Power source

Something is stuck.
I feel I have been the same person
for too long now,
every day for the last four weeks
I have, strangely enough, woken up
as myself.

For years,
every single time,
I have had
the habit to show a
a reinvented person
To You. Even if you have not been here.

Your absence doesn't make
a difference. One day,
you will show up unexpectedly,
And I will have to present you
Someone New. So you will see proof
that this is heading
somewhere.
And that things
make sense. This life.

But for the moment
the wheel is not turning.
Now I will have to hide
from you. Wait patiently-
work secretly-
in the dark.

Strength

We were sitting in an old historic cafe in the center of the city both overtly overdressed. Our daily boring routine had pushed us into an exaggerate compensation for this one occasion that we were able to leave the crib.  My friend was having some hard liquor and I was sipping a double whiskey on the rocks. People were looking at us, at those crazy girls with long black dresses and glamorous make-up. We were only focused on each-other.

We needed to catch up many weeks in very few minutes.
My friend was talking in a composed and firm way.

'I told him, you're in or you're out. And when he then started murmuring a bit, I raised my voice and told him to leave it at that. That I wanted to end it here'.

I nodded sheepishly, not quite sure what to say. She looked happy and relieved, as if magical forces had overtaken her gloomy tiredness.

'I feel so much better', she continued, 'At least now I know my starting point. Being alone'.

I listened to my friend and was astonished at her decisiveness.  She had the guts to close doors, to make things clear and easy for herself.

'I don't like things to be vague', she said.  'Transparency is my new mantra'.

Myself I was more in rocky hazy grey landscape now, continuously postponing the land of black and white, not knowing how to change my situation. In my world, the guy wasn't in or out. He was somewhere in between, and the country borders seemed to change every day. After all those tiring years, it started to become difficult to defend my war.

'So, but when he started murmuring, what did he say?' I finally asked.

She looked at me in a slightly dazzled way, as if it was a sin to be interested in utterances that investigated Human Doubt. Clearly I had read too many books, being too much aware of the human subtleties and inconsistencies. In my world, irresolution could go hand in hand with love and people could do the opposite of what they meant. I guess that was my pitfall. And my strength.

'He told me he didn't like my decision, but I had made up my mind. I am sticking to my point'.

I wondered when Decisiveness would ever inspire me. During which starry night the gods would finally condemn my mind to òne single compass point, walking òne single path? My life started to look like a labyrinth and there were very few companions left on my route. I guess I had only myself left to talk too. So my new mantra was silence.

The only thing I knew was that I was doing it and that therefore it was good. And I didn’t need any proof.

Mothers and Daughters: part II

There are a few things you experience only once in life.
Like the death of a parent.
And the death of the other parent.

They've even invented a word for this.
Six letters that clarify your new position
and reset all connections you have built up so far.

You're now an orphan by definition,
Better let the word sink in for a while.
There are several things no one warns you for.
Actually most things no one warns you for,

From now on the endless running stops
And everything around you is finally real.

Simplicity

Today her means of survival was to be simple,
to be a human being uncomplicated and
easy-going of mind.

It had been a sheer practical decision,
no inner impulses, no intense emotional drive.
She was going to structure the chaos -
And organize her life as if counting to ten.

The strategy was easy: her work load had to be
doubled and her meals would never anymore
be taken-out.  She was going to dig the earth and
dirty her nails, peel the potatoes and rub
the floor. She was going to throw herself
in the world of hard labeur and
thoughtless existence.

That evening around 11.30 pm she finished doing
the dishes from her 3-course meal. For some
vague reason she had invited the big family
living opposite her in the street. They had
brought their 4 kids of which she was now
seeing the result in her living room.

She knelt down and started rubbing
the carpet to remove the orange juice stains
and specks of bolognaise sauce. When she
lifted her head, her eye fell on the extensive
to-do list she had pinned on her fridge,
with the deadline coming up very soon.

She and her sister had always held firm
belief in extensive enumerations of
useful chores to do.

An extreme fatigue fell upon her,
her limbs felt stretched and ravaged,
but she knew: now was the time,
the time to keep up and
continue being focused on the tiny little
light that she had detected inside her brain-
like a hard rock, unmovable and brave.

Slowly she got up and conscientiously she
started implementing the first item from the fridge.

In the early morning -somewhere between the
dark hours of the night and dawn- she woke up on
the barren kitchen floor, fallen asleep with seven
more jobs waiting for her.

She lay still a little while, looking at her shiny
cupboards and her clean house.

She was happy.
She had slept as on a bed of roses,
and hadn't wasted a second on any
useless   e n d l e s s
thought.

The Cave

It was as a silent pact between us:
our visits to this place could never be revealed to the outside world.
They did not fit the image we had created of ourselves and
they would by all means ruin the solid identity we had projected
so consistently into the atmosphere:
pure, cool, fearless and anarchistic.

We regularly came here almost incognito,
enjoying the world of Santa Claus and fairy tales,
forgetting the intensity of our raw and so-called uncompromising life.
The shiny Christmas theme cups were smiling at us from
the wooden shelves and the big leather couches made us forget
our deeply rooted melancholy for the few precious minutes
that were about to come.

On top of that we had coffee.
Strong coffee in big cosy mugs so we could warm our icy hands
during our much needed first-aid conversation. My sister was
sitting opposite me and she had pulled out the big guns:
in front of her was standing a Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

"So, what's up?" I started in an attempt to stir up the glossy air
that surrounded us. The café was full of people and there were
urgent conversations going on in every dark corner of the cave.
"Lately I feel as if I am in a rud", she said, "you know, the mud pool"
and immediately she took a generous spoon of the whipped cream
that topped her drink.

I looked around and suddenly realized how places like this were
a cover-up for the feeling she was now trying to bring to the surface:
The intangible doubt. 

"To solve this I will go cycling through the US national parks for three
months", she continued. "But I need a companion, you know,
for the bears".

The bears. Real animals. I now realized how deep the rud actually
was- and how we were used to fix every problem on our path.
Also the unsolvable ones.

But at least the problem was different now. 
Usually we were overwhelmed by the violent rhythm of obligations
and pushy idealistic causes we had committed ourselves too.
And here, in the presence of sparks and colours, warmth and
cheap music we had for so long stretched ourselves to
be able to bear that life.
At least, until now.
Suddenly the running seemed so idle
and our purposes so unclear.

I guess that is what one calls: making progress.

"That sounds like a good plan", I finally said.
"We are pure, cool, fearless and anarchistic
after all".

We both took our jackets and went outside
into the cold air and
crispy sun.

Geruisloos

Vergis u niet
Zoals de mist zich dubbelplooit

En in oude naden en voering
Zich vastzetten zal
Het is onmogelijk, zeggen ze
Het anders te doen

Zoals verdwijnen zonder rookcirkels
De tamtam trommelt in de wind
‘Zij liet een afscheidsbrief achter’
Is niet aan mij besteed

Luister goed
We moeten praten
Koffie en melk
En geef mij nog die taart
Is geen goed idee

We zullen op elkaar
inhaken
Het eens zijn in deze kroeg
Waarom we het
Moeten doen

Dat weggaan
Van elkaar

Daarin komen we
Meesterlijk
Overeen

Zo overeen
Zodat
We telkens denken dat
Blijven
De oplossing is

Trouvé

Ik heb niet naar je gezocht. Geen centimeter heb ik mijn hoofd naar rechts of naar links gebogen. Noch heb ik aan je gedacht of op je gehoopt, ik wist zelfs niet dat jij een mogelijkheid was. Mijn activiteiten bevonden zich in prille oorden en ik was op zoek naar andere dingen. Ik had net een huis gekocht en had een nieuwe hobby in mijn leven. Ik zou de verjaardagen van mijn vrienden vieren, eten deed ik liever alleen. Mijn dagen waren veel meer dan enkel tijdverdrijf.

Tot ik uit het steegje kwam tussen de straat en mijn achtertuin. De zon was gewelddadig, ze overdreef en deed pijn aan mijn ogen. Dat gaf me een reden om stil te staan. Ik hief mijn hoofd op en probeerde de leegte aan de overkant te zien.

En daar stond jij.
Ik zag je en alles was veranderd.

Ik kon me niet meer omdraaien en doen alsof. Want alles lag al achter mij. De verandering was geschied. Ze hadden mij geen keuze gegeven, voorbereiding was tevergeefs. De aanloop was mijn ganse leven.

Ik keek opnieuw, de zon was feller nu. Je was mooi in het stralende licht.

todo pasa, pero a la inversa

Ik wil vrij zijn
Sla mijn wolvenkop eraf
Er is geen veld om op te jagen
De ketens ratelen hard

Noem mij
Tussen de anderen
Noem mij
nu apart

De goden hebben mij verlaten
Ze hebben een oorlog bedacht
waarom wil jij nu praten
Het geheim is van kracht

De wolf heeft een vriend gevonden
Zie hem daar nu zo staan
Ik weet dat jij kan komen
voor het eerst zal hij weerstaan

’t gaat om het verdwijnen
in u, rond u, erdoor
uit mijn eigen lijf
de mensheid is in nood

Laten we ze samen redden
Hier, nu
In deze dierenkooi gesperd
’t gaat om het bevrijden
Alleen twee lichamen is te mooi

Om waar te zijn
Zeg jij

‘k Voel de leegte dichterkomen
De toekomst stormt op ons af
Enkel het ritme blijft over
Dat is wat jij de luchtbel gaf

Nu struin ik door de dagen
Een vrouw is nooit alleen
Het tempo is te dragen
En beminnen kan iedereen

Maar niet
zoals jij
mij
toen
die nacht

Zonder titel

Ze heeft een fout gemaakt. Een beginnersfout. Zij, de Ervarene, is erin getrapt. Met ogen die kunnen denken en een verstand dat kan zien. Eén nietig moment van onoplettendheid blijkt nu nefast.

Ze heeft tegen de man die ze graag ziet, gezegd dat ze hem graag ziet.

En daarbovenop heeft ze er nog achterna gegooid dat ze goed met hem kan praten.

Ze is nog wat blijven haperen, maar het was al te laat. Hij draaide zich om en viel in slaap.

Haar zeskoppige jury zit nu op een rij tegenover haar en kijkt haar vertwijfeld aan. Alle zes drinken ze thee en kraantjeswater. Drie van hen houden hun handen krampachtig rond hun stoelleuning geklemd en de jongste bladert zenuwachtig in een lijvig boek. De oudere juryleden bekijken haar met grote donkere ogen.

Lange tijd zeggen ze niets.
Ze zwijgen en staren haar aan.

Dan gooien ze de vragen naar haar toe.
Hoe is ze zo stom kunnen zijn?
Hoe heeft ze zoiets durven zeggen?
Zoiets zeggen is toch alleen veilig bij iemand die je niét zo graag ziet?
En de gevolgen, die zal ze zelf mogen dragen.

Uiteindelijk slaat de jongste het lijvig boek dicht en kondigt aan dat er geen remedie bestaat.  Maar een straf, die is er wel. En die zal ze de volgende weken aan den lijve ondervinden. Of waarschijnlijk net niet meer aan den lijve.

Zij zit alleen tegenover hen aan de andere kant van de tafel en probeert nu een koffie te bestellen. Het is druk in de zaak en de ober schiet haar wederom voorbij. ‘Een koffie, zwart’, roept ze nog. Misschien heeft hij het gehoord.

De zes kijken haar gespannen aan. Waarschijnlijk wachten ze op iets dat zij nu te zeggen heeft, wachten ze op haàr visie op de feiten. Maar zij heeft geen visie op de feiten.

Zij ziet alleen mist tegenover haar en een brede oneindige tafel die haar van de zes scheidt tot in de eeuwigheid. Plots zet de ober een zwarte koffie neer. En wat melk.  Bedachtzaam neemt ze een slok en dan weet ze het. Er bestaan twee kampen bij de mens: er zijn zij die koffie drinken, en dan zijn er de anderen die dat niet doen.

Méer valt hierover niet te zeggen.

Beyond

I know there is one spot beyond our universe
Infinitely small, and incredibly far away
A silent dark planet, warm enough, with some flowers and shady light
Where i can be
In one form or another
That I can reach
In one way or another

Don’t ask me how, or
What i will be

Death is too close from here,
it is just two or three lives away
And there are only other wars families
Kingdoms galaxies and libraries

Not so long from now, after I finish this cigarette,
I will jump over something
With my right hand I will shove all the existing planets aside
I have to get through
A vast huge cloud, impenetrable because of all the stars
Boundless bloody space

To get to that place

Something in me perceived the gate
I noticed how it tried to communicate
It will show me the way
‘That is what I can do for you’, it said.
‘There you will be safe’.

Yes. Death is too close, it is just two or three lives away
And there will exist words like ‘connection’, and ‘love’
And something will remind me of you
There

But there should be no reminding
Line
Hook
Not  even  that

Sleep

I can't take sleep seriously.
There is too much innocence during,
All the madness of the day disappears,
And I have to face the morning without agitation,
Start the day with a blank page,
Without chewing over past turmoil
Or analyses that have to be made.

Honestly,
There must be something they are not telling me,
Like the nightmare at the bus stop,
The lying awake all night,
Where is the missing pillow, the hard mattress
That compensates for the soft meadows and the flying like a bird.
Pink clouds are dangerous.
And I insist,
I insist vigorously
That you introduce me to
Real sleep.
The one that teaches me the day.

I don't believe you anymore if you say that
You dreamt about
The lilies in the valley,
I caught the black glimpse in your eye
That told me all the rest,
That what was never talked about.

Last night there was a tinkling in the room,
A silent jingle near the bedroom floor,
'All waiting should stop one day', it said,
'And sleeping has to be done with your eyes open'.
'Yes', I spoke out loud to the darkness, 'You are right.
I shouldn't wait for no-one,
To see,
To wrestle until the morning,
And carry my blanket to a dangerous place,
In order to sleep there where ebb and flow can overflow me'.

Bodemloos

Alles is veranderd de dag dat ik leerde met de honger om te gaan.

Wegkrijgen kon ik hem niet. Hij was er altijd, zelfs als ik net gegeten had.
Soms, afhankelijk van het maal, was ik wel eens vijf minuten verlost.
En na uitzonderlijke delicatessen, kreeg ik een half uur.
Dan heb ik het over: de beste vis, kraakvers en op zilte manier bereid. Groenten, kleurrijk als de ochtendzon, naar zichzelf smakend. Kruiden met de smaak van de wereld in zich.

Ooit, één keer, kreeg ik een hele dag. Ik telde de vissen in de vijver aan de overkant, en keek naar de scheuren in het plafond.

Op het einde van de dag ging de zon onverbiddellijk onder. Tevergeefs zette ik er mjn schouders onder om zo het dalen tegen te gaan.

De honger kwam terug samen met het eerste licht. Ik zag het snijden, wassen, mengen, mixen, roeren, bakken, sudderen en schikken weer voor me.

Escape

Finally you have made it. You are sitting on that cosy terrace, alone, coffee in front of you, a newspaper. Exactly what you have dreamt of all these weeks, when jumping around between buzzing phones, demanding customers, friends' kids and mandatory gatherings. You devaluated yourself to the background, riding the train you yourself bought a ticket for in the first place. But now you are here and you need to concentrate. You say the word out loud to yourself: con-cen-trate. No time for the newspaper. Only a few hours to re-think, to move your life around and leave the café with a plan in your hands. You want time for yourself, to Live Your Life Fully and Without Compromises. Front cover guru magazine style. You wonder how you ended up like this.
First you start by cancelling all upcoming appointments. Disappointing other people will become a daily routine. You need a wide white open space- that will have to filled up again, fine-tuned to your own needs.
You know beforehand time won't be enough to do everything you have never done. You delete reading books, you plan a cleaning lady, you order take-out. You only do the most efficient sports.

You are working consistently and speedily on your life.
Suddenly you notice you are not enjoying your coffee. You are stressed. You refuse the vegan extravagant apple cake - too many calories, distraction from the list.

You have 45 minutes left to sit, to finish up, to come up with something. After that you have to dive back into the race.
Then you notice something. You are doing it again. A-gain. A big sigh. Disbelief. But time is not up. You reach over, grab the paper, wail the waiter for a giant chocolate fudge and spend your 45 minutes.

picture from http://pascalcampion.blogspot.com

Regie

De clan van nonkels, tantes, neven en nichten wist even met zichzelf geen blijf. De grootmoeder was op de kast geklommen. De mater familias van 95 had het gewaagd om de ramen boven de keukenkastjes te poetsen.

Ze moest hen nu toehoren.
‘Dat is onverantwoord gedrag’, zei een vrouwenstem.
‘Je moet begrijpen, als je valt’, voegde het nichtje toe.
‘Trappen en hoogtes zijn taboe. In de tuin werken mag’, concludeerde de oom met het hoogste diploma.

De oude vrouw zei niets. Ze zweeg en keek naar al diegenen die er nooit geweest zouden zijn zonder haar. Ik zweeg ook. Het was net om wille van de trappen en de taboes dat ze het zo goed had gedaan.

‘Misschien is ze nu oud genoeg om zelf te beslissen wat ze wil’, probeerde ik nog.

Even later waren ze allemaal weg. Alleen wij twee zaten in de zetel. Het bleef een tijdje stil.

Mijn grootmoeder zuchtte diep en keek uit het raam. Ik zag een traan opborrelen in haar linkeroog. Ze was oud, waardig oud, en had een lange sliert nakomers. Je zou kunnen zeggen dat ze een reden had om te blijven. Voor even toch nog.

Het bleef stil, maar ik knikte, omdat ik het begreep. Zette me zelfs schrap. Voor het altijddurende eeuwige morgen.

Het leven heeft zijn eigen logica.

In Love (< Deathly Hallows I)

Harry (to Hermione about Ron): Are you still mad at him?
Hermione: I am always mad at him.