miercuri, 19 noiembrie 2014

Doar un moment

Am impresia ca totul se intampla mult prea repede. Nu facem decat sa alergam sa ne rezolvam problemele, sa avem grija de cei din jurul nostru, sa ii ajutam pe ceilalti, sa avem ce manca, sa facem curat, sa strangem bani, sa fim la curent cu ce se intampla pe langa noi. si naiba stie ce mai avem de facut Si, cumva, este de bun simt sa facem asta. In fond, este perfect normal si moral, cel putin partea in care avem grija de ceilalti. Cu toate astea, oamenii se pierd pe drum cumva.

Harta este ingalbenita, patata de cafea si tutun de proasta calitate, roasa pe la colturi si cu inevitabilile rupturi care apar la cute. Nu avem rabdare sa o impachetam ca lumea si sa avem grija de ea. Tocmai de asta nu o gasim aproape niciodata. Si tocmai de asta nu mai stam sa o cautam de fiecare data, chiar daca avem mare nevoie de ea. O refuzam indarjit dintr-un orgoliu stupid care seamana cu clasica prejudecata care zice ca barbatii nu suporta sa intrebe un strain unde se afla si cum ajung din A in B (recunosc, personal prefer sa ma uit singur pe harta, dar nu neaparat din orgoliu).

Si asta ar fi rezonabil daca macar ne-am da seama ca suntem pierduti si ne-am intreba macar cum am ajuns pe strada asta obscura. Daca am pune intrebarile potrivite, ne-am da seama cu usurinta ca avem nevoie sa aruncam o privire pe harta din fundul torpedoului. Nu de alta, dar nici macar nu ne aducem aminte incotro am plecat.

Avem nevoie de un moment. Un moment in care sa ne oprim, sa cautam harta, sa ne dam seama unde suntem si unde mergem. Partea buna e ca daca nu ne mai place bucata de hartie cu indicatii, putem oricand sa o redesenam asa cum am vrea. Important e sa ne oferim acel moment crucial.

Alftel, ramanem pierduti. Din pacate insa, timpul este scurt si mult prea valoros pentru a ne invarti in cerc si a-l rispi.

sâmbătă, 16 noiembrie 2013

O plimbare

O plimbare in doi, asa cum faceam odata. Incepusem sa discutam ca intotdeauna. Ascultam cu drag tot ce imi spunea si absorbeam fiecare vorba, fiecare cuvant. Eram acolo si doar acolo.
Inca odata mi-am dat seama cate am invatat si cat de recunoscator ii sunt. Pentru tot ce a facut, pentru tot ce a fost. Pentru tot ce este. I-am spus si i-am multumit. M-a imbratisat.

As vrea sa mai povestesc, chiar as vrea. Dar nu pot. Simt prea multa durere. Pentru ca m-am trezit.

sâmbătă, 5 octombrie 2013

The Free Prisoner

...
The hallway was narrow and empty. On each side, there were rusty doors, barely hanging on their broken hinges. The air was still. And so was everything. The silence was deafening and the only sound was of death. No guards. No people. No life. No soul.

Not even His. Though He was still there, in the third cell on the right. The cold, damp walls of His room were covered in dust and mold. At first you couldn't see Him, but His silent sighs would stand out of the the pitch black air. He was just skin and bones. If He was anything. Lying on the floor, staring across the room, His skeleton was leaning against the hard, clammy bricks that were once blood red. His pale skin was nothing more but a white thin tin foil that tightly enveloped His cartilages. Dry and creased, this old membrane had plenty of dark red cuts and bruises. Long and short, deep and superficial, the marks of His beatings covered all of His body.

He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. Yet He was there. Somewhere, inside His corpse. Once in a while, His lips were moving, faking a mumble. A mumble that he could not speak, nor hear.

His eyes were staring dead ahead, as if He would expect to see something, as if He would hope something to happen. But darkness pecked his eyes out.

The iron shackles that held him prisoner for plenty of years were broken beside him. On His forearms, one could clearly see the wide bruises He got as punishment for His former struggles. Now, He was still and broken.

Across His body, the brick wall was torn down. A faint ray of light was creeping through the fallen bricks. The light was almost touching his feet, but every time it got closer, the ray was running back as if scared by the horrors the prison once contained. The door to his cell was unlocked. Wide open.

He was Free. He was Paralyzed. He was Blind. He was Deaf. He was Mute. He was the Prisoner.
...