Writings
Posted by David
(Par) Taking Flight
Even though she wasn’t there to hear his thoughts, they still felt significant.
It occurred to him that it wasn’t just his feet that were dangling down from his chair, but in fact his entire body. His chair was merely an illusion of support and everything was actually hanging helplessly, suspended. The parts of his body he thought he had physical control over were totally dependent on some greater force that he had absolutely no way of steering. In the scheme of things, this rendered his limited physical control completely useless.
A void opened up.
It was only in his mind, among his memories and thoughts, that he wasn’t at the mercy of these external forces. Thoughts and memories combined to create something different and provide a source of refuge. Thankfully. But even his opinion of this realisation was prone to change minute by minute. During good moments it would be the mechanism by which he regained control and confidence: the provider of conviction and true strength. During the low points the external forces would creep into his thoughts, etch away at them, pollute and infect them before taking flight. They would leave behind a skeleton of incertitude. But in wiping the slate they would also inevitably be the beginnings of a path to a good moment.
He observed this ebb and flow intently as it acted out upon him and his thoughts. As far back as he could remember it had been like this. A perpetual sweeping between a good and a bad moment. And so it would continue. To and fro. To and fro. It was an assumption on his behalf that it was desirable to strand oneself upon a good moment. Unable to justify this assumption, it dawned upon him: without this tide there could be no movement, no journey. Origins and destinations themselves can not be moved and so everything would become static, stagnant. Even if he managed to strand himself on a good point for longer than normal, this very fact would contribute to making the ensuing passage even more difficult. Motion was necessary. The flow between good and bad, side to side, up and down, allowed for all movement. For all change. For all experience. For a multitude of differences.
Standing satisfied upon this apparent triumph of a conclusion, he became aware once again of the outside forces. His legs dangled down form his chair and swung to and fro as the journey deteriorated. He felt a heavy tug act upon his stomach and ruthlessly through him off his summit. But as he was toppled and tossed in his suspended state, the beginnings of a subtle smirk began to form in his thoughts – long before it would reach his face. As his mouth wrenched and gaped from the turbulent screams of a fall, the preparations for the journey to come had already begun.
This journey was his new destination.
Sometimes something you read just clicks and seems so right. It happens pretty rarely though… The following words I found virtually beside each other Paul Bowles’ Stories – Call at Corazón. I never thought the word ‘deep’ by itself could ever mean so much…
Soon he rose and went on deck. The land behind was already hidden by the falling rain and the air smelled of deep water.
The comfort of her presence was lacking and there was the fear of being awakened by her return. When he allowed himself to, he would begin to formulate ideas and begin to translate them into sentences whose recording seemed the more urgent because he was lying comfortably in the dark.
One Response to “Writings”
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richard toulouse Says:
March 30th, 2009 at 1:18 amfélicitation monsieur le prof .je sais je suis un peu en retard desoler ^^ mais je suis vraiment comptent pour toi . j espere que tout te souriras toujours dans la vie et que pourquoi pas un jours tu repase sur toulouse.
Tu sais que de toute facon il y auras toujours une chambre pour notre irlandais préféré ici. au cas ou je te passe mon tel 06 71 61 76 83 .
Do you still have the same...