Enantiodromia*.

And if society was afraid of sentiments and their purest shapes it is the same society that has assured the rise of the unguarded instinctual forces...a chaotic and urgent state longing but not daring to admit its lust to be remolded, so that darkness can turn into light**

   You do know it. I'm very willing to listen to you if you have any recollections of your earthly beginning, would you care to provide me with any of those early memories? How do you see yourself...Can you recall images, smells and words, do any primordial sounds pervade your initial existence? Do you detect softness in the air, do you feel compassion for the child inside of you? I'd like to see how you once were and to know which were your first words, you are important to me, your existence fascinates me.

    In one of my childhood memories my hair smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo, I'm wearing pink pyjamas and I'm watching "Splash" with Daryl Hannah and Tom Hanks, I feel assured of myself, I find the mermaid beautiful...A scene frozen in time, a bubble of experience, passed yet untouched. As a child I also had a thing for the original tale of the mermaid archetype as told by Hans Christian Andersen, I felt sorry for the wondrous mermaid that had to sacrifice her beautiful tail for two awkward feet...the torture of every step that led her immaculate love to transform into foam, a futile offering then nothingness. Pablo Neruda wrote the "Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks" based on this motifeme, a rather devastating account on how people fail to notice the importance of the aethereal and the fragile. Neruda saw the strength hiding inside stardust, inside the foam...That's the territory of the poetic after all.
He writes:

All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.

How vulgarity fails to recognize the agony of beauty, the anguish of a deeper existence made elsewhere in a parallel reality resembling the substance of the soul.

    But now that I think of it nothingness is a chance, nothingness is beyond despair and if things vanish from time to time they only disappear in their previous form, who suspects the mass of possibilities...The ones aiming to create and consult their inner spark know that nothing's lost forever, I desire you to impress me by singing the song of your existence with honor and great persistence but without arrogance. This way you'll always be by my side although oceans and eras apart. I will sense and acknowledge you. You will turn lead into gold and foam into existence. You shall come all soulful.

I trust you***.

   

Love and Protect/Split Image.

~The signal was plain and simple that's why so many failed to understand it, it didn't cause any overwhelming impressions, therefore it remained unnoticed most times~

~The sand stood for 'iasis', healing, each imprint as an initiator of transformation~

As the evening came things remained silent in their diversity, I became one with the landscape as my flesh was burning, I had stayed undeneath the sun for too long, too much.

~As she played careless and absorbed I noticed that she was one with nature, a sufficient pact for the real nature of love and protection to emerge, sometimes things take care of themselves on their own accord~

~A place everywhere is at the same time a place nowhere, so common and yet so undeciphered~

If one wants to talk of beauty he/she must definitely talk of the waves, rhythmical and unsettled are those.

   It is the heart, the heart of summer, the night wants to speak up and confess that hate is not the opposite of love and that love is not the opposite of hate, perhaps a conclusion coming too soon and occupying the paragraph, here in this moment the split image is being undone seeking for reunification and completion, forgetting all about the forgery of perfection. The concentration longs for its readjustment, the memories gather, they want, they demand...a material ever present, a material obscure in its eternal clarity. Contradictions only add to the process-progress, without them we are bare. Oh, I remember, I really do, the warmth and the coldness inside of me was exactly the warmth and the coldness you chose as your representation, a mirroring. Warm is the sand I walked with my feet unprotected, she felt harsh but she healed me. Cold was the night you spoke with so much arrogance and detachment, I can forget the words but I will never forget the frozen sensation of that particular instant.

The harsh is arrogant.
Heat is the transformation for the arrogant.
The alchemical remedy, against the opposites.

  

~ The view of the Metropolis was found responsible for some hallucinatory incidents in a case or two~

                            

An image so incapable of wholeness that can only reproduce a split memory, all misunderstood and obscure.

   Humid places can attract the sympathy as long as they're not equally dark, humid and dark are some places of the heart, merciless and without a grace. We can take a step back and evaluate the situation, see the pain and despair once Pandora's Box is about to open, the threat of the unconscious. We may try to cast the menace away by staying too much underneath the sun, until the flesh gets burnt, the one constantly in need, the one without any guarantee no matter if we pretend that matter is the one visible therefore proven. Nothing is for granted though...the eyes see and the tongue devours, you seem extrovert but I know you're always alone.
   If dialectics resemble a spider the web is woven through questions fired from both sides.
   I sat across him, he started his narration...some parts of the unfolding of his story were interesting showing an inner integrity but he failed to ask the question and actually meet me. Intentions remained one sided, unapproached.

   Other days demand of other ways...She talked about her wish to have a good time but the tone of her voice indicated a self-negation, like good time was also associated with discomfort, fun became a compulsion of a sorts...an avoidance to look inside and find what's really bothering you, a melancholic extraversion,  another case of a split image.
   The heart of summer is no different than the heart of winter when related to the need to love and protect, you may find yourself responsible to love and protect a whole country or those in need but that's impossible if you don't know how to love and protect yourself first. One can always wear the persona and mask the neurosis under tons of terminology and high-flown language, saying so much and saying nothing at all...a relational condition.
   I want to open up and absorb but sometimes by being a good listener you're endangered; you may absorb the parasitic and the all negative, there's the risk of forgetting your own emotions and take those of others for your own. Then you have to revisit the source and clean up, try listening to the song of the stars and creation, recall the healing of the sand underneath your feet, this upward sensation connecting the earth with the sky, this brief satori like moment dictates only one simple demand: "Love and Protect".


   Είναι η καρδιά, η καρδιά του καλοκαιριού, η νύχτα θέλει να μιλήσει και να ομολογήσει ότι το μίσος δεν είναι το αντίθετο τη αγάπης και πως η αγάπη δεν είναι το αντίθετο του μίσους, ίσως ένα συμπέρασμα που έρχεται πολύ νωρίς και καταλαμβάνει την παράγραφο, εδώ αυτή την στιγμή η κατακερματισμένη εικόνα καταστρέφεται ψάχνοντας την επανένωση και συμπλήρωση της, ξεχνώντας όλη την πλεκτάνη της τελειότητας. Η συγκέντρωση επιθυμεί την επαναπροσαρμογή της, οι αναμνήσεις συγκεντρώνονται, θέλουνε, απαιτούνε...ένα υλικό πάντα παρών, ένα υλικό θόλο μέσα στην αιώνια καθαρότητα του. Οι αντιφάσεις μόνο προσθέτουν σε αυτή την διαδικασία-πρόοδο, χωρίς αυτές είμαστε γυμνοί. Ω, πράγματι θυμάμαι, η θέρμη και η ψυχρότητα μέσα μου δεν ήταν άλλη από την θέρμη και την ψυχρότητα που διάλεξες για την αντιπροσώπευση σου, ένα καθρέφτισμα. Ζεστή είναι η άμμος που περπάτησα με τα πόδια μου απροστάτευτα, την αισθάνθηκα σκληρή αλλά με θεράπευσε. Κρύα ήταν η νύχτα που μίλησες με τόση αλαζονεία και απόσταση, μπορώ να ξεχάσω τα λόγια αλλά ποτέ δεν θα ξεχάσω την παγωμένη αίσθηση της συγκεκριμένης στιγμής.

Ο σκληρός είναι αλαζονικός.
Η θερμότητα είναι η μεταμόρφωση του αλαζονικού.
Η αλχημική θεραπεία, ενάντι των αντιθέτων.


   Τα υγρά μέρη μπορούν να προσελκύσουν την συμπάθεια αρκεί να μην είναι εξίσου σκοτεινά, υγρά και σκοτεινά είναι κάποια μέρη της καρδιάς, ανηλεή και χωρίς καμία χάρη. Μπορούμε να επιχειρήσουμε ένα βήμα πίσω και να εκτιμήσουμε την κατάσταση, να δούμε τον πόνο και την απόγνωση καθώς το Κουτί της Πανδώρας είναι έτοιμο να ανοίξει, η απειλή του ασυνείδητου. Μπορούμε να αποπειραθούμε να διώξουμε την απειλή παραμένοντας για παρά πολύ κάτω από τον ήλιο, μέχρι να καεί η σάρκα, αυτή που βρίσκεται μονίμως σε ανάγκη, αυτή για την οποία δεν υπάρχει καμιά εγγύηση άσχετα αν προσποιούμαστε πως καθώς η ύλη είναι ορατή είναι και αποδεδειγμένη. Τίποτα δεν είναι δεδομένο παρόλα αυτά...τα μάτια βλέπουν και η γλώσσα καταβροχθίζει, φαίνεσαι εξωστρεφής αλλά γνωρίζω πως είσαι πάντα μόνος.
   Αν η διαλεκτική ομοιάζει με την αράχνη, ο ιστός υφαίνεται μέσω ερωτήσεων που τροφοδοντούνται και από τις δύο πλευρές.
   Κάθισα απέναντι του, ξεκίνησε την αφήγηση του, ορισμένα τμήματα του ξεδιπλώματος της ιστορίας του ήταν ενδιαφέροντα και υποδήλωναν μια εσωτερική ακεραιότητα αλλά απέτυχε στο να θέσει το ερώτημα και να με συναντήσει πραγματικά. Οι προθέσεις παρέμειναν μονόπλευρες, απρόσιτες.

   Άλλες μέρες απαιτούν άλλους τρόπους...Αυτή μιλούσε για την επιθυμία της να περνάει καλά αλλά ο τόνος της φωνής της έδειχνε μια αυτοαναίρεση, λες και το να περνάει καλά σχετιζόταν με κάποια δυσφορία, η διασκέδαση έγινε ένα καταναγκασμός κάποιου είδους...μια αποφυγή του να κοιτάξεις μέσα σου και να δεις τι στ'αλήθεια σε ενοχλεί, αλλή μία περίπτωση κατακερματισμένης εικόνας.
   Η καρδιά του καλοκαιριού δεν διαφέρει από την καρδιά του χειμώνα σε ό,τι έχει να κάνει με την ανάγκη του να αγαπάς και να προστατεύεις, ίσως βρεις τον εαυτό σου υπεύθυνο για την αγάπη και προστασία μια ολόκληρης χώρας ή όσων βρίσκονται σε ανάγκη αλλά κάτι τέτοιο είναι αδύνατο αν δε γνωρίζεις να αγαπάς και να προστατεύεις τον εαυτό σου πρώτα. Ο καθένας μπορεί πάντα να φορέσει το προσωπείο και να μασκαρέψει την νεύρωση του κάτω από τόνους ορολογίας και πομπώδους γλώσσας, το να λες τόσα πολλά και το να μην λες τίποτα, μια συγγενική συνθήκη.
   Θέλω να ανοιχτώ και να απορροφήσω αλλά καμιά φορά με το να είσαι καλός ακροατής διατρέχεις έναν κίνδυνο, μπορεί να απορροφήσεις το παρασιτικό και το καθόλα αρνητικό, υπάρχει το ρίσκο του να ξεχάσεις τα δικά σου συναισθήματα και να πάρεις αυτά των άλλων για δικά σου. Τότε πρέπει εκ νέου να επισκεφτείς την πηγή και να εξαγνιστείς, να προσπαθήσεις να ακούσεις το τραγούδι των άστρων και της δημιουργίας, να ανακαλέσεις την ίαση της άμμου κάτω από τα πόδια σου, αυτή την ανοδική αίσθηση που συνδέει την γη με τον ουρανό, αυτή η σύντομη στιγμή ενόρασης υπαγορεύει μόνο μια απλή εντολή "Αγάπα και Προστάτευσε".

  

~It is the nature, it is the ritual, the question and the answer~

Genius Loci.

Unexpected as it was there was a window on the wall; a sole window watching, who knows the things witnessed, who suspects the ones hiding behind it; the memories ephemeral and the memories solid;

~Though we can call it 'no-thing-ness', it is not nothingness~

I never really saw the point of having a signature, I mean as a young child I was very unwilling to categorize myself and although it is useful from time to time to take the responsibility for your task it is very much more preferable not to delimit yourself and others; leaving the space open for ideas and patterns, whispers and personal interactions, maintaining the element of surprise by not pushing too hard;

  

~on adding some abysmal quality to the ordinary by praising the metaphysics of the routinary, tracing the magic~

~A wall in demise all our systems~
Human thinking and conscience in danger; endangered; As one category always finds the culprit responsible for personal lacks and inconsistencies outside of the self, the other party and category also hypocritically declares that all, everything, everyone is the same...accusing others of intolerance when speaking the truth of differences, the ones enriching life and allowing useful confrontations of instinctual forces. Is it raw violence or violence in disguise?...The one declaring that everything is shadow the other that there's no shadow at all...Both disastrous, cause not all the Righteousness in the world and all the -isms can assure you that you're actually the person you declare to be by constantly labeling your persona,-as.

This place is nature, it is not an environment, it resists technicality, escapes any fabrication, this is the point zero...As I observe it I want to become one with it, my vision doesn't want to intrude, I mostly want to absorb, the romanticism of a vastness originating from a universe still unknown to me that its existence I can only suspect. I'm waiting there pulsating colors, my palette is the world of my past memories, an aesthetic attempt I'm no longer certain of how I obtained, but it is part of myself now. As identities are floating each moment and encounters become a great need so I keep on moving while not neglecting the significance of the mindful stillness...One must avoid inertia, strengthen passion and dedicate himself/herself to purity...Purity comes easily once you don't pay attention to your pose but you honor your purpose, the pose will follow, the diaphragm of the camera becomes my respiration, I'm a witness, I aim to remember this day...even when I'm gone I aim to remember, my recollection will leave an imprint...this place isn't chaotic although it seems so, this place strives for harmony, and although you may look at a picture you will hear a sound...and while you will smell the scent of the known and the dull the unknown will manifest thriving on your primordial whim to connect with something greater than yourself, and this new state of being will still be very much yourself and yet not at all...and then you will smile realizing that the place beyond is the place right now...

~It only happens that sometimes I find your 'interest' quite repressing, you appear to be using almost the proper words but your message fails to come through, I say why don't you let me be me and let yourself become possibilities as well? Let's invest on timeless communication outside of categories and fruitless exaggerations~

~Clarity needs all the words of the world, clarity needs no words at all...manifesting with any opportunity once insight is an option, since ageless clarity makes no discriminations once summoned, but beware you should drop your critique to see her emerge...~

~Sun's up, a mandala of knowledge folding and unfolding~

~ah the evening, this peak almost resembling a melancholy, retracing the peak of the senses, their sharpening, feeling the uneasy vulnerability and preparation, I'm mostly happy in this effort~

~There was always this question of time, its exact nature never fully digested...and if life itself felt like a reproduction of some play meant to begin some place else I insisted on having this feeling, that my prototype kept on reliving an expansion of possibilities that found their way back to me in my dreams, in this perspective I never sensed myself truly alone although inhabiting a babel tower of all kinds of misconceptions~

~Everything has been said, years now...in combinations good and bad, sometimes both at the same time, and each word although intended was led not to mean a thing and left no vibrant echo to be heard again...all that remained was another self each day, the phenomenology of experience having to deal with its vast inexperience, a place that still awaits to be inhabited...~

There's this ephemeral sense immemorial that I've been here before and you were with me; I must be mistaken but it feels so real and yet so abstract, that's perhaps the substance of both residing a body and be an infinite soul;

~How should I name you in case you were a tree, a branch, leaf or fruit?~

~And as absence offered no promise I decided by looking beyond to take a dive within~

   Αυτό το μέρος είναι φύση, δεν είναι ένα περιβάλλον, αντιστέκεται στον τεχνικό ορισμό, δραπετεύει από κάθε σκευωρία, αυτό το μέρος είναι το σημείο μηδέν...Καθώς το παρατηρώ επιθυμώ να γίνω ένα μαζί του, το όραμα μου δεν θέλει να παρέμβει, κυρίως θέλω να απορροφήσω, ένας ρομαντισμός μιας απεραντοσύνης η οποία κατάγεται από ένα σύμπαν ακόμα άγνωστο σε μένα την ύπαρξη του οποίου μπορώ μόνο να υποπτευθώ. Περιμένω εκεί παλλομένη χρώματα, η παλέτα μου είναι ο κόσμος των παρελθοντικών μου αναμνήσεων, μια αισθητική απόπειρα που πλέον δεν είμαι σίγουρη για το πως την απέκτησα, αλλά είναι μέρος μου τώρα. Καθώς οι ταυτότητες αιωρούνται κάθε στιγμή και οι συναντήσεις γίνονται μεγάλη ανάγκη έτσι συνεχίζω να κινούμαι ενώ παράλληλα δεν αμελώ την σημασία της επιμελούς ακινησίας...Πρέπει κανείς να αποφεύγει την αδράνεια, να ενδυναμώνει το πάθος και να αφιερώνεται στην αγνότητα...Η αγνότητα προκύπτει εύκολα όταν δεν δίνεις και τόση σημασία στην πόζα σου αλλά τιμάς τον σκοπό σου, η πόζα θα ακολουθήσει, το διάφραγμα της κάμερας γίνεται η αναπνοή μου, είμαι μια μάρτυρας, σκοπεύω να θυμάμαι αυτή την μέρα...ακόμα και όταν δεν θα είμαι πια έδω η ανάμνηση μου θα αφήσει ένα ίχνος...αυτό το μέρος δεν είναι χαοτικό παρόλο που μοιάζει με τέτοιο, αυτό το μέρος πασχίζει για αρμονία, και παρόλο που μπορεί να κοιτάξεις μια εικόνα θα ακούσεις έναν ήχο...και καθώς θα οσφραίνεσαι την μυρωδιά του γνωστού και του μονότονου το άγνωστο θα εμφανιστεί θριαμβεύοντας πάνω στην αρχέγονη επιθυμια σου να συνδεθείς με κάτι ανώτερο από σένα, και αυτή η νέα κατάσταση της ύπαρξης σου θα είναι κατά πολύ ακόμα ο εαυτός σου και παράλληλα καθόλου...και τότε θα χαμογελάσεις συνειδητοποιώντας ότι ο τόπος πέρα είναι ο τόπος εδώ και τώρα...

Time and again

~The one believing he/she has solved the riddle early on, will find the self unaware of the true nature of the riddle, just like Oedipus did~

~There are some roads that you don't have to hurry your step but take things more slowly, each step as initiation and ritual of your own adventure towards self knowledge.~

//As the feeling kept on hanging between polarities it decided to transform into Love under Will//

~on how the bully chooses silences and whispers, on unworthy gestures and lies, on the drag show called undentified ignorance~

~A glimpse of her figure drew me closer to the window, petite and fragile as she seemed, I wondered how's the life behind the glass...She looked like dancing but was she actually having fun?~

All photos and words by Vera Bousiou.