life, an inspiration...

 

 

I will remember this

 

On an October day on the outskirts of a city during a waiting period: I walk between golden trees under a blue sky, into the unknown. I listen to the music in the air and the rustling of the leaves and stroll along happily. From a distance, I see a man with wild grey hair sitting on a little wall. He watches me as I go by. He doesn't greet me. He just says: ‘You are enchanting."

Oh. My smile grows big. I hear myself say, ‘Thank you.’

Without thinking and without pausing my steps, I add: ‘Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder." He looks after me as I walk on, and the only thing I hear him pronounce: ‘I will remember this.’

I can't say another word. But I too, Sir, will remember this. Yes.

 

Being human today

 

‘Do you have a loyalty card?‘ I look at the person behind the sales counter who asks me this question.  I have bought hiking boots, size 45, made of brown leather. The saleswoman is about 30 years old. She is wearing the smile from the last sales seminar, one of those smiles that don't make wrinkles out of sunbeams. Her arms stick out of a pressed white blouse, no tattoo. 

‘ Do you have the loyalty card? ‘ I have two tracks. Either I say yes and pretend to look in my handbag, or I say no and add that I'm reluctant to have a rouged up loyalty card. 

I look at her. A sparkling space opens up there in her eyes. Then I hear myself say: ‘Maybe’. 

Now the young woman's face changes. The door to new possibilities has opened. There, her eyes reflect the colours of an olive tree on the hills of Tuscany at dusk. ‘Maybe?’ she asks, ’have you forgotten it?’

Oh yes, like her, I had forgotten. ‘Oh yes, I have forgotten. I forgot the golden sparks in the olive trees on the hills of Tuscany at dusk.’

She scrutinises me. Deep in her chest, she knows. Either she goes for the colours and risks sunny wrinkles, or she thinks of her bonus at the end of the season and tightens her heart.

She hesitates. She exhales. Breathes in. Two, three times.

I don't smile at her. 

It's her choice. 

 

‘Choose!’

 

sealskin

 

at low tide

I always slow down

at the same turning

where I glance over to the sandbanks

are you there, seal? are you waiting for me?

will you remind me of my ancient tale?

I hold my breath

sealskin, soulskin

dive to dream

dream to rise

 

I, you, we

 

I let go of my yearning

today I unravel this We

that you have chiselled with your movements

disenchant, dispel

 

If you had popped the cork

to disperse the clouds

under that starry sky

disenchant, dispel

 

But you took the scissors

and cut off the petals of my night

with innocent precision

clipped its melody

 

Forever and never again

I dissolve it

I let go of that We, 

enclosed under withering leaves.

 

I am not your bonsai

I'm falling apart, I'm falling apart

I am a whirlwind of golden bees

bathing in the flower meadow.

 

I am a rough tree trunk

I am shattered music

and bottomless sadness.

 

Champagne!

 

 

speak out loud

 

 

In the far distance, the horizon 

melts with the sea

Here the head is at the height 

to the sky.

Alone

the wild geese in flight

dare to 

speak out loud.

 

 

 

thank you

 

I thank my fellow humans

for offering me these scenes

in the world theatre.

 

 

nothing is precise

 

Oh, how liberating it is

to live in the approximation.

 

 

dancing between 27.4 and 29.5 days

 

I bow to impermanence

I let myself be cradled by the waves of life

I follow nature 

that structures me

and I dance in the rhythms

of the moon.

 

This mystery cannot be stolen from me.

 

 

 

 ©  irène zumsteg