Almost a month has passed since we’ve left our country and I’m writing what’s supposed to be the last entry while still on the road. And – as in many previous cases – I’m doing this in a bus.The flow of ideas sometimes stops and I resort to my “muse”: long breaks watching the fast changing environment from the other side of the window. When doing this, I sometime feel like vibrating at another level, on a bridge between worlds, where my mind is tuned to hear whispers that are either the answer to what I’m looking for, or an entirely new idea.
I have this image about ideas being like invisible schools of fish, swimming around us. From time to time, one of them comes close enough to me, not to see it, but to feel the ripples it creates. It’s there for a split second and then it’s gone.
I have this image about ideas being like invisible schools of fish, swimming around us. From time to time, one of them comes close enough to me, not to see it, but to feel the ripples it creates. It’s there for a split second and then it’s gone.
I take a break from gazing and write it down before forgetting it. I forgot a lot of them in the past.. but now I’ve learned to pick them up and store the unripe ones for later.
Andra interrupts my contemplation; she’s telling me she just hurt her foot accidentally – on the chair in front. I discover I’m still not back into this world, I simply note the fact and somewhat coldly continue the introspection.
She’s not going to be happy when she reads this.. But I like it here.. it’s new and interesting for me. I’m going to stay for a a little while longer.
…
Outside we leave behind an imposing mosque.. an image that we’ve already grown accustomed with. And suddenly comes the revelation that almost imperceptibly – the new has turned into old – and soon enough – the old will be new again ..for a while.
