I see a tree, from very very close,
just the bole and just one part of their bole. Because I'm small,
actually I'm a worm, who starts to make a hole into the bark. How i
start my hole, I become myself (my body), but still as small as the
worm, and going into this made canal in front of me. It's dark
inside, but not totally. I can see the walls they are stone, the full
place becoming as a cave. On the walls water glints, i touch the
walls, they are wet. I'm going deeper and deeper of this hole, until
i reach a bigger hall. I look around, the space is big, everywhere
water flows down on the walls, but i cannot see the top of this hall.
How I look around i realize a place where the light comes from, which
light is warm yellow and orange mixture, its coming under the water.
Because at this place a bigger stream arriving with a big waterfall
at the end. The water prankishly falling down, seething, splashing,
gurgling. And i realize it's not just one waterfall, but three, one
comes from the left, one from the middle, one from the right.
Suddenly in the right flow a woman body appearing carried by the
water, like a dead ghost, (like in lake of Hades) she is translucent,
and falling down in the waterfall and after disappearing. The three
streams are falling down into a splendent deep hole, which seems to
absorb all the water, and there in this trough the water is calm,
almost totally still. I'm looking around where these immense water
going? Is it possible it's just disappearing there? And looking
around in the dark, (because I'm blind for a moment, when you look
into the fire), i realize a a small spring, coming from the floor of
the cave, just next to this big trough. There is a dark green light
inside of the water, which how i start to follow it, showing me the
way. This small river goes into a hall quite similar from where i
entered to the hall, but now it's straight like human made. At the
end of this canal, there are bars like grillage, I cannot go on, and
the green light is also get stuck. I'm clinging to the bars, trying
to move them, trying to look what is on the other side but i cannot
see anything, i just stare the deep blackness. But suddenly the bars
are turning into snakes, and i not even have time to get scared
because they are quickly scuttling away and the green light is also
disappearing. It becomes day light, because i just got out of the
other side of trees bole. I start to go up on the bole and i am
transformed into a white, light yellow rabbit, who with rabbit jumps
going up on the tree, with sometimes nibbling at the bark of the
tree. This rabbit just transforms into a playing brown dog, who with
full of joy trying to catch the worms who are coming out from the
tree, but it's not traveling anymore up. But my aim to go up is
stronger than the playfulness of the dog, so I transform it to a
strong wild cat, i don't which one, because i can see just the strong
legs, who with all their forces gallop up on the tree. In the moment
when i arrive at the first branches i become again human, but still
small. I start to go on one branch away from the tree because i
notice a big nest. I get into the nest through the natural threads,
and i see two huge eggs and a huge chicken. (I think normally they
have the normal size, just I am still really small.) I get angry on
the chicken, i don't understand what is it doing their, it's just
stupid, dull, somebody else should be here. I'm trying to scare it,
frighten it away. But in this moment as a thunder bolt, i see a close
shut picture of a profile head of an eagle. It is the real owner of
the nest, I understand, and from somewhere it is watching us, and it
needs the chicken. Because its picture penetrate into my heart i just
leave the chicken and the eggs take my attention. The eggs are like a
gently scratched mirror, vaguely reflect my body. I go closer to one
of them, it's cold, and how i hug it i realize it's a stone egg, not
a real one. And while I'm hugging it, suddenly it splits into two
half, from up to down, and the chicken dies in the same time, its
neck get break out, lying deadly. Then the eagle shriekly comes for
the other egg, as a mother for the last child, for the last hope, and
it grabs it, and flies away. But i am as fast as the eagle, and i
just grab the egg, so I'm flying with them, we are going high just
below the clouds. I'm climb up through the egg, the leg, in the
feathers until the eagles neck, and trying to look around. I cannot
see so good, because the wind is strongly coming to my face, but I
have a feeling that thousands of eagle with an egg accompany us. But
the clouds above us take my attention, because a baleful gigantic
shadow appears on it, like a huge huge bird, who trying to take us,
but i just can see one wing of it, but not even that, because it is
so huge, that all of this is just a strong prescience of the reality.
In this moment the picture change totally, i see the globe of the
Earth from outside, how a a huge bat hugs it, taking the Earth as its
egg. And how I understand the connection the before and now, the
Earth with the bat around it become as small as an amulet, the Earth
inside becomes a green taw and even it hangs on a simple string, in
somebody's hand. But this amulet is nothing else as a frightening
story of a turning away glance of a man, with a big mustache and with
mischievous, brazen smile. The amulet is his eye globe, and his look
shoot into my heart, i understand the full story until now. After his
glance he starts go with a forceful speed on the streets of Brussels,
and I know I have to follow him. (Now I'm in the real time, with my
normal size.) Everybody comes towards us nobody follow our direction.
And how I look around I realize that all of the people have no face,
where the face should be there is just a flat skin, completing the
heads form. Even the puppet of a young girl is missing the face. I
hear their noise, voices from afar, laughters, chattering of women,
they seem to be happy. But I just follow the man, who sometimes looks
back if i still there. Then I notice a reddish sack on his back, and
i realize there is something inside, because it starts to move. With
a knife i tear it apart and a grotesque human backward embryo falls
on the street still surrounded with sticky, disgusting plasma, what
quickly transforms into a beautiful, mature woman body, who is
flirting and offering her body, but face, she doesn't have either.
But the bag is again full, and i tear apart it again, and the same
scene repeats itself endlessly.
This text impressed me a lot. You can even read it as a matter of energy.
The Death of the Moth by
Virginia Woolf
Moths that fly by day are not properly to be called moths;
they do not excite that pleasant sense of dark autumn nights and ivy-blossom
which the commonest yellow-underwing asleep in the shadow of the curtain never
fails to rouse in us. They are hybrid creatures, neither gay like butterflies
nor sombre like their own species. Nevertheless the present specimen, with his
narrow hay-coloured wings, fringed with a tassel of the same colour, seemed to
be content with life. It was a pleasant morning, midSeptember, mild,
benignant, yet with a keener breath than that of the summer months. The plough
was already scoring the field opposite the window, and where the share had
been, the earth was pressed flat and gleamed with moisture. Such vigour came
rolling in from the fields and the down beyond that it was difficult to keep
the eyes strictly turned upon the book. The rooks too were keeping one of their
annual festivities; soaring round the tree tops until it looked as if a vast
net with thousands of black knots in it had been cast up into the air; which,
after a few moments sank slowly down upon the trees until every twig seemed to
have a knot at the end of it. Then, suddenly, the net would be thrown into the
air again in a wider circle this time, with the utmost clamour and
vociferation, as though to be thrown into the air and settle slowly down upon
the tree tops were a tremendously exciting experience.
The same energy which inspired
the rooks, the ploughmen, the horses, and even, it seemed, the lean bare-backed
downs, sent the moth fluttering from side to side of his square of the
window-pane. One could not help watching him. One was, indeed, conscious of a
queer feeling of pity for him. The possibilities of pleasure seemed that
morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moths part in life, and
a day moths at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre
opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his
compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What
remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was
all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the
far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out
at sea. What he could do he did. Watching him, it seemed as if a fibre, very
thin but pure, of the enormous energy of the world had been thrust into his
frail and diminutive body. As often as he crossed the pane, I could fancy that
a thread of vital light became visible. He was little or nothing but life.
Yet, because he was so small, and
so simple a form of the energy that was rolling in at the open window and
driving its way through so many narrow and intricate corridors in my own brain
and in those of other human beings, there was something marvellous as well as
pathetic about him. It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and
decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing
and zig-zagging to show us the true nature of life. Thus displayed one could
not get over the strangeness of it. One is apt to forget all about life, seeing
it humped and bossed and garnished and cumbered so that it has to move with the
greatest circumspection and dignity. Again, the thought of all that life might
have been had he been born in any other shape caused one to view his simple
activities with a kind of pity.
After a time, tired by his
dancing apparently, he settled on the window ledge in the sun, and, the queer
spectacle being at an end, I forgot about him. Then, looking up, my eye was
caught by him. He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff
or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and
when he tried to fly across it he failed. Being intent on other matters I
watched these futile attempts for a time without thinking, unconsciously
waiting for him to resume his flight, as one waits for a machine, that has
stopped momentarily, to start again without considering the reason of its
failure. After perhaps a seventh attempt he slipped from the wooden ledge and
fell, fluttering his wings, on to his back on the window sill. The helplessness
of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he
could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched
out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the
failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down
again.
The legs agitated themselves once more. I looked as if for the
enemy against which he struggled. I looked out of doors. What had happened
there? Presumably it was midday, and work in the fields had stopped. Stillness
and quiet had replaced the previous animation. The birds had taken themselves
off to feed in the brooks. The horses stood still. Yet the power was there all
the same, massed outside indifferent, impersonal, not attending to anything in
particular. Somehow it was opposed to the little hay-coloured moth. It was
useless to try to do anything. One could only watch the extraordinary efforts
made by those tiny legs against an oncoming doom which could, had it chosen,
have submerged an entire city, not merely a city, but masses of human beings;
nothing, I knew, had any chance against death. Nevertheless after a pause of
exhaustion the legs fluttered again. It was superb this last protest, and so
frantic that he succeeded at last in righting himself. Ones sympathies, of
course, were all on the side of life. Also, when there was nobody to care or to
know, this gigantic effort on the part of an insignificant little moth, against
a power of such magnitude, to retain what no one else valued or desired to
keep, moved one strangely. Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted
the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the
unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and instantly
grew stiff. The struggle was over. The insignificant little creature now knew
death. As I looked at the dead moth, this minute wayside triumph of so great a
force over so mean an antagonist filled me with wonder. Just as life had been
strange a few minutes before, so death was now as strange. The moth having
righted himself now lay most decently and uncomplainingly composed. O yes, he
seemed to say, death is stronger than I am.
I told someone who doesnt know: people build highways everywhere. Even into solitude.
Now I was on a transport ship, which was mine. Somewhere in a corner of the big river I parked it. But how do you park a ship? I let it where it was, just as it was. I swem, it was large and I was alone.
Waves became bigger and bigger. A transport ship, much bigger than mine, approached. My ship started to move away, its motor was on? With some efforts I reached it. I sat on the ship as one sits on a horse. I was afraid that I dont sit right in balance, that like this I make the whole ship fall with me into the water. Ships came from right and left. When the big ship approached from right, I had to move onward, for from left came another one. There were all kinds of ships. I conducted my transport ship, fast, big, straigt into a tiny water street that was made for little ships. There was no water free, no place to hide, no way to fall. I had to stay calm as ships are calm. But the river was FULL of ships.
Dream 2
I entered a room. I knew it was a psychatry, a forbidden space. From the door a small bridge went over the space. Everything, also the bridge, was white. It all looked as an aquarium. Deeper in space were two residents, they talked loudly with each other so that I heard every word: look, these nurses dont look good. I worry about the nurses. They are to thin. They are almost not there. She approached and took my feet from down under. I climd up. She hang on my foot, I hang on the balustrade;
a moment later I saw them performing. Me and the public were down in the aquarium. The two crazy women were dancing intensively and it was such a touching performance that I havent seen yet. I was ashame of myself; how could I have been afraid of them, how could I take them as crazy? They finished dancing and said: it costs 40 Euro. I saw you!
