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  • Writer's pictureannielina

work in progress: QARRTSILUNI

Between the old and the new there is an empty space.

Gently but inescapably, it will invite you to sit in the luminous darkness of uncertainty and doubt. Its presence calls you to pay very close attention to what persists when that which was, no longer is, and that which is to come, has not yet emerged. It calls for integration and letting go of what has been accumulated.

It will unhesitatingly remind you, that your doubt and the absence of clarity are the building blocks of clarity itself.

The dissolution of temporal linearity. Moments are stretched beyond the peripheries of me, where they start leading a life of their own, yielding what we know as here and almost here. The force of habit turns head back. The body, rhythm - intimacy of the physical structure. The force of habit turns head back. Who do you think you are?

Hours; contained within the inner certainty of arriving and reaching, the pulsation of waiting. In the pacific of my solitude I’ve only ever known of two fears. One is the fear of loud noises. The other is the fear of


My heart sinks as I fiercely try to figure out the right thing to say. My head is full of theories and explanations.

None of it is any use for now. My intellect lacks the elegance of your honesty. My silence speaks the language you need to hear: I am here and I see you, bearing uncertainty.

Hating uncertainty.

Taking refuge in uncertainty, I see you vanishing - not from the world, but more deeply into it.

The words make me dance at the edge of dangerous. As much as it thrills me, I am afraid of the word that provokes a world that would otherwise be hidden. A world as untamed as the ocean, revealing it’s secrets only to those that dive deep enough into it’s depths. In order to speak, I must find myself in those depths, as much as I need to let the depths find me.

Having been found the world, there are only two ways of responding: wonder or despair.

To make, to inquire, to observe is my response. I keep asking questions while the dance makes me and I go on living. I notice and carry the inevitable responsibility that noticing brings. I consciously and voluntarily return to the vacuum between the stories to cultivate that which keeps my sense of wonder alive and clarity of perception attuned. Patience, attentiveness, solitude; my truth radiates into vast distances with the integrity of ‘I-don’t-know’.

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