It is nothing more and nothing less than the unfolding
of a space in which it is once more possible to think
One day he saw a wondrous dream. As though, it was not a dream at all. There were weird colours in that dream. There were no colours in that dream. It seems there was something grey. And sparkling. Grey, sparkling and – live. Apparently, such couldn’t exist in the human world. But this was created by human. Maybe this was created by someone’s imagination; or this was only in someone’s thoughts, formed by only touch. With closed eyes. But – this was created by human. Subtle stone colours came back to life, revealing their own feelings. And these feelings touched his brain by stone fingers.
Something stony became movable, fluent, delicate and sensitive… When silence was the distraction of time and space… While time was disappearing, and the silhouettes of eternity came alive… Some wild grace confused this world by its beauty… Some fixed inviolability disturbed this world by a quiet breath… by its weightless touch… and silence… Something very beautiful confused the whole world by its silence, in which any need for understanding was disappearing. Whether someone saw his minds? What the space of our minds is similar to? What is the space of our minds? Is it really a special void – an eternal emptiness where only two sculptures in love exist? Subtle stony creatures – unseen and impossible – exist in the endless lacuna of being, filling it with only movement.
Those stony sculptures play chess. And instead of figures – they move the lit candles. These pale sculptures have no colour, but their silhouettes could be revealed in the twilight shades or with the first rays of dawn. Instead the wrinkles their bodies are marked with cracks. Minds are so similar to a slightly tangible trembling of eternity. And it seems there was no pain – because the stones don’t hurt… But those hoary cracks were so ancient… There was no wind, and there were no people – there was nothing and none among them. Those virgin creatures were beyond time. They were absorbed by intangible plexus of grey and stony touches. Those passionate sculptures touched each other, trying to find at least a little warmth in their grey world. But instead the warmth they had only diamond mirrors. And a wild emptiness of their space was so immense. Sometimes it sparkled with delicate silhouettes of time, revealing the metal convulsions of eternally lasting seconds.
One day he closed his eyes. And he saw a wondrous dream. It was a vision lasted only a moment. It was a vision lasting forever. A strange dream about passionate creatures. As if they were not humans at all. But those stony creatures were so similar to humans… So, whether our minds are thousands of dreams which appear every moment and continue beyond our lives? The silhouettes of minds – distract this world by their wild grace. Minds – are just dreams which touch this world by silence.
Inspired by VGnewtrend
- It is no longer to think in our day other than in the void left by man’s disappearance. For this void does not create a deficiency; it does not constitute a lacuna that must be filled. It is nothing more and nothing less, than the unfolding of a space in which it is once more possible to think. – Michel Foucault. The Order of Things. An archaeology of the human sciences. – London and New York. – 2002. – Part II. 9. Man and Doubles. VIII. The Anthropological Sleep. – p. 373.