Sixty-Two

The world was orange and turquoise, sunlight playing on labradorite. There was a man in front of a canvas, painting an ever changing field - wheat, poppies, sunflowers. Van Gogh at work. Orange and turquoise, again. Next, I was in a museum. It was quite dark, but there was an illuminated sphere in the middle… Continue reading Sixty-Two

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Nineteen

And I asked: "What is it like, being a hybrid? Is it like being sick?" "No" she replied, "when you get sick, you had a "healthy" self that got somehow distorted by sickness. But I was born like this, it's not a distortion, it's my being. When you are one type of being or another, you have a home in the land of this or that. When you are a hybrid, like me, you live at the crossroads, your only home is your skin, not even that, because even that might be forever changing".

Eight

I was in the forest, again. I heard birds, and as I looked up, I saw a group of cranes flying by. They turned and started to fly in the opposite direction, as if they bumped into a wall and had to change course. Then they turned again, to and fro, as if they were sewing the sky together, and the distance between one end and the other was becoming smaller and smaller, and I saw that indeed there was a wall, one of water at either end, closing.

Two

It grew very dark and heavy around me, and the room shrank very small, stifling, like a casket. At that point, the bee entered my belly and started to circulate within. It was a very strange feeling, at first it was even painful, but at the same time, very warm, and I started to feel lighter. I looked up and the sphere was growing quite large, and becoming transparent, I could see the starry sky above me. But when I took my eyes off the sky and saw those shadows, the sphere suddenly got obscure again and suffocatingly small. "Breathe" said the bee, "breathe, slower". It felt very warm, and I was pulsating, vibrating like a tuning fork, and the sphere started to grow again, turning transparent to the stars...