Beyond the Mists

Another therapeutic London visit from Tereza, who's always been here and always will be, this time around (with our destiny strangely intertwined again = both fairly recently out of loooong term relationships), the therapy was mutual and it happened by the means of rosé wine, white chocolate, rushed breakfasts together, depessing french films, Gilmore Girls (duuuuh), peculiar waterskiing incident, another visit to the cemetery and reading aloud from the book about a knickers collector in Paris. In her own words...

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Tereza Semotamova

Lost in (London's) Mists

Us two, 2014. A particularly obscure year, now I think back. They say some moments are unforgettable. But isn't the whole life (supposed to be) not-forgettable? At least me and you have decided not to stumble along and live from one scarce highlight to another, but rather counsciously relish every moment, even the fucking dull ones.

03/09/14

To enjoy even.. let's say.. cultivating the flower beds, even if it's a bit drab and seems like there's no end to it (but the same can be said about watching people being splashed by cold water on the neverending facebook timeline).

To embrace the uniqueness of the moment when you go through your cupboard before starting a dinner and you find an ancient, long forgotten sweet potato, blooming with a new life.

And you hang in there for a bit, a mildly disgusting potato in your hand, before finishing it's journey to the bottom of the dustbin, and marvel on its endurance and creative power. How it managed to cling on life, unleash the new sprouts, regardless being abandoned, forgotten in the darkness of the cupboard, at the bottom of a damp box with onion and garlic.

Not unlike me and you.. now, striving for the same, day by day. We somehow believed our butlers (as we quite offensively called our partners, even though it was us two who did most of the serving and attending to the 'domestic happiness' horseshit business) will be there forever and ever. Happily ever after, if that's even remotly possible.

It's obviously hard to define who gave the notice and who left the job unfinished (and maybe stole the silver candleholders on their way out). In our world of confused puppies the rules are merciless: you either are a butler or a lord. The power struggle. Ideally, of course, there's a reciprocity in who serves, who pays, who swipes the floor and ideally there's no one stealing silver candleholders. But hey ho, our relationships tumbled down like a wonky treehouse built with faith, resilience, good intention, but maybe no basic knowledge of DIY, let alone architecture.

The proverbial ships has sailed, left our harbour, fortunately not in a storm, waters are calm, harbour is empty. Sometimes we have boats floating by, searching for a nice quiet place to dock for a bit.

But the harbour is still confused (like a puppy), crunching through the unfairness of it all. It was meant to be forever! And behind that dreaded 'forever' you saw a certain guarantee, reliance: sometimes wonderful and glittery, most of the times annoying and constricting, but nevertheless -'something' which simply is there to stay, something you can juggle like a hot potato at times and then sometimes wear proudly like a diamond bracelet.

A bit like a shield and a bit like a menace, but it was SOMETHING. And now there's nothing..

And I'm sorry to report - we really did underestimate that 'nothing'. We are dreading it, but this 'nothing' is elementary. A base. A harbour. This 'nothing' is sticky, like a flycatcher, it craves to attract and stick and trap, to be filled. It calls upon the flies to come and bother, anything to fill the void and numb the feeling of solitude.

Depends on what you're like, in attempt to fill that hole (ahem) you pour in either
alcohol
(it takes the edge off, warms up the body, silence the brain and creates a sufficiently pleasant virtual reality),

or bodily fluids
(someone's embrace feels usually nice, especially if you don't really know him that well and leave quickly enough so that the only one you have to face in the morning is yourself. And for that purpose you can always go for the good old 'I'm living for the moment.' excuse),

illusions
(keeping the text message conversations alive just so we have someone to lie in the grass with for a moment, cover the silence which bangs in our little void loudly, relentlessly and out of tune)

Yet it's all OK, you know, you've lost something, so consequently there's going to be 'nothing' in its place.. For a while.. Right now, 'nothing' is fine.

We have each other to lie in the grass with, scan the skies for planes, guessing where they are heading.
We help each other to collect and analyse the frazzled post-breakup thoughts and worries. Up until to the point when I scream at you :

"Afraid of boredom? Well maybe you're the one who's boring and you're afraid of yourself, you fucking boring gay bastard! Life is essentially boring if you break it down, so stop trying to press it into a nice adventurous package with fireworks organised for 10pm and an orgasm planned for 11.48pm!
The real peace of mind lies in between two thoughts! "

And you reply :

"Well you're a classical idiot, who can't set her own boundaries firmly enough for other people not not cross and abuse it, and then you thank them for it.."

Us two,.. together.. we can endure each other even with those fluctuations and rolling around the rock bottom, where we didn't choose to end up with, but that's life and its timing for you.

We have established the timing as absolutely crucial. Like the moment when a housewife serves a dessert. How long after finishing the main course? Five, ten, fifteen minutes? It depends. Mainly on the internal (again)timing of the feeder.

Timing is crucial, such as in planning out your summer. I for example am celebrating wrapping up the most peculiar summer of my life. And I thank the almighty Fox with her bushy tail, who must have led my hand when booking the flight ticket to London for the end of August.

She's got it all perfectly calculated, that wondrous, sly, foxy diety, which we have crossed paths with on Monday night, walking home from Wagamama. She's cunning and knows what's good for you right now, even if it sometimes feels like she must have been sloshed when writing your life's story for you. But don't fret and believe in her profound providence. She knows what she's doing.

Knowing this I was able to let go trying to get a firm grip on the events and people coming my way, ceased to try and save people and keep finding excuses for their (mental/emotional/physical)lapses.

Life is that, what is happening right now, not what we'd like to happen. You have a little control over the events and people the Almighty Fox is sending your way. But you have a full power over your attitude and reaction.

And it does not have to be all american-soap-like-bright all the time = according to the latest Harvard research, the worldwide phenomena of brushing stuff under the carpet is not exactly a psychologicaly functional method.

Just be in charge, be mindful, be okay knowing: it's happening.

So this is is the two of us, August 2014. Baby chicks lost in a high grass behind the farm, confused and looking for home, 'cheep cheep' tired legs and tired mind.

But that's ok. That's how it is supposed to be right now. And whatever else will be,..will be.