Development?

He leaves the cave and observes the vegetable garden deteriorating.
His wife is very busy attending the new child, just born a few days before, and he must hunt if they want to eat.
Everything will rot in the garden! What could he do?!

Looking around he sees one of his neighbors who lives under the big ferns trying busily to get some limp, almost withered leaves of wild lettuce. Poor man! he has no dwelling place nor even a decent morsel to keep him alive... What if...?

He approaches the poor man and offers him to share a daily coleslaw and some meat in exchange for tending the garden.
The man accepted.

Proletariat had been born!

The music is a fragment of the song "Which Side Are You On" composed by Florence Reece and performed by Peter Seeger.

© 2009 Od Liam.

Unreal

"It IS blue!", said the poet.
"No!", answered the dew, "I come from up there and it is not blue!".
"Then, what is that I see?!" The poet was reluctant to agree.
"Your hope", whispered the dew.
"My hope is green, child!". Logic seems evident to the poet.
"Green?", the dew smiled sweetly. "Colors", said softly before evaporating, "are your illusion!".

Sweet fragment from "Amazing Grace" by Art Turner and a soft background of small brooks and bird songs.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Yearning...

I could see the silhouette through the glass of the door of the dinning room.

I had to repress the impulse to run and grab all that beauty, and approaching silently to the threshold, holding my breath I stole a look to that perfection and stylized fairness.

The exquisite aroma coming from the lovely form assaulted my nostrils awakening thousands of longings.

I entered the room trembling; in the hands of anticipated desire, but once I was close enough I just could touch gently the bare, silky, exciting neck, following in awe with the tip of my finger the edge of the golden cameo hanging from the red ribbon, red as my wanting.

A sudden urge exploded from my innards and I could not stop myself from taking the dainty body and letting it rest in my avid hands slowly to prevent the excess of air to steal the delicious scent and...

...I served myself a generous portion of the most delicate wine ever to be born!

Wonderful piano in a fragment of "Les vagues de Blâne-est" by Ehma from the album "La plage de Blâne-est"


© 2009 Od Liam.

Numen

"I'll be a writer", thought Lark, "and will sing my writing!"
This thought spread itself through the mind echoing on all corners of the inner mystique.

So it was!

Writings and songs filled the space of life given to Lark.

Then there came flocks of Swallows.

"Style", sang one of them, "is short of audience's expectations."
"No, no", warbled another one, "it is not style but subjunctive usage"
"Au contraire", chirped a learned third, "it is the way pleonasms are structured, it disconcerts readers."

Quiet in this gabble, Lark looked pleased to the immense tide of creativity coming from the deepness of the soul.

"Why and for what I write?", Lark asked and the thought reverberated in the mind.

The answer surged powerfully from Lark's inner depth and it was full of light, inexorable, as truth always is...

We are listening to symphony No. 25 in G minor by Wolgang Amadeus Mozart.

© 2009 Od Liam

Omen

"Do not cry for me" is a heroic claim but in the lips of a God it is foreboding.

We are listening to Sad Waltz by Prince Kalender.

© 2009 Od Liam.

Ghost's day

Today is Ghost's Day...

Thinking absently about a line of a new tale I said it unwittingly loud in my mind.


"Whose ghost?", asked Elf.

I growled noiselessly, there we go again!

"Eh... nobody's and anybody's", I had to answer or die.

"But then", the little rascal would not let it alone, "but then, how is it 'a' ghost?

"A ghost, is a ghost, is a ghost!!!" I hammered trying to close the argument, to no avail.

"How do you become a ghost?" asked my elf.

I knew he knew but as always I am mincemeat in his mindhands.

"I am no ghost", I said sternly, trying to deviate his line of thought... Maybe it is easier to stop the moon from circling the Earth.

He giggle as a teenager, sometimes I think he is underage!

"Not you, silly, a person".

"Well..., first «that person» must die", I tried desperately to find a reason to end the discussion, "well, first «that person» must die and then there must be an administrative goof somewhere in the next life, «that person» cannot go to heaven and «that person» cannot go to hell, so «that person» becomes a... Ghost! That's it!"

As always, it was a mistake:

"Next life! What you mean "next life"?! It is preposterous!", cried Elf.

He must have found that word somewhere in my archive and was trying to make his point about my being a nerd.

"Why do you think it is SILLY?" I asked trying to make him go down on syllables. You see, we change sides easily enough.

"Such a PREPOSTEROUS idea!", he retaliated, "when have you been in the next life?".

"Never", I recognized, "but then again I am not dead yet!"

"There ain't a next life", he said. "What happens is that you change tracks".

Tracks?... changing tracks?? dreading his meaning I choose the easy way of correction:

"Is not", I pointed, trying to hurt his grammar ego and start a new discussion.

I should know my elf!

"That's what I said", repeated Elf, "there ain't!"

"You see", he went on, "a person must die to become a ghost, and so it must go to the "next death", not the next life!"

"But", I tried despairingly to keep in touch with reality, "how can you be alive in the next death?, I mean... Ah!!, next death?!!!"

"Nobody is alive in the next death!", Elf retorted.

"But, but a ghost...", I said somewhat incoherently.

"A ghost is a dead person, ain't it so?"

I let that go.

"Yes, dead person", I said, utterly confused forgetting the old wives' tales about animal-ghosts and things-ghosts.

"Well, there you are!" Elf closed triumphantly his argument as if in a trial case he would have said 'The defense rests!'


I swallowed a Valium and a Prozac, drank a glass of water and refused to listen anything else...

Just before I was lost in the dense haze of unconsciousness a thought emerged from my subconscious: Wouldn't all this be a big joke, a huge pun, concocted by Elf?!

Fragment of "The dance of the Blessed Spirits" from "Orpheus and Euridice" by Christoph Gluck, performed by Sergei Rachmaninov.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Micro_Bio or The Gift (Second and last part)

Years went by and one day, adding to my already very confused nature I was informed that I was not any more part of those that warm their bones in the fire of Life.

With my usual soft resignation to the inevitable, I tied up my little baggage with the few belongings I had: some blurred memories of warm and kind hands which owners I couldn't remember and with a feeling of light-heartedness started my journey toward the unknown.

After a trip on a parallel line to time I found myself on a beautiful meadow almost alive in timing with a breeze that made the stems of shining dandelions move as a lively sea.

Colours danced between earth and sky leaving hue wakes that filled the eye with new scents and Immensity coiled in the hollow of my hand as if infinity wrapped around my fingers tried to comfort that daily solitude that clothed me in life.

I quickly removed my footwear and began to walk on the soft grass that carpeted the ground. The contact of the grama and soil with my feet revealed a new secret:

This was home... No, Home!

I started to run and jump over low shrubs, now my body followed me in happy conjunction.

I felt the urgency to lie down over the grass as long as I were and I must be very long since I could not see my feet. I looked up to the sky, the clouds were so beautiful that I wanted to sing and tell the world my feelings so humankind could be with me in this extravagant experience.

Then I knew it! I had to sing it!, I had to write it! And I remembered a sentence read many years ago, I do not recall where from: "unless you change and become like little children..."

That had been, that IS my Gift: "to change and become like a little child", all my life was like that, full and filled by grace. I understood it then and I wanted to convert that gift in my legacy.

I took a thin dandelion spike and moistening it in some dew drops I started to write this tragicomic story of mine and the secret message so, if there are people who still ask themselves what are they doing in the world, could find a small compass showing that deep in our heart always there is a reason to live.

And then again, my innocence and ignorance make me believe that I have thread for a yarn and as a writer this words will reach the heart of my readers...

"Ausencias" Astor Piazzolla's opus by his orchestra.


© 2009 Od Liam

Micro_Bio or The Gift (First part)

Everything started at the beginning.

In a very confused moment I was informed that I had been born.

This happened, years ago, on a small isle with an unpronounceable name: Ghawdex, in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, and even if everybody attending to the event asserts I was there, too, I must admit I cannot remember it.

I was baptized and they say that in that precise moment all the water in the font evaporated, but I guess it is an overstatement.

I tore down my childhood petal through petal, building reality as an infinite pieces multidimensional puzzle unfolded over the eternal hills of the natal hamlet.

Puberty and adolescence assaulted me without warning, preying on my inexperience and youth. I repaired my rent inner tissues dealing the distressed moments of my treble voice with those of off-key baritone with the charm of a diplodocus and a horsefly trying to dance the black swans 'pas de deux' together.

Finally time put me the adult costume but my entrails did not know it, adulthood is a chronology, not an ontological condition. My face came in my help: I looked adult.

During some years I tried to save the world but then I realized that my arrival was late... Way too late!

Astride on time I let it carry me ahead, the sad voice of the Mistral and the icy breath of the Cierzo followed my memories after leaving the cozy world of the 'Mare Nostrum' and the universe opened up to my amazed childish eyes of toddler who looked like an adult.

That very innocence and ignorance were my deliverance, nobody could believe that I could be so imbecile! (perfection does not exist except for especial cases as mine) and that belief made them, (people around me) to cook up stories of conspirations where I abet stronger and darker forces or that I was that darker force myself with wicked, hidden, and unspeakable purposes. This same stories awaken trepidation and fear and took them to show an esteem toward me that they do not feel really, but served well to preserve me from greater evils.

So I flew over human miseries, mine and other's, filling my empty days with arias and readings that as guardian angels wrapped my soul and let me be happy even in the middle of cruel vicissitudes.

Then again, the meddlesome time stated that I was an old man and to my chagrin my body agreed: each time I told to my body: "Let's run to that bush and jump over it"!, my body answered: "Who, me ?!!

And it happened that the inner child found himself alone: older people thought him crazy, and younger fellows, not understanding his predicament, thought him a lunatic.

Again, innocence and ignorance came to help me, looking around I found that my experience in languages adquired in years of traveling our rickety planet could be used to balance different cultures from language to language.

Unscrupulously and with the freedom that only youth can use I started to be a translator and Luck, who as a good female she is, loves naiveté and babies rewarded me letting me feel my intention accomplished, which is all you need to feel successful...

(to be continued)

© 2009 Od Liam.
"A Evaristo Carriego" composed by Eduardo Rovira and played by "Forever Tango Orchestra"

Styx

Pain folded its sails, Death took the rudder.

<Fragment of "Tocata & Fugue" by J.S. Bach, Radio Sofia Symphonic Orchestra.



© 2009 Od Liam.

Why?!

The night wraps me in its whisperings, the dead leaves of the early Fall crackle under the worn soles of my shoes, while a far away cuckoo fills the indigo sky with its mournful appeal.

Memories crowd in stampede and then the agonizing ache of loneliness hits, bending my spirit under the impact of the fatigue of living.

Irremediable and terrible pain that blends with the agony of a distressing storm of despair and leaves a fathomless emptiness in my heart.


I stand faltering under the ancient gnarled fig-tree where can be seen still a nameless etched heart transfixed by an arrow.

Looking back in time I tried to see her again, just one more time, but only the gruesome memories of her livid countenance and the painful cough muffled by the exquisite silk kerchief surges in my feverish mind.

Just that, her gaunt features and my unbalance between the sweetness of tenderness of the time before and the tearing bitterness of the moments afterward.

Now, the dreadful waiting... the deep work of time changing the present rending pain by an apathetic span of life, almost eternal, that will bring oblivion... or will not bring it, but will leave the tissues in my soul frayed and ragged with no feelings or reason.

And among the bewilderment of that maelstrom the wail of the wind crying the question without an answer...

Gigliola Cinquetti sings a very sweet and romantic "Dio comme ti amo" in Spanish

© 2009 Od Liam.

In a hurry...

Death knocked my door but I was already gone...





Fragment of "Funereal March" of F. Chopin by The Philharmonic Orchestra of Berlin

© 2009 Od Liam.

Phantom

It is there!

Hiding in some fissure of the subconscious mind. I can feel it grow! I cannot see it, but I know it IS there!

I despair from powerlessness, somehow I can keep it afar for a while but knowing its presence frightens, appalls me!

There! there! I just could see it again sneaking under the shadows of old memories!

What can be worst for a writer than the so dreaded creative block!?

Fragment of "Walking in the Air" by Haley Westenra.

© 2009 Od Liam.

Message

(Somewhere in an unknown place on a pearly screen)

After entering the last data press the key

Final Judgement

Fragment from "Dancing in Hell" by RMST

© 2009 Od Liam.

Morally ethical

What is the difference between ethic and moral?

Ethic: the command not to eat from "the tree of the knowledge of good and evil"

Moral: the decision to eat from it.

Fragment of "Missing" from "Autumn Prelude" by Zero-project.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Lone and lonesome...

Wolf was roaming the forest immersed in the despair of loneliness.

Far away, as coming from heaven, an angelical singing reached his ears.
Wolf stood still, his soul pierced deeply, the song seemed to dissolve his inner pain in waves of delight.
Then Little Red Riding Hood appeared on the west bend of the path, it was the lovely girl who was singing and progressing through the path jumping first on one leg then on the other in a kind of childish and charming ballet.
Despite his being under the spell of the moment, Wolf could not stop his predator instincts and asked her:
"Are you alone, my child?"
The little girl had stopped startled by the sudden presence of Wolf but recovered swiftly.
"Good afternoon, Mr Wolf", she said civilly, and added:
"Oh, no Mr Wolf, sir, I am not alone!"
"And who are you with, child?" asked surprised Wolf looking around.

"With me, Mr Wolf, sir, with me!"

Fragment of "Little Red Riding Hood" from "Company of Wolves".


© 2009 Od Liam

Nighttime Tale?

The room light dimmed slowly, it was bedtime.
–Grandpa, tell me a story, please, –whispered the child in a drowsy voice.
The old man looked at the child with half a smile drawn in her face and began:
–Once upon a time...
And the time stopped.



Fragment of "L'arrive" by Ehma (Emmanuel) from La plague de Blâne-est and a picture of Victorian painter John Martin "The Great Day of His Wrath"


© 2009 Od Liam.

Am I a nerd?!

Elf, who else?

–You are a nerd!

Elf was busy editing some of my old thoughts into smarter ideas when he turned around and spat these word to my astonished self.

-What?, I replied as I usually did, without originality.

-You heard me!, he continue without mercy.

I felt the usual desire to squeeze his little neck, but controlled myself and asked him:

-Why do you think I am a nerd?

He let drop a small shred of a thought and replied:

-No, I do not think you are a nerd, you are one without my thinking!

-Ok, why? I tried to stop a new line of discussion which would have lost ourselves in a different argument.

- You see, he came again, you like old fashioned music, reading... reading!, of all the dull, boring things on the world, and writing things nobody cares about any more as that mumbo jumbo about love and romanticism! Where on earth can you find a romantic person nowadays? And you are out of character trying to impersonate one.

-Are you trying to insult me?, I asked a bit unnecessary.

-Oh! no, I am not trying to insult you, said the curmudgeon, I am insulting you out of smugness.

-Smugne..., now the desire to throat him was unbearable, the effort to keep mi mindfingers in my mindpockets left me mindless for a moment, then recovering I said between tight closed teeth:

- Will you elaborate, please?

- You see, he countered, what's that of "will you elaborate?", he moved his head from left to right producing an acceptable imitation of my mindvoice, can't you be a normal person and say something in the line of "How is that?"... and all that Opera thing... Whoever listen those bellowing fat ladies saying things nobody understands?

- Now look, I said in a very low voice, I was very near the edge to loose myself into a maze of gruesome acts concerning the head and body of this kinky small creature.

-Now, look, there are words in the world and they are there to be used, it is our business to know them and to make our vocabulary a better thing than the mere two hundred voices, and one thousand insulting epithets we usually employ... and there are no fat ladies bellowing anywhere, you small piece of a smaller than life shirt!!!
I was already shouting and my mindhands were mindfists, so after the last word I realized I was almost over the edge of using words I respect but prefer not to keep company with, so I closed my mindeyes and started singing "one elephant went out to play, upon a spider's web one day..." to calm myself, when I was on the seventh elephant I realized it was not working, so I changed gears and started with "Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, dormez vous? dormez vouz?" The effort to think French words made anger subside, inhaling deeply I finished in a more civilized voice:

-There are beautiful women like Dames Kiri te Kanawa and Joan Sutherland who delight us with their performance and wonderful voices making the words of the lyrics become an indistinct fluttering of butterflies in a "coloratura", you hear me?! I ended, ruining the
image I created with these three pedestrian last words.

He raised his head and looking the tip of his nose replied:

Oh, well! you are a lost case, and with that he returned to nitpicking my thoughts!



Just to make my point I asked myself to start in my CD player "Spira sul mare.." the sweet song where Cio-Cio-San, Madama Butterfly, sings her happiness to be engaged to Pinkerton and where a beautiful Renata Scotto shows her skill and the wonderful caress of her voice.

And everything was well again, swinging with the loving voice of "... la fanciulla più lieta del Giappone... venutta al richiamo d'amore" (the happiest lass in Japan... who came to the call of love) I returned to my usually placid mind.



Fragment of "Spira sul mare" from Puccini's "Madama Butterfly" by Renata Scotto.



© 2009 Od Liam.

I love Opera «Second and last note»

Music can help you to perform the difficult movement of walking in a new environment, no rat race, no need to be first. Unfortunately, not all music is suitable, the raucous kindled voices, the high pitched noises, the repeated beat with no purpose only adds to the irrational race I was talking above. I am not disqualifying this music, you are entitled to like it, I only say that from my standpoint only serve to the purpose of herding and helping to push forward the need to run fast toward nowhere, again this is from my perspective, I can accept that we humans are different enough as not to think alike.

Maria Callas

Besides, to an untrained ear, I mean an ear not used to listen Opera not an “educated” ear, the human voice, the best musical instrument in the Universe, can be ugly. There are various pitches we must train our ear to differentiate before we can enjoy the thrill of music blended into voices.

Once you are lucky enough to have conquered with effort those first steps, you must try to learn what is happening on the stage, maybe most of it is a melodrama but so is life, too.

Why learn this?, simple put: because that is the only way to understand OPERA and the pathos in the characters.

Even if these steps seems difficult, the reward is the best thing that can happen to a person. As it is in real life, whatever you get without effort gives no reward or worse, we seem to acknowledge that the easy acquiring takes away value to the prize.

From passion strong feelings pour, which are diffusely cradled in the powerful arms of music and voice, if you can share the “pain” in Lucia when she has lost her reason broken by the sheer power of sorrow and despair, the words “Il dolce suono” (The sweet dream”) take a new and deep meaning that justify her actions before the “Scena de la follia” (Mad scene), the loving cadence of her voice accompanying the deranged thoughts of true love are movingly human in the inhuman madness that invaded her.

This cannot be explained; as sex and mysticism you must live them to understand their meaning, and to live sex, mysticism and feelings as those of Lucia you must make an effort which can leave you exhausted, even if totally satisfied. Your sentience as much as your body are depleted and at the same time replete with everything a human being can desire.

Maybe you want to tell me you feel like that after sex, mystic experience or any music concert but I can assure you we may be using the same words but when speaking about Opera they have not the same meaning or feelings!


A fragment of the "Mad Scene" from Donizetti's "Lucia de Lammermoor" recorded in 1953 by "la Divina" María Callas.


© 2009 Od Liam.

I Love Opera! «First note»

I do love Opera!

This seems a strange thing in these days and time. How many Opera lovers can you find in the several billions people who inhabit this, our hapless planet?

Our seal, I mean human beings in general, our seal seems to be the confused, mixed, blatant noises and the confused, mixed, blatant actions in growing speed: if you breath, you lose, if you blink, you are left behind, we must go, Go, GO! never mind grasping what is going on around us, no time for that! We must reach the future before it reaches us and becomes long past and use it just as a propeller for the next step into future.

When time overtakes us and we find we are not fit anymore for the athletic feats that filled all the time of our life we find our hands empty, maybe some of us reached the shores of the American Dream, but, and this is arguable, the only thing they have is wealth, poor and stupid wealth with no significance when the line of end is near.

Now, if you could stop and think a bit, lose a small part of the immense wealth you are pursuing since you learned to read the words “one dollar”, then there is hope to fulfill a rich experience in life…

Opera is not a popular music genre. It cannot be. Society as a gregarious group presents a difficult way of living, the bigger the group the greater the competition. This situation demands so much of an individual that any other requirement is to ask too much.

The need of music and lyrics that help people find a way to raise their thresholds on suffering and let them be lost in any kind of ecstasy, in rapturous delight; that separate them from the hard reality, IS a strong need, but that music must be undemanding, able to dull feelings into a kind of stupor that conceal the piercing pain of actuality.

Opera is just the opposite, it tells melodramatic stories, with tortured characters full of pathos and pain, the “real” reality, (except in what is known as “opera buffa“, that is, comic opera which are just a little part of the whole) but the music is the redeemer. When you accept the hurting feelings from those acting, the drama as normal since so is life too, and let music seeps into the tissue of your soul, then OPERA is the only way to set you free, to stir, to shake you into a magic world of bliss and joy without creating a fantasy world for a while nor dampening your human feelings.

Maybe this introduction makes you recoil from Opera or maybe it opens a small crevice of curiosity.

(to be continued)


You are listening to beautiful Dame Joan Sutherland performing a deliciously distressed Elena singing "Mercé diletti amiche" from Verdi's "I Vespri Siciliani", just let the butterflies of her voice caress your soul...



© 2009 Od Liam.

Hunting or Haunting

Yesterday morning I decided to show up in the Hunters' Club, they said there was a gathering to recount member's adventures, and I wanted to tell them about my last one.

When I arrived there were already several persons waiting to tell their stories, I took my time listening to other people tales and when there was a lull around the guests I started, harrumphing:

"A few months ago I went to the African savannah looking for a rare white lion the native mentioned have been seen prowling on the field, I guessed his head, and mane would look nice over my mantelpiece".

"I secured the help of a group of natives to carry my impedimenta and armed with my favorite high powered rifle started to track the lion on the vast expanse of land".

At this time I realized I had the complete attention of the crowd assembled in the room.

"A few miles ahead", I went on, "I found the first traces of the animal, I decided to follow them alone since my group of natives refused to go on arguing that this lion was very dangerous and has already killed human beings. Disregarding this arguments as nonsense I kept going until, some time later I espied the white mane moving about the bush".

Now, the audience was hanging on each of my words.

"I approached silently leeward, looking for a good spot to ensure my shot. The animal was feeding and completely oblivious of its surrounding so I had time to choose the right place, I was already congratulating myself for such a good hunting".

"As I started to raise the gun to my face I heard a low growl to my right, surprised I looked toward the bushes and saw a big white lioness already charging for my throat!"

I made a long silence looking at my audience...
Then one of them could not endure the suspense and asked in a small voice:

"How did you escape?"

"I didn't!", I said, while I dissolved into thin air.


Alfred Hitchcock theme by OST

© 2009 Od Liam.

Correlative

"Hell does not exist!", said the agnostic.


"Then, what does pain exist for?" asked the philosopher.






Sequetia "Dies irae" from Mozart's "Requiem" performed by "Orchestra Scuola Orchestra", conducted by A. Bellaccini, and the choir "Coro Diapason", conducted by P. Ghezzo.


© 2009 Od Liam

Vortex

The day Jorge Luis Borges found out tautology a tornado was unshackled over Literature.


Fragment of "O Fortuna" from Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana"


© 2009 Od Liam.

Worlds

I climbed the chestnut and observed without blinking the cobweb decorated with small beads of transparent dew full of changing iridescent reflections of light.

A few inches below me a small finch tossed off a new warble.

The scent of the forest filled the space around me.

The rugged bark of the tree designed variegated patterns on my skin.

I introduced a small leaf in my mouth and tasted the distinct, intrinsic flavor.

In few moments I enjoyed five universes that seemed infinite from my first six years of live...

A sentimental rendering of a fragment of Ceccini's Ave Maria by Sumi Jo.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Ideal balance

Every morning, when you get up, come near a mirror, look closely to your image and say:

"I am the best, the only one, there is no other better than me"

If you can hold your gaze for more than fifteen seconds without
bursting out in a peal of laugh and guffaw, your self-esteem is in good health!
If you cannot, your humor is perfect!

"Yakety Sax" performed by the band of Benny Hill Show.



© 2009 Od Liam.

The desire of the everlasting hills

When would the desire of the everlasting hills be accomplished?!

Days go away as the hackneyed saying goes: sand between the fingers.

I am not complaining, it is fast, the passing of time I mean, but not fast enough for a light soul with immense wings. Things happen but they are not changing anything. Remember the old rule, change anything that let everything stay unchanged?

Everlasting hills

It is amazing how after eons human beings still keep their old practices of exploitation (such a blasting word!), indifference and hate towards their own species, what is worse, it seems as if there is no signal of change.

Even if all persons on the world (count me in, of course), I am being generous here but lets give us the benefit of the doubt, even if all persons on the world would agree that we are gentle, forgiving and with the heart full of good feeling to our neighbors, evil runs rampant on every place and nook on this miserable planet.

In an optimistic mood one can believe that tares, or better yet darnel, and wheat grow together but reality shows us that the scent of darnel fills all the corners of Earth.

I think we must endure and wait, but it is not easy. Mermaids' songs are stronger as time goes by, society follows paths far away from those mounds and glens we learned to call our own, and when the landscape changes so radically we start to ask: Are we right?, is it worth this solitude and this pain? But of course, when we come to remember we are a small boat in the grieving, dusky ocean of reality, the answer comes easily to mind: "this is how it is, there is no way around, we must accept solitude as our natural environment, no matter how noisy it is, it is all beside ourselves, never into us". We are in here but we do not belong here, not as a solid part of the party we live daily, only as a necessary accessory. So we can enjoy what there is to enjoy and endure whatever there is to endure.

Yeah, right! But it is still a hard bit to bite!
What if...?
Oh! come on!!



A superb version of Lacrimosa from Mozart's immortal Requiem conducted by Herbert von Karajan



© 2009 Od Liam.