Horizon VS borders
Friday afternoon again. This Friday is very peaceful as if everyone had released the thoughts were carrying during the week. I gave my thoughts generously to the space. In the white room with the roof windows, and with a sense of relay race of knowledge or an abandoned stage theater played the night before. Startle. I read first, I hesitate for a few seconds. Closed eyes for everyone, open only to me and with this choice I share my experience with clay. Hurry up, it has to be done fast. You have done a lot of writing and there are many people waiting for you. Ι recall, I retrace, I re-experience, I gulp. I direct the moment and bring it back to the world of Black Box. Now everyone can see from my angle, dreaming the same way, said someone from the class. I am crossing the borders between my private thoughts and the things I am describing out loud. I wish I could walk on all the borders of the world. Physical and imaginary borders. The strongest for human beings are the imaginary ones. Humans took the chance to build structures where nature chose to unite us.
Borders and bridges. What comes first? My own version of storytelling says that borders were built during the night and bridges were built in the daytime to unite previously created pieces, to cover up the mistakes made, to build up the new mistakes they’ll make another night. And then no prayer has ever saved anyone, but only the spark of a mind full of horizons.
What horizon can I see from a narrow desk between the two other desks in a space that will look like a labyrinth? Οnly a few rooms you've explored so far, and all the rest is like an abaton with well-kept secrets. So many floors, so many different arts, so many people - books, and journeys.
The horizon is my goal in this small space. The precious jewel in my collection that I have to define. From the chaos of my thoughts to the abstraction and in the end the requested value of things. As if leaving your dead shell and moving more and more naked but with strength and consciousness.
And there in your nakedness, you will cross the border between identity - the rest of the world many times. Repeat the scene. There area few mistakes. It's the second Friday you are writing. You pause, you hear somebody laughing, the keyboard, was it always so loud? It's the people who are writing their last thoughts before they go to town to celebrate the week-end. I am gathering my last thoughts of my day and I am thinking what’s the next border I’ll cross. Today I learned that the Atlantic and the Pacific do not mix their waters. There is what we call borders even when it comes to water. They never meet, nor will they ever meet, but the ship has passed and sank and gone.
