A sailor, swallowed by the sea.
you: left behind, waiting.
Me: swallowed up by the sea, playing.
And now you feel...
"I believe, I once went away from you, a long, long time ago. Out of
a lapidary reason. Without even thinking much about it. And I returned just
as thoughtless. It was my body who first remembered, and somewhere deep inside
me I felt this longing, or no, rather this close connection that I had never
experienced with anyone before. It is there, and I am aware of it.
I did not suffer during my absence, but rather I lived, experienced and missed nothing. I went away without looking back a single time."
Standing in Silence
[Two people are facing each other and no one speaks.
Their feelings for one another are good, but they do not communicate.
Like in the ocean, and waves are touching their feet.
Inside them something is growing. They are concentrated one on the other, however, they are not observing. They are looking: one at the other, perceiving, but not: searching.]
My homecoming in the absolute conviction that that is my house. This feeling
of absolute certainty. But then, confronted with reality, surprised: other
men have settled in. And you? You say nothing. You do not make any decision.
"Wake up, love!"
Then I attack. Out of nowhere. One single movement: the first stab. Blood flows. I stand, the sword pulled out, in the middle in the room. With my head lifted high I am asserting my claim to what is mine.
I have no choice.
Just the possibility of victory.
Oh My Pyrrhus
I did not know that you were fighting a war. And I did not expect that you
were willing to sacrifice just about everything, to win it.
Sacrifice even me.
But you did.
Oh, my Pyrrhus(i)! And you won.
The Burning Fields
[I know that this will never be mine.]
They're setting fire to the cornfields(iii) as I am leaving your house.
I know now that this is no longer my house, if anybodies, it is your house now. I understand now that disappearing is worse than dying. Worse to the ones left behind. If I was dead you could have mourned me. But waiting for a disappeared love eats up the life of the one who is left behind.
So maybe you did the right thing: burnt my house, burnt all my possessions,
burnt all my memories. So that there is nothing left to return to.
Just to move on.
Penelope had awaited Odysseus for twenty years. Image no. 3 (MioMio) describes the scene when he frees his house from the suitors.
However, does but it make sense to await a love for twenty years? So much pain, so much longing? Yes, Penelope is a strong woman, but nevertheless: does it make sense? Should we actually take Penelope as a roll model? The queen, who spent twenty years of her life waiting?
Ultimately one could also see "waiting" as a convulsive adherence to a status quo. And to a certain extent it denotes one's own death, for the flow of life is inhibited. So it is then: our life against that of the disappeared one...
Perhaps I should, unlike Penelope, bury my disappeared love deep inside my heart in order to escape at least with my own life. The sailor that returns after 100 years makes a bitter experience, but perhaps, if one had disappeared for 100 years, one should simply no longer return?