The parish - ... and so on earth too

The parish – … and so on earth too

At first we only notice the green landscape as it allows itself to come closer and closer, and its mountains open before us, we receive our own alienation, we accept their alienation. Here again – where we have never been. That is: always different and always the same.

The long journey tries until we get there: it prepares us to be wrong all the time, it has never been as good as we have jotted it into our memory, or if it has been, since then it has surely gotten worse, or it is just a one-time experience – for always five years. We have deceived ourselves, and left our wonders to a life unnecessarily wonderful and dense, though it will be an experience and a lot of work, and we are here on these very bad roads, dreaming in a dream, though we could have survived. At home, why can’t we control ourselves, after all, we only have to endure a few days, next year we will not be as irresponsible as this year, for the sixth year in a row.

By the time we get there, all of our cruelty will be shattered. The dullness and wormwood of the conifers catch our eye: we cannot take our eyes off the chipped edges of the pine trees. Somehow we know ourselves with a paradoxical softness, and we don’t even understand it.

We stare at the outlines of beloved bodies long ago moved from our table. The wide windows allow the landscape to intertwine around us, saturate us with its peace, and make us believe: we are truly left behind where we began. Everyone is more beautiful than we remember. There are so many hugs and kisses that you just can’t count. Someone said it gave me twelfth place since quarantine. I will notice for life. I arrived lost, but they will find me soon. They know something about me that I haven’t said before. They just know, and feel it. There is thick love in the air. I have to smile to feel again that I didn’t really imagine. How foolish I was I was amnesiac…

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Everyone talks, I listen with a tired smile, I admire their eyes, sometimes they make contact with me, instinctively hiding under their hands while loyal pets enter the comfort of their owners. They remember me, they remember me, I remember them and we rejoice. Now we are showing what we just expected on the 2D internet. Meeting: Take off the veil lying on the ground. Our naked faces sparkle. Film frames roll and we hear the intertwining sounds of the past and the future from everywhere. Here, so loud, there is still silence.

Sleeping is easier than anywhere else: it relaxes our bodies with the awkward bed, alien quilt, and pillow we live in at home in an unfamiliar room. Morning coffee also tastes better than where we live, in a place I don’t even think of. Beyond a lot of listening, I watch what they’re talking about, and I’m right there with my whole being in every moment.

What we are talking about transcends us, beyond the realm of words, languages, and translatability: we come close to seeing if we can understand what only a truly attentive person can feel. To enter into a covenant with me, to enter into a covenant with him, so that we do not understand all this. It attaches itself to a free and unlimited lock; It’s like a hug when we don’t say how long we haven’t met, how much we’ve missed, how many times we fantasized about this short moment, how much we don’t want it to end until we’ve seen each other, even as much as we thought about each other, how we hoped he was still alive, that we didn’t We’re still alive, and that meaningful touch can come true, which is too important to put into words – so we stammer at something like that for days, in the morning. I mean, about the alliance.

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Then about something else. Endless pursuit of dialogue to dare more about me, then less, to speak and listen alike, out loud, then quiet to say to each other and say words to us, then to understand more about each movement, fragmentation of the past, which we lay as a puzzle within ourselves to one another, So that it makes sense to make an alliance with one another while sitting in the quiet quiet of the church with our eyes closed, and watching that behind the melody there is more than enough of a human voice.

wait for departure and do not go anywhere; Let you patiently pick cherries. Then just stare from afar at the old church tower but don’t regret anything. Have noodles in the morning, noon, and evening, and five cups of brewed coffee too, if someone notices the craving behind our slanted eyelashes and invites you more and more. Fill with water, drink and never get thirsty again. To fit the spacious spaces between the two of you, there is space, for me there is also space in one of the conference chairs, I can put a microphone in my hand and I can say yes, you are the next saint. Write something small in a brochure. To sing falsely, naively, to see whether it is still pure and without blemish, for my voice, and my body, and my soul are soft between you, and that I have a place also.

For a few days, to get away from all that was before and will be on the edge of Mt. To be present in the infinite transient. The belief that all this is unforgettable should not be remembered in the coming year, when we begin. Walk, turn, and a storm that doesn’t even start to rain is already receding, we know ourselves in everything.

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It ends but it doesn’t get away, or I don’t let it go. I put memories in a black and white word document. A letter of recommendation may do. Despite the letter as we know… I do not write more. There must be a place for someone who always brings to life something new, albeit one who tears it apart and then recedes with the occurrence of the embrace: so there must be a place for someone who has written in our hearts this unspeakable but unquestionably good real-life story .

Purbala Farja’s Treasure

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