His father had two sisters, one was winter and the other was summer. When they were born they had been touched by the fates and would never grow old or die. They showered him with love and would always be the keepers of his kingdom. Winter lived in the mountains to the north and summer in the lush forests of the south. But when he was born they came to stay in his fathers' house.
In many ways they were alike, they both had eyes the colour of the sky. But where winter was snow and shadows, summer was honey and warmth. In spring winter wept and from her tears the plants would grow. When autumn came it was the tears of summer that flowed, filling the streams and rushing through the rapids. Time passed, as it always does, and he slowly left his childhood behind. The sisters withdrew from his life and returned to their homes far away. His heart grew empty from missing their love and restlessness filled his bones. One moonlit evening his mother took him aside and told him that it was time for him to venture out into the world. His father brought him to the standing stones the following day. There he had learned of the names and mysteries of the stars. As night swept her dark wings around them and the ancient light of fires long gone shone down, his father spoke. "I would be but an old fool if I let you out into the world without thought and preparation" at this he said nothing. His father knew the secrets of things that were hidden and of those that lay in plain sight. He was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Slowly his father turned his eyes to the everlasting oceans of darkness above and continued. "My sisters will bring you words of power and protection to keep you safe when you are far from here. They were granted great powers in birth, but I was granted the greatest gift of them all. As strong and everlasting as those two are, they will never have what I have. That is the power to do as I chose. I was given free will!" No more words were spoken that night as they stood together, watching the skies until the pale light of dawn coloured them in roses and gold. They received word that the sisters would meet with them on their journey back from the stones. He rode with his father in amiable silence across the moorlands and down towards the lowlands where their house lay. As evening drew near they reined in their horses by a copse of beech trees and made camp for the night. Summer arrived with the setting sun. In her wake there came the song of blackbirds and the scent of dogwood and strawberries. They greeted her with kisses and with songs, and soon the air filled with laughter and joy. When his father had retired for the night she walked with him below the silvery branches of the trees. Wherever her feet touched the ground small flowers would bloom. She told him about the secrets of silver and gold, and of the names of those who walk the woodlands in shadow. In the blue light of dawn winter came. The air filled with the tang of crushed pine needles and the leaves all rustled above. She trod the earth lightly, for her touch brought frost and all that she loved would wither at her feet. He followed her out onto the meadow, where the warmth of the sun would lighten her touch. There she told him of iron and how to look for the doorways that led between worlds. Lastly she gave him a flask of bright metal "These are my tears, use them wisely." Side by side they returned to the small camp. Much too soon the time came when they once more had to part ways. He would journey with his father to the plains where his mother waited for them. The sisters would return to their separate dwellings far away. They stood together in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Although they had talked of many things, there were still so many words left unspoken. He watched the sisters as they stood beneath the trees; fingers entwined as birds sang above them. They looked more solid and real than any of the things around them. His heart burned with a cold flame as he thought of the two of them, unchanged by time, as he and his father turned to dust and long forgotten memories. They would watch the world as it changed, unmoored from it. And when this earth was no more, what would become of them then? He turned away from them, not wanting them to know what moved inside his thoughts. But summer touched his shoulder and caressed his cheek. "We know, my love" she whispered in her sonorous voice. "This is both a blessing and a curse, as are so many things in life." At this she pulled three golden strands from her head and twined them into a braid. As her fingers worked, she sang the words that shaped gold over the thin braid. When she finished a light golden chain lay between her fingers.
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My heart seems empty
and unmoored, like ghosts between these dusty walls. Cries echoing evermore. All that once resided here is gone. Left are only sighs and empty shells, the tenants long since vacated. As spring grows strong and summer draws near all I want is to leave, to disappear Please bring me to myself. This hollow chest burns with a frozen flame. I watch you all, Behind hooded eyes. Where did you go? Did you once twirl, arms raised, beneath the moon, only to find yourself on a commuter train going home When your soul cries, who does it call? Mine screams for freedom, freedom more than love. So I am free and I am alone. In the small hours, when time turns to gold, I close my eyes and I fall. Night catches me, floating in the cool and silent oceans above. When I die, I will die alone, but so my lovelies, will you. Reject, eject, leave.
Wonder, wander, feel. Burn, shatter, freeze. This is all of me. Bare, naked, raw. Hunger, thirst, more. Dream, fly, soar. Of this I am sure. Ragged, broken, free. Falter, fall, sleep. Breath, blink, weep. I am not weak. Anger, hurt, fear. Further, far, near. Brake, bank, weir. This is my fear. I am darkness
in the heart of man I am dream and all that you plan I am fire burning in your blood I am thirst unquenched by the flood I am hunger that makes you frail I am night step behind my veil I am ”Men kan man verkligen säga att det ena ger det andra, att de hänger ihop?” Han tittar förvirrat på mig genom de immiga glasögonen.
”Tio sekunder!” Han försvinner under ytan igen. Jag tar ett andetag, sänker ned kroppen under vattnet och sparkar ifrån. För mig är det meditation, att andas på takt och vara viktlös. Inte utan tyngd. Man kan inte vara utan tyngd. Fast samtidigt kan en del som borde vara lätta ha så mycket tyngd. Som Nelson Mandela. Jag klappar handen i kaklet och väntar in honom. På fjärde längden passerade jag honom med ganska mycket fart. ”Vad menar du med hänger ihop?” flåsar han fram fem sekunder senare. ”Att alla våra nya sätt att mäta tid så exakt gör att vi upplever den så kort?” ”Du är fan helt störd!” han glider iväg. Bröstsim, konstaterar jag. Någon som har lite dåligt flås? Bara för att han är dum i hela huvudet så behöver ju inte jag vara det. Men ändå, så mest för att visa att jag fan kan, så simmar jag om honom innan första vändningen. Sjutaktsandning, din jävel. Långsamt går jag tillbaka till tyngd i huvudet. Finns det någon själslig motsvarighet till gravitation? Jag har träffat många olika människor, en del med mycket makt. Men bara två av dem har gett mig den där känslan av tyngd, att de drog in människor i sin omloppsbana. Jag tittar på tidtagaruret på väggen. Han ligger nästan tolv sekunder efter mig nu och hänger sig flåsande över bassängkanten när han väl kommer fram. ”Som nu.” Han glor surt på mig. ”Känner inte du att tidens känns kortare nu när man mäter tiden mot den där jämfört när man har huvudet under vattnet?” Jag pekar på klockan på väggen. Han pillar med något bakom fenorna, sedan tittar han upp. Glor rakt på mig. ”Jag har vattentät pulsklocka!” Han häver sig upp ur bassängen och stampar ilsket bort mot omklädningsrummen. Jag sänker mitt huvud under ytan, ser på alla sprattlande ben och tänker på Hédi Fried och Nelson Mandela. På avtrycken deras tyngd har lämnat i mitt liv. Jag minns dig där i snön
Som systrar Du och jag I t-shirtar mellan stenarna På kullen Jag minns att stjärnorna blinkade Evigheten log Du var mjuk Där jag var kanter och taggar Månen kall Källargångarna under och mellan husen Var vår värld Som råttor mellan väggarna Såg resterna av andras liv Det gömda, det glömda Bakom gallerväggar och Hänglås Jag minns att jag vaknade ensam Hjärtat slog Du var borta Att jag är ensam kvar Ekar tomt Jag minns att du lämnade spår Inuti mig Du är tomheten Som skallrar genom mig Saknar ton Tiden dansar
Min vän Snurrar och vrider Kommer igen Tiden smyger Över våra tak Böjer och vrider Är inte rak Tiden han rusar Springer så fort Tills det vi har varit Bara är lort Tiden är naken utlämnad och bar temat i sången ensam kvar Tiden en resa Ensam på tåg Ingen pelare Emot dess våg just like porcelain
your heart can shatter and break but glue and gold and thin filaments of spider webs and hope can bring all the pieces back together more beautiful for having been torn About time
For spring to come Melt the icicles In my heart About time The sun broke through Thawing the fields Of my mind About time For the rain to fall Wash all the dust From my soul About time For the trees to leaf Sap from their roots To my bones About time Bur not about time It leaves you withered Wilting to the end |
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Oktober 2017
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