Andy's Mind

It’s good there is grass here. Out there where I grew up we didn’t have grass, just soil. Grass was simply not allowed to grow. But here there is plenty of it, I lay on it, I feel its leaves beneath me and around me. It’s better this way.

The sun shines, it’s so hot. I just lie. I try to understand why I ended up here, in a park, in the middle of a summer day, disoriented, thirsty. I was sure she likes me. She smiled so broadly when she saw me, she took me in her arms with care and laughter. And then, fifteen minutes later she just tossed me, left me here on this lawn without a word.

I thought she likes him too. He was so worried when he carried me with him, when he paced up and down the alley, waiting. I could feel his hands tremble a bit just before she appeared. I thought she likes him enough to take me as his gift. But no. Soon after he was gone I flew into the air and felt here. I don’t get it. I try. Despite the thirst.

I have this strange feeling I know her. Or I knew her. Somehow her touch was familiar. But I don’t remember. I don’t have much memory. And much time. I’m just a rose.

It won’t be long now, in this sun. I feel thirst. I feel it coming up my stalk. Oh, I’m glad the grass is here. It’s better this way…

A tram is a bit like a library. I rode one to the city this morning. And as I watched my fellow passengers it occurred to me I could be watching books. Some worn down, large volumes, with paper yellowed by time, others brisk, fresh, thin copies just out of print. Some simple, some complex, some scientific, some poetic. All put into this tight, moving space.

Each contains a story inside, a huge novel, made up of moments, some sad, some joyful but mostly dull, mundane, menial. The best part of all is they are still being written, moving, changing as some memories fade and others rise, as emotions flow, as views change, as sounds vibrate.

If only I knew the secret Language of the Souls, I could read them, page by page. But I can only sense their vibes, the stirring behind their covers.

And I can browse my own pages of thoughts and cast them into words. Here.

The weather got worse very quickly. It wasn’t unusual for late September on the Baltic Coast. Dark clouds came with the wind, which blew harder with every moment. Few people that were on the beach turned their backs at the wind and walked slowly away from the sea, leaned unnaturally to keep their balance against the gale.

Amongst them was a small dog, a miniature pinscher, who was all but slow and quiet. He leapt into the air, somersaulted and landed, carried away a few feet by the wind. He then run back and did it again. And again. He barked cheerfully, announcing his joy to the world. He was happy. For much of his short life he dreamed about being able to fly. Now he could.

So, I was on a picnic yesterday. I didn’t take my car, but instead went to a place in the city where everybody met and got a lift from there. I ended up on a backseat of a luxurious Toyota station wagon with two guys I didn’t know. They didn’t know each other either. One of them was a famous photographer, the other was not.

The talk was slow. After a few exchanges I knew they prefer their own company and just listened silently to their chatter. As we were going smoothly through green suburbia one of them finished discussing how communist rule spoiled the society (in the context of seat-belts), and noticed the beauty of the landscape. After a while of complimenting back and forth how nice the surroundings were The Non-Photographer remarked, that he hates all the billboards and signs along the road, that distract him greatly when he drives. On top of that, he said, they also spoil such a great countryside.

– Oh, yes, that kills sensitivity for true beauty in the society – commented The Famous Photographer expertly,
– It has to be regulated! – said The Non-Photographer angrily,
– Absolutely, corrupting the countryside like this should be prohibited – agreed The Famous Photographer.

And we drove on. I just sat there with a sad half-smile, wondering whether I already lost my sensitivity for true beauty. Did you?