It was spectacular, what I experienced there. For me, flowing out of the otherwise often flows word for my writing hand, there was nothing to do. Single word only eruptions. (This, I then still held, despite the vow of silence - writing one is not more silent - and even though I do not know in what way the retention of words, things changed on my writing ... a question for a another time ...)
Inconspicuous, unusual, disturbing, unexpected, corresponding deceptively felt this word vacuum. When something was missing.
But now , after return, now I begin to feel that I, on the contrary something missing here, I was there. Here I have no - hum - just this vacuum? the absence of everything? a kind of emptiness?
So I go this morning by surprise by the family breakfast, by the teachers' room, through the hours before the class. The desire not to fray. Applies to the one thing a person very closely, they say: with all fibers. A rare condition. Frequently (normal?) It's that the fibers give my body to different directions. I will not today. Does the surprise attack to counter the mine, which I still feel very present in me. Step by step, step for step I go, and when I take off a glove, I prefer a glove from.
How long will I be able to go on living like this? Around me tost the noisy life ...
I lack the void. May be missing void? Does this mean but that is something there, what is here, in the full life, not to be found is. Is the void more potent than the full life?
" The void is the seed of wealth ", a phrase I have never understood. Even now I do not understand him, not with the mind. But I may have begun ability to sense, to imagine, to touch a germ of what he says. I very delicately formulated carefully. And be quiet again ...
Addendum:
I wrote this morning. Now the school will be over. I'm in a certain silence came through the hours. 've Tried never to do several things at once.
For example:
not let me speak from the side, not looking
glances in all directions (these encounters many eyes here, especially me falling apart, because in each pair of eyes to read a story, all these stories ...),
in not standing, but sitting at my desk a note made
drunk when the phone rings at rest and a drink for it came a minute late,
place only a few colleagues talks, the other on the email list set.
An idea like the roar of school life is to live. And
This idea is neither happiness nor liberation, a similar situation, she's just quiet and inconspicuous.
just unspectacular.
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