Writing

---

at my desk, bathed in the smooth light of the lamp, blanketed in the warmth of the evening air, I hear a whisper. A gentle whisper of my heart. Pumping through my veins and skin out into the world. With arms wide open, I am welcoming all that life gifts me. Curious and full of wonder of yet another day. Rocking from side to side, picking the silky petals of days, I watch my mind. Dancing, in the infinity playground with my inner child. I can almost hear their laughter. I place a gentle kiss on its forehead and embrace in a hug. I watch them play some more. As thoughts pop in and out, I watch them too, swimming away with the gaze that takes me into the horizon of life. With its peaks and valleys, the rhythm of days, I rock in the hammock of life. I take a breath in and blow a kiss into the unknown open air. Somewhere there a star is born, a tree is planted, a new mountain erupts, a lover dies. Ideas like waves wash through my mind, one comes, one leaves, another one is formed somewhere in the vastness of space. Splashing my face with memories, I am at peace. I blow another kiss and wave it goodbye. I am love. 

London, 6th May, 2024

We parked the car near the small church. Until I opened the door, everything seemed normal, nothing more than ordinary. Just another trip. It’s only after I stepped out of the car, I realised I am embarking into the unknown. I was immediately taken into anew dimension. The tall tower of the church, like an ancient monument, soared into the heavy night sky, almost pinching the grey cloud above us. It dominated rest of its gothic body, in pressing and demanding silence requesting our vision to acknowledge its existence right to the very top. Equally high ink-black trees were casting shadows on everything around. The only available pieces of light were reflections of the moon finding its lost way through thick mud-like sky. There, above our eyes, behind stone-built wall hide away a graveyard guarded by an iron-cast gate. The persistent cry of ravens echoed into the darkness. He crossed the street and rested his hands on the low wooden gate. Down below spread a valley filled with pointy tree tops just hand away into the abyss. I could feel his strength pulsating though a firm form of his corpse. Anything that found its way into his fists would be crushed to death. Yet, I never felt so safe. Everything appeared to be like a vision, the whole experience, out of this world. Nothing seemed real. 

This set the tone for the rest of the night. 

As we walked the town’s main road towards, what we assumed was a coastline, the warm light of street lamps became more frequent, creating the place more familiar. Although, it still seemed like a dream. Two intruders who accidentally stumbled crossed an alternative reality, causally strolling through somebody else’s story, exploring it like unguided museum visitors. We silently wondered the streets. 

It was well past midnight. Yet the town was alive, as it just awaken from its sleep. The picturesque old fishing village resembled more of a terrain rather than a real town: the rhythmically occurring humid lights lid on the bricked walls, the woven baskets bathed in generous blooms of fresh flowers. Everything had a hint of a certain undefined quality, as an artificial scenery ordered from a catalog and arranged accordingly to the owner’s preference. With each step we became more lost in its reality: the textures became more apparent, the little details more noticeable, senses more distinctive; however as I was becoming aware of it, I felt as completely giving in its subtle magical effect, allowing its power to take over me, never even trying to oppose to it. It felt good, I was relieved to gave up the illusion of control over everything for once. There was not a worry for the effects or concern for the consequences, it was just me, and him, and the village, as nothing else existed. 

As we were approaching closer, the air was filled with people’s unrushed shooting chatter, as a perfectly selected soundtrack, unforced and natural existing here, like waves of the sea below us. Still none of it felt real. It came across as we entered a miniature replica of the world, build out of cardboard, perfected with an artisan hand of a craftsmanship; yet no one seemed to notice, neither us, nor the fact they live in made up reality of a story telling scenery. Have we shrink? I felt like a trespasser, a passive spectator peering though someone else’s key hole right into their own world, like a tourist who purchased a ticket with a right to view privacy of someone else sacred life. It was an artificial yet beautiful world, mysterious, mythical, nostalgic. Was I sold an experience? 

I had an idea for a story where characters enter different worlds through the pages of the book  and become a part of the narrative. I made a mental note. 

We followed the natural turn of the road to the right. It suddenly went steep and we could see the sea with its dramatic coast spreading underneath. The sound of people’s chatting started to fade in the distance behind us. There was a momentary silence as we were entering yet another stage of the unknown territory. 

We walked further down. 

Ahead, the tiny vintage windows appeared in the distance and captivated my attention. It was yet another old bar with people sitting outside and talking, like A Van Goghian painting. We pass them without bringing any attention. Not even a head turn. Have we turned invisible? 

Along the town’s main road were few local gift shops, already closed: a book store, a fish store, an art store, an ice cream store. Each distinctive with its own character, yet fitting perfectly with each other and complementing the whole feel of the village. The narrow and uneven streets were humming with the tales and legends of fishermen, sailors and smugglers. The ancient houses witnessing the history of the town and remembering the bravery of the locals rescuing captured by the sea boat and its crew, now with me walking through the alleys learning its long-treasured secrets. 

Few steps further, on the left hand side, just after yet another turn, we were welcomed by an unexpected sound of the falling water crashing onto the rocks. Down below a two story house was a waterfall collapsing underneath sudden greenery. The trees with their dark blue shadows on the rocky walls painted a landscape of their own. Above our heads, the air filled with strange noises of wild unnamed animals and cry of the seabirds escalating with every step forward. It was intensive. Each moment, sense after sense, was prompted with a new stimuli, not allowing time to process the one experience just an instant before. But I wasn't overwhelmed, I allowed myself to be overtaken and lost, led and dictated the narrative, unsure of the plot awaiting ahead. 

Right opposite, was a neon-bright blue window, ‘Museum of Bones’ it read. It presented a display of variety of skulls. The collection only intensified the whole experience of this place. I don't think I have ever seen anything like this before. We kept on walking. A few steps later, once again we stumble across people sitting in front of tiny vintage bars, on random unlike one another chairs, talking undisturbed, unbothered. Few children played carelessly on the street. As someone arranged them to be there so the place becomes more realistic, believable and acceptable to reason. The unregulated laughter, the spontaneity of the events allowing it unravel on their own, there was no script to follow, no rules to obey, no obligations to fulfil. I couldn’t shake of the impression that it resembled the place from The Pinocchio’s tale. 

After taking yet another turn my ears noticed faded music, which then became lauder and lauder, eventually turning into no longer subtle provoking sounds but domineering expression of senses. I walked ahead. There, at the end of the path, was the opening to the sea; uneven, natural rocky collapse of the land into the arms of ocean. The fisher wooden boat tilted on a side resting before its next venture. The slimy rocky spread heading towards the water. The distinct smell of the seaweeds. I turned around and looked behind me. 

There it was, a perfect glory of a seaside image. The small market area opening and giving its way into few narrow streets with old historic buildings: a hotel, few bars, the music blended with ongoing waves of conversations. It was so shooting, almost transcending, hypnotising. I didn't objected it whatsoever, in fact I embraced it. I allowed myself to experience being taken from usual well-known self and become lost in this new world, maybe discovering my new self in the process. 

I imagined myself to stay there/here forever, captured in the very moment played on repeat, never ending writing and writing and writing away…

I closed my eyes and sipped a deep breath in, memorising every little atom making this moment possible. I knew I will return to this place often, if not physically, at least in my memories. But I also knew the impossible task of trying to relive and artificially reproduce something so unique and once in a life time occurrence. I dissolved into that moment and become one with it at least for that short instance, loosing my physical body and uniting with its scenery and atmosphere, emerging with the sea and its smell, and its slimy sloop in to the endless cold wet darkness. 

For that very moment I was there forever and I became its infinite presence. I left my invisible mark on it and it left on me. 

As we walked towards the top, the nostalgic sadness took over me. I already missed that place. 

We found our car and slept in the back. As the morning arrived, everything lost its magical appearance. The church was like many other I have seen before. The city was still asleep and dead, nothing like the night before, pulsating with life, laughter and stories. Something was lost. 

Silently, we returned into the car, as we would have an unspoken agreement not to mention a word. He started the engine and we drove into the horizon, leaving Robin Hood Bay behind our backs forever. 

This moment of stillness, just after you open your eyes, wandering between alertness and dreaming, with soft sounds of morning floating behind the window. 

This moment of stillness, the split between two worlds, before the dawn leaks into the bright obviousness of today, where thoughts are still without the form, actions without their frames, and you are free of past choices, untouched by any dilemmas. 

This moment of stillness, deciding either to show up for the next day, repeating the prayer of sudden salvation, wishful thinking that anything and everything is possible, bargaining with potentialities. 

This moment of stillness, safely blanked in the warmth of yesterday, just before the reality of another day hits; that there are bills to pay, stomachs to be fed, contracts to fulfil, words to be written and goals to achieve. 

What would I do with all that? 

The lukewarm splash of Monday washes away the tenderness of lucid daydreaming. I am hallucinating my way back to awareness making sense of the solid cold shape under my palms, recognising the hardness of the sink with its pale white presence, smooth curved body. 

There will never be the right time.

Summoned to life in the world build on my behalf, stripped from agency, directed by fear, silently obeying the established order; I am navigating my way to self.

38 years and counting, and I just cracked the code. 

There is no another day, there is no another life time, there will never be another me. 

I no longer wish to belong to coincidental stroke of good fortune, lucky dip within the structure of the world, hit with a jackpot head over hills. 

I had a vision that made its way through the cracks of the night and I am insane enough to allow it to step out into the light of the day.