shall we meet? Somewhere in the future, perhaps, goes the former. It's a matter of perception, you know? If you look at it from a certain angle, you might be able to breach the space between us. Just draw a line, stretch through it, leave your trail behind. Come make me whole. Somewhere, sometime, another time. I just might.
OBJECT | WOODEN CAT