The passing

My name huddled a bit over the valley, then rose up and struck my
ears piercingly, painstakingly. There was a metal heaviness in its
impact upon my hearing, or a rocky one, coming from the way it had
first bounced on the rocks and stones and heights of the immovable,
green and grey, impassable mountain. It was not its sound that
stopped me from my way up, rather the certainty that it was only
me and the mountain that could hear it, it was a message for me
and for him. It was part of our unity on the rocky straight and steep
path up across pastures, forests, curved trees, straight trees, waters
and dirt. I did not realize at first it was my name. My mind repeated
and repeated the sounds as if I could remember something, as if it
was about my past, myself, my years back in the shelters of men
and cities. The mountain wanted me to remember something, so I
sat down on the rock and I listened. My mind still, my body still, little
by little the mountain creatures fostered intricate reflections in the
field of my perception. I was the rocks, and the valley, and the
flowers, and the insects, every once in a while a mouthful of open
sky opened me up, water washed down my perceptive faculties until
I started dripping on the ground and rising up like a flood, and down
again like a waterfall. But yet stiller I stood and closed my
perception from the mountain gifts. Silently I thanked and kneeled
for the mountain as I was trying to remember something that was
there inside of me when he, the mountain, was but a far away
thought, an illusion, a place to be, a dream. The void took
possession of my mind, my eyes lost focus, my hands fell flat.
Deprived of the mountains reflection, the emptiness of my body
and mind was forced to surface from the inside the last traces of my
humanity. That was when the name rose sharply again, as if the
valley was spitting it out. To the closed armour of my perceptive
faculties, it sounded as the heavy beat of a gong, in it the pain of
the impact upon my touch, the glittering visuals as if water met
metal in a mouthful of fire, breaking, reverberating inside me with a
pain of the unaccomplished, the long gone, and the irreversible
awareness that my life had been and never could be again, not even
as reflection upon my memory. All that Id been was but a grain of
sand inside my chest. That, emptiness took out of my chest and
expanded until my whole vision was nothing but an immense and
painful realization that I am. Unable to separate, unable to know my
name, I struggled with an inner fight yet unknown to me. Chest
against chest, me and the other could become one or could forever
split apart. The mountain spread in a blanket for our fight. Not yet
was its full splendour laid for our bare feet, that wholly and
irreversibly I gave up. A current swift and nervous like an electrical
wave crossed me up in all directions, until the feeling of letting go
became a sheer impossibility to resist. Yet I did not fall. My body was
erect and something of majestic. As I was not inside it, I could see it
as clearly as I could see the acacia tree nearby. In it the flood of

penetrating visuals and sounds showering upon me in fast and

precise order as if my whole life was being recomposed for me. All
my past feelings bombed my chest and my being. Each exploded in
a part of my body some like flowers blossoming, some like shotguns
fired in ones hand. Strange that my body, physically, stood
immobile. Each sensation was an earthquake and together they
made my body tremble like a volcano erupting in small bursts, then
swifter and faster until the lava and the volcano were but one
indistinguishable mass of amorphous matter, feeling, past, present,
thoughts, and all around and above a deep awareness that one
could walk barefoot and move his hands through the havoc, as all in
all it was just a play of empty rarefied particles. The dream was
over. But there was no one to tell about it, and yet no one to tell.