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In that little house, afar off, which housed in childhood’s years the reserves of the life which played joyously in that half-hidden view of the world, with a heart’s flutter of anticipation of an aim alloyed by soul and bodies gone astray, it is time that I entered in again to that lonely little house, worn out by choices and doings which have collected in muddled heaps and blocked the road of life. ******* There’s the little house, beautiful still it stands amid the garden, but wrapped in bushes, leaves and branches, which loved it more than I did, when I wandered aimlessly in the world. ******* As I look through the windows at the leaves of the trees flying like yellow and red butterflies in the breath of the wind, forgetfulness of the world comes like a fresh breeze on a forehead inflamed with cares from the labyrinthine worlds of the useless. Autumn of nature and life, how beautifully they go together, but the uncorrupted meaning is still hidden. Some discord has wormed its way cunningly and covertly from the gaze of life and tarnished the absolute match. The human autumn has lost its glory. But here’s the rain which has begun, so slight and invisible, upon the earth thirsting for hope open-handedly scatters life. The peeping of the primal nakedness has not had time to grow to manhood, nature’s tear was joyful; it shattered despondency with a start upon a new life. ******* In this guileless joy the snares of the world have loosened. No humbling tomb will receive the frayed remnants of life. The fiery being lies in wait to give the message. Rainfalls of tears have heroically drowned the mistakes and with impetus like the light have poured themselves out on the slopes of time, on the grooves left by the spirit for signposts to a new beginning which was perpetually built by the unseen soul, that waited in the gold-woven garment of joy which so beautifully mingled pain with what is new, in an outburst of joy. The rivers of tears have now become rivers of fire which built the new world of the soul in the same old body, which waited for the woof of its fate to unravel. ******* And who would have thought that the rain, in the boundlessness of nature, has long since laid out the road of untiring joy? Fiery flames of change dance within the worlds, like the drops of rain which rolled down the windows or like the repentant tears which, in the forgotten house of the soul, searched out from the very start the fire thread of the aim of that life which wished to blossom.
(Photograph by Yiannis Zisis) |
