the first white day

This night it was cold and the stars where covered by the clouds. The fields and the trees nearby were freezing and turning white. White crystals were appearing everywhere. It was very quiet.

The old apple tree was standing still. It was not easy for the tree because of many red apples it had grown this year. The branches were devastated by the heaviness of them but it was not hard because of the weight of the apples, no. The reason was somewhat different. The old apple tree knew that the time had come to let the apples leave and find a good soil for the seeds.

It was a very beautiful but painful moment to notice the first snowflakes slowly dancing their way down to the earth. There was no music but one could feel the vibes of the different tones higher and lower accompanying the cold white messengers of winter.

The tree was standing there in the centre of the white cloud of snow. The leaves had not yet fallen but now it was obvious that the time has come for them to leave the old tree.

I came to visit the tree the next morning. Everything was covered by the snow. The colourful autumn had turned to wonderful white winter within one night. The sun was shining and the snow covering the trees was slowly melting because of the warmth. It felt like early spring.

There were many apples still on the tree. I picked one up from the snowy ground under the tree. It was juicy and tasty. I told to the tree that I will try to find a possibility to store some of the apples for the winter in a suitable place. The tree just looked at me and said nothing this time and I could well understand why.

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discussions in the dark

Another trait of the flat tone. No life. Same flat tone at all times. For its affirmations. For its negations. For its interrogations. For its exclamations. For its imperations. Same flat tone. You were once. You were never. Where you ever? Oh never to have been! Be again. Same flat tone.
p.26

If he were to utter after all? However feebly. What addition to company that would be! You are on your back in the dark and one day you will utter again. One day! In the end. In the end you will utter again. Yes I remember. That was I. That was I then.
p.27

The last time you went out the snow lay on the ground. You now on your back in the dark stand that morning on the sill having pulled the door gently behind you. You lean back against the door with bowed head making ready to set out. By the time you open your eyes your feet have disappeared and the skirts of your greatcoat come to rest on the surface of the snow. The dark scene seems lit from below. You see yourself at that last outset leaning against the door with closed eyes waiting for the word from you to go. To be gone. Then the snowlit scene.
p.47-48

You keep count of the days and every tenth day multiply. And add. Your father´s shade is not with you any more. It fell out long ago. You do not hear your footfalls any more. Unhearing unseeing you go your way. Day after day. The same way. As if there were no other any more. For you there is no other any more.
p.50

You now on your back in the dark shall not rise again to clasp your legs in your arms and bow down your head till it can bow down no further. But with face upturned for good labour in vain at your fable. Till finally you hear how words are coming to an end. With every inane word a little nearer to the last. And how the fable too. The fable of one with you in the dark. The fable of one fabling of one with you in the dark. And how better in the end labour lost and silence. And you as you always were.

Alone.

p.88-89

Samuel Beckett “Company” 1980

tonight night will dragons meet the angels and all the trees will sing

Autumn
Again
Dying
Leaving
Sadness and the tears of rain

… there is a dragon game in the forests tonigt…

Sometimes it seems so hard to believe that dragons and angels do exist. It is as hard as to believe in other times that human beings are natural part of the life on Earth. Realities may vary tremendously, it all depends on you angle, it is always to do with the perspective one is taking.

Ever since I was a little girl I was told to be an acorn – an oak to be… My father was the big and strong oak. Me and my brother we were called to be the young acorns. I was always looking at my father and pride filled my small acorn heart. I knew that one day I would be as strong and wise as him.

Me and my brother we were always playing by the sea, running in the forests and climbing the trees. Nature was a very natural playground for us. We drank out of the streams, ate everything that we found eatable, met the animals and birds with the respect and care. We had our own tracks and places in the forest. As we did not have any toys except the ones we made ourselves with the ordinary tools like knives and saw were we forced to be creative, use what the nature had to offer.

It was not easy for me to return to the kindergarten or even worse to the school. I never understood the concept of order and following the instructions of the angry looking teachers. I was not an exemplary student also because I could not read a word before I came to school. I was like a small frightened acorn starting at the soviet school where there were very precise expectations towards the results and ways of behaving. I never liked the system I do not even like it today, it is not developed for young acorns to become wise and strong oaks. The schools are more to the ones who want to be small humans without the great ideas without creativity and will to become old and wise, perhaps wisest of all.

By now I have learned to act more like a civilised person, I have learned to read and write and I actually love it a lot. I have learned to hold back the comments and not to act when I would like to. I have learned what is proper and what I should never do. There have been loads of rules and regulations and ways of behaviour I have learned by now.

Years have gone. I stand here all alone. My brother and father they are gone. Some birds made their nests and fed nestlings here. I stand and wave my leaves in the wind. The mushrooms grow near my roots.  I try to protect them all as good as I can from the rain and some dangerous animals. But now the leaves are turning yellow and the birds get ready to fly away. I shall fall a sleep and wake up again in spring…

…there is a Dragon game at the forest tonight…

Am I human, am I dragon or am I an angel? No. I am to be an oak. Strong and wise…  I will sing to the world and all of those who will pass me in the dark forests tonight. I will just stand aside frightened of the life, frightened of the movements and loud voices but keep on singing my own song.

The dangerous dragons and beautiful angels, the small humans fragile and serious they all hear me singing in the darkness. The real life is around me but still I am so far…

…there is a dragon game in the forest tonight…

Is there a place for me in the game? What is my place in the game of life?

om oss och om mig

i dag
såg jag
att alla vi
är likadana
jag gick
inne i stan
och alla människor
jag träffade
visste jag redan
innan
jag är du
du är jag
i dag
såg jag

ordet
som en symfoni
det bär oss
högre
eller
trampar på
dödar
långsamt
försfinner jag
luften står stilla
ljudet
glider i väg
men kommer alltid stanna
i mig

vet du
att idag
provade jag
prata svenska
de desperata hemmafruar
skrattade högt
deras lockiga hår
så vackra och glittrande
var kanska nära mig
jag tittade på
och vågade prata
prata svenska med dem
svenska kvinnor
unga och glada
en sa till mig
tänk att ett år sen
pratade du ingenting
och nu är du
som en svensk kvinna
det var första gång
någon sa till mig
välkommen
nästan som om jag
var en vanlig människa igen
efter ett år
för en kort stund
med de svenska kvinnor
unga och glada
fick jag vara
för en kort stund
var jag själv
en ung kvinna igen

jag
slipper
att vara
minnet
slider
i väg
är jag borta
eller lever jag
mer än
någonsin
runt omkring mig
tystnad
nej
jag hör
vinden och fåglarna

mörkret finns i mig

mörkret
finns i mig
som ett spöke
spanar
barndomens ond
mina svaga moment
för att göra om
livets given glädje
göra om
förstöra
mörkret
finns i mig

får jag
får jag lov
att leva om
börja med skrik igen
börja med tårar

får jag
får jag lov
att välja
och glömma bort
allt skrik
och alla tårar

får jag
får jag lov
att bara leva

jag kan
berätta sagor av livet
du har aldrig även
tänkt vara möjligt att överleva
jag kan
berätta om mitt liv
nästan som om det
hade varit en film

men

vill du egentligen lyssna
du välfärdsbarn
bekväm och bortskämt
njuta av livet
är ditt moto

Två dialoger med äppelträdet

“Den gamla apeln skakade på sitt glesnande huvud.
Det finns människor som påstår sig kunna tala med hästar. Jag kan tala med med gamla äppelträd.
Frågor, frågor, frågor, sa den gamla apeln. En dag som denna.
Du menar att dagen är för vacker för frågor, sa jag.
Nej, sa apeln. Men det är en falsk dag. Det är en dag som invaggar en i tron att frågor nödvändigtvis måste ha ett svar och frågor har kanske svar.”
(s. 94)

“Är du säker på att det blir åska, sa jag.
Jag vet att det blir åska. Då måste jag hålla mig vaken. Därför tänker jag nu sova middag.
Sov du så diskar jag, sa jag.
Jag reste mig och bugade ett tack för samtalet, men apeln sov redan.”
(s.95)

Stig Claesson “Sov du så diskar jag” 2004