Twilight was quiet, but in my head, I am hearing again the revolutionary noise. Radical, every nerve shock at their own pace, wanting to change. The Left wants to the right and the right wants to the left. The most important are the search for quintessence and transformation is a way to it. My mind tries to determine itself by identifying with the nature and the concept of things, leaving untransformed being-for-itself. The man is a spirit, the idea itself, which is constantly in a motion and confirms its own being. But the movement is a magnificent illusion.
“I’ve changed”, she said to me, “I went through a long process of change”. My being wants to believe you, but some demons of doubt whispers to me in their horrible voices – It’s a trap, don’t buy it. Can love changes you? It is illusion, I know, but you feel it, you can deny it. I feel substance broadcasting through every nerve in my body. And yet, I know it is an illusion. “Don’t believe it”, I am telling to my reasonable self. “DO NOT believe it”, I know I am going to be betrayed. But still, I am standing nowhere and watching this majesty movement of shadows and can not help myself in order to not be drunk with these perfect lies and illusions. I’m scared because I can not fight with emotions. I need those flawless illusions to make me feel alive every time I look at them.
I’d rather not face the shadows, but sometimes enthusiasm takes me over while I am watching them jump around from corner to the corner of my dusty subconscious. Uniformity and universality of their movements fascinate me every time in a different way. Isn’t it very odd how the same things excite you differently each time? It seems to me that the game of these oppositions, who is each time at the border of illusion and lies, gives me the contact with the energetic charge of my entire being. Suddenly, I am feeling transformed, confronted to myself, hesitating between what I know and what I feel. Things that I’ve to learn do not fit into my graceful kaleidoscope of emotional movements.
Some parts of Primitive and Ancient who are left in me refuses to die out. I look at her and wonder is she aware of the magic of the moment and especially of the vulnerability of illusion that she is making? It doesn’t matter. The truth is in the same place as the quintessence, and even do I have to turn every piece of metal into the gold, I’ll still be longing for her. The truth is expressed in the form of a third party, like dancing shadows in an unreality of a movement.
~ Zorica ~