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It was all pretty confusing to begin with. Who would have thought that a simple, apparently trivial, journey by tram, could throw me into such disorder? It was an obscure situation: an incursion into the unknown. It seemed to me that all of them were there for a reason. Destiny decided that the staring-straight-ahead lady would sit on the fifth seat from the window. I was asking myself what had happened to me. Was this journey so important?! The unknown had been striking me with no mercy until now. This was the moment when I realized what I hadnāt be able to understand in 25 years, since I first opened my eyes in this world. Suddenly, unnaturally, an image that grew from concrete allowed me no peace of mind. It was like the most beautiful red rose had risen from ruins. I just couldnāt perceive the significance of the numerous feelings I had. I felt my body melting into the image reflected in the window.
A painting was revealing itself to me. It was a young, exuberant artistās work. He was so youngā¦ His tone had a specific strength. I could see the freshness of a mysterious spring. This image is coming back to me. Itās encrypted on my feeble retina. Iām trying to pass beyond the everyday world and discover this miracleās secrecy. With fear, Iām stepping into luxuriance, a labyrinth full of twisting curves and crooked paths. Step after step, idea after idea, light after light, Iām drowning in my life. This movieās première is an unprecedented thing. Itās the first time I have seen this script. You would be blessed to see the première. I already knew that my soul is an unexplored field, but I didnāt realize there was a battle. The war of my being: the antibodies of ideas struggling with the mess outside. This frame is showing me everything. Itās the best banner ever made. Itās so beautiful. In its monstrosity itās even something sublime. Do you remember the end story of a movie? The names of the actors appear one by one. I donāt know this paintingās characters. Am I that innocent? Why am I running? And where? Iām scared. This experience could take my entangled fate to a place with no escape. I want it to leave. I want it gone, and out of existence. Iād like it to stop. āDonāt call me anymore!ā This voice sounds like the 5 p.m. trainās whistle. Iāve always asked myself why the train always whistles on hourās point. Iām afraid of the same, inconceivable fear. One day it will take me into its arms again, intoxicate me and make me forget my existence. But stillā¦ itās not the fact that I could lose my existence that hurts me. I want to freeze the moment, so I can see again, as a piece of art, that dayās photo. The paintingās words had in their gentle substratum, silent pleadings and ignored frustrations. When I looked at it, I donāt know what deep forces made me vibrate like the stretched cords of a violin tortured by a grave and threatening song. I saw trees and heavy leaves. It was all like the planetās birth, when the Paradiseās souls didnāt want to come down on Earth. They were running away from their own Creator because He had already written the story of their future lives. If I were a traveler-soul, probably I wouldnāt give up a saintās life. In other times I would have been happy. But not now. The Earth is too sad, too worried. Humans donāt know to smile anymore. Itās quit now. The trees are showing me last centuries` people. The souls are not lingering around the Globe anymore. They are ghosts that shadow our presence. Probably they are my immortal ancestors. Am I that soul whoās running to the light? Sheās down now. Sheās in the valley, running with the wolves. Why? Sheās seen what crime means. She never thought that a tree could tell more than the sky and its stars. The light behind her is confused. Sheās running for light. The trees inhabit in thick trunks like blocks of rock. They look like an armed cast guarding a world. The big tree in the centre is hiding something. Or maybe itās the leader of the cast. The innocent girl is my nature. Could my soul be embodied in her? Then, I would consider myself superior to everybody. Could my soul be so blind that it canāt see the road? Itās sad: a vague shade of gray. Itās not the colourās fault I canāt see. Itās mine, because I ended up guiding myself by instinct. I never wanted this to happen but I followed the rules. When the world is screaming you can hear my voice in its uproar. If it werenāt so, then probably Iād be considered the most unhappy person. But what is happiness? The joy to live is just what you feel, itās the smile of your body, not as otherās. But weāve forgotten this for long now. In this way, with no sign of humanity, we can integrate perfectly into the beasts` world. We are always hiding, we are running so fast after the future that if we could we would just forget our past and memories. We are always searching for a breakthrough. If I could just see the sky in this painting. Then the forest would be the Inferno compared to it. But if ā¦is this the Paradise? The grimmest beings are Godās creatures also. What if this is the Forgotten Eden? the most precious beauty. Happiness and beauty are both wet in the cup of subjectivity. There are people to whom the Paradise is a forest. Their simplicity is grand, is admirable. I usually dream. In fact, Iām sick of dreaming. Iām always in the quarantine of my ideas. Many persons canāt understand them because they havenāt found the potion yet. You can find it everywhere. The potion is stored in the painting I saw that day, in the tram. You just have to look for it and it will come to you. Then you would be cured. But this wasnāt a dream. It was all so real that if somebody had pinched me I would have felt an enormous pain. Coincidence took me to this unexplored part of the world. Like a wind, it let me down suddenly and left. There are no coincidences in dreams. I was in the āsteel animalā number 5, the machinery that usually carries me downtown, to work, when I found the answers Iāve been looking for all my life. Iāve always searched for the moment when truth can be revealed to me, can free my mind and give me wings. I just couldnāt think that a simple painting representing a forest could answer all my existential questions. Iāve finally understood. Iām not afraid anymore. This night would be the first quiet night from now on. Iām not going to wake up being afraid to live anymore. Iād like to tell somebody about the mysterious image that strikes me threateningly, each time I get on the tram. I can remember that day perfectly. After 30 years, itās just a dusty date, marked with red on a sheet of paper. Itās the same, old silence now. The trees, as colossal as in the past, are trying to make me remember the fear. This old painting is not a mystery anymore, but itās beautiful. Every moment something can come up. This time is a painting that moves: it changes. Yesterday was green, tomorrow-gray. Today is white. Not because something erased my memories. Itās white because white means more then the whole rainbow. I can see shadows, white, vertical and horizontal lines. Have you ever seen a white painting? Itās the best view you can ever see. It changes all the time: it sings, it makes funny faces, it smiles and it cries. Everything that matters is your shadow. This is why this painting is the image of the present. A shadow can not live without its possessor. The light is reflecting its beauty in the best way it can. The first time I saw a white painting I realized that nothing can be more beautiful than this. Art is just an imitation, but a white painting is life itself. Now I can confess: I discovered the secret. Iām fulfilled. By Oana IacoviĆ¾Ä ā Nicolae BÄlcescuā Highschool |
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