Thursday, January 31, 2013

Once were places

I was writing a note to this topic during the day for myself. It was "It is not the places themselves which are special, but all the memories, feeling and dependencies which connect us to them and build up a part of our identity. The impulses we get from the people, how they see us, how we can be."

It is hard to practice the mantras of continuous life, letting go and living in the moment, when we know their meaning so well, but exactly those situations when we should practice them are so hard in life. Sickness, death, break ups, disappearance of feelings and people. All these remind us of the limited nature of our lives.

I do not like spring. I do not like it, because it is so much full of expectation, and after that comes summer and I feel disgusted by this fake life-joy of everyone caused by some stupid summer holidays which go away so fast. Then autumn comes and everyone complains about the rain again, and in winter people get depressed, because it reminds them of death. Actually for me it is summer what reminds me the most of death and the shortness of our lives. Summer comes and I say to myself: here we are again, one more year is gone..Then I notice that almost half of the year is gone and have a guilty feeling that I should live a more meaningful life and use my time much better. That is why I am usually much more productive during autumn and winter.

Life is a cruel game after all. We have people who we love, pets who are important to us, the houses/flats where we grow up, the houses/flats where our grandparents live. Which are so important to us and then we start to loose these things slowly, but surely, and we can not do anything, just stand aside and watch and try to let go.

What is the true face of life after all? The life we live, or the moments when something tragic happens, everything freezes, and it is like if we would step out from a shell and see the true face of life in these cold slow motion moments. Or the same when something very nice, or special happens to us. Everything seems so different then...

I wanted to write about the topic what I mentioned at the beginning. About the empty space in my life after I lost two very important places: the places where my grandparents used to live. I could be that version of myself only among them at those places, and since those places are gone also that part of my identity is gone for good. I am reading A Tale of Love and Darkness from Amos Oz which contains lot of family stories and descriptions of family members. Might be that this brought up these feelings in me.
This post happened to be somewhat fuzzy, but so is the current state of mind. And in order to dissolve these "too serious" thoughts I will concentrate on some practical work to do: will do the laundry and wash the dishes, then I will not have time to think too much about these kind of things and also the dishes will be clean.

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