Eincyg (1)

I take a breath. My first breath out of the steel cage where I had been enclosed for too long a time. The view that offers to my eyes is new. The air is refreshing, invigorating, nourishing for my lungs that have been fed air-conditioned air for half a day. The stones used in buildings are inviting, the topography intriguing, but I shall leave these mysteries for later, as I first have to take possession of my adobe and deposit my heavy luggage there.

Who am I, you may wonder. A tired, yet curious traveler, would be my first reply. A young man who thinks by himself and constructs his own worldwiews, different from all what you will learn or read. A young man that some may call an idealist, other a disillusioned, balancing on the fine edge between sanity and madness. I don’t have a name, yet. Oh, it’s not what you think, I’m not an orphan, and I do have a name in this world. But I haven’t yet figured out my true name. True name?, you may ask, rolling your eyes. Yes, true name. Each thing in this world has a true name I believe. A sound, an image, an energy that withhold the essence of a person or an object. The most complex this object, the most complex the name. Well, I’m not even sure of that yet.

I cross the street, leaving the station at my back, heading toward the small flat I’ve rented. The town is built on a hill, and I’m heading upward, very slowly because of the weigh I am carrying. Buildings in stones with colorful wooden shutters surround me from both sides, giving an air of mirth to the place despite the rather cold weather and the large clouds obscuring the sun. I continue walking upward, until I arrive in a large square surrounding a church, where the echo of chatter and laughter blend with that of a gurgling fountain. I can’t resist to drink a bit of water from there. I come from dry, warm lands, and flowing water coming directly from the ground cold to the touch and heavenly to the parched throat is a luxury I am not used to. I walk on, careful to select the right alley, as several limbs, neighborhoods, of the city are connected through this square. The landscape does not change much, except that the slope is more gentle. I finally arrive in a tiny perpendicular alley where I locate my building. I climb the stairs thrice together with my luggage, to the last floor. There I take possession of my room. It is a sort of attic under the roof pierced in the ceiling and in the walls letting the light in. I have a view on the other roofs of the city which is built as on an amphitheater overlooking the lake, at the feet of mountains. From one of my windows I can see a little bit of the grand elements in the distance, and immediately I have the strong feeling I am going to enjoy living in this place. Waking up every morning together with the lake and the mountains, what could I ask more. There’s a bed with drawers underneath. A wooden wardrobe against a wall. A tiny kitchen with just enough room to cook on a hot plate. A little bathroom. A table that can be used as a dining place but also as a desk. It is made of wood too, and I pass my hand on its polished surface and admire the patterns there. I’m quite excited. A new adventure, a new chapter in my life, is about to begin.

 

About Erik Vincenti Zakhia

Dear all, I will share with you many of my poems, short stories, drawings and paintings telling of my journey of self-discovery and my reflections about life, love, art, spirituality, sexuality, kundalini rise, and twin flames. They all fall within the realm of Hazen. May you have an inspiring visit!

2 comments

  1. This seems to be a metaphor of some kind. At the very least, themes and objects symbolizing life situations. Good luck to you.

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