Hill

The Point

The Alef II

The Alef II

There is a point. I don’t know if physical or psychical. But I think, that if you find that point physically you will find it psychically, too. Yet this point is somewhere over here…

Borges said: the Alef. The One. And not just the beginning: “In Borges’ story, the Aleph is a point in space that contains all other points. Anyone who gazes into it can see everything in the universe from every angle simultaneously, without distortion, overlapping or confusion.” – (full article see here. Full story here)

Borges said: in space. But as in a previous post I asked: What if beyond this place nothing exists? Just you and your brain. Or your soul. Solipsism. — Is solipsism the ultimate state of mind? And in this case my place birth from solipsism is as just in space as Borges’ Alef?

There is a point, that is the sum of all points in the universe.

And I decided to find it. Right here. In this picture. In this place. In this universe.

 

 

ps.: more of point or pointless you should watch here

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By the lake

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It’s spring. You are standing by the lake and all melted. Melted the ice and the snow. Melted the poplars, the creek, the sky. They all spilled, maybe into water. You are standing by the lake, standing on the hills melted into nothingness. An unspecified nothing.

It’s summer. You are standing by the lake and all burned out. Burned out the grass, the road. Burned out the misty dawns, the arid steppes, the days and the nights, and the minutes and the moments. They all burned out, maybe into fire. You are standing by the lake along the road that burned into nowhere.

It’s autumn. You are standing by the lake and all rotted away. Rotted away the fruits, the harvest. Rotted away the colors. Rotted away the rhythm, the melody, the repetition. They all rotted away, maybe into earth. You are standing by the lake on a gossamer rotted away into nothingness.

It’s winter. You are standing by the lake and everything has frozen. Frozen the lake, the reed, the electric wires. Frozen the light and frozen the sound. They all froze, maybe into air. You are standing by the lake in the light frozen into nothingness.

There is? Listen to the shed in autumn aspen leaves rustle, or the ripple on the water under the ice. Curves of the hills repose your eyes, grass could fit your hand. Fog shelters your steps, nights fulfill your days. But there is no lake nor reeds. Neither do aspens. No images on the eye, no sound in the ear. If there would be light, you may say that it’s all white. Or all black. And silence. But there is no silence, neither, it also froze. Lightless, shadowless. Soundless and silentless: the middle of nowhere. An unspecified nothing.

Imagine that there is not. Would grow you a voice. Would you increase you a sound, a taste. A taste, a touch. A touch, a shadow. Would grow you a hope.

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Imagine that there is.

Buy me. Buy me with a shadow.

When the land is…

When the land is someone. It has no color, or if it has, there is no importance what colour it wears.
When the land becomes a person. And you get caught in a relationshipt with it.
When the land is not a pasture anymore, nor mud, nor woods or anything else that you used to see before.
When the land makes you to close your eyes, and only with your eyes shut you can see its breathing.
When the land is your sleepingpartner, to know its rest, or your chest confines while it is embraced by the morning fog.
When the land needs no colour, shapes, and it transforms in a spirit.
When you find this spirit deep in your inner self.
When the land is you.