Three weeks ago I started writing, for the first time in a long time. Although opinions vary, it is around this mark that a habit is starting to form. Date by date I try to write of transformations on my journey, of the role of memory in the intermingling voices of time and the present moment of experience. I try to be conscious that my relationships are mutually reflective, and to be truly in them we have to be aware of our essence first. I have been trying to write about what I know, my depression, my history, my dreams and ask myself what doesn’t fit in self-characterization? What are the areas still hidden from light, ones I have to uncover so as to move through them.
Krakow, the Polish necropolis, was the milieu that shaped my childhood sensibility. The death of my father had a marked effect, underscoring the element of mystery of life. I continue asking myself what pains, what is the root of despair that sometimes emerges and the lack of family is one of the answers. But what is really driving the conscious and unconscious mind and body? I have to keep vigilant about the undiscovered connections.
I search the ruins of lands I visit, attempting to return to the time of childhood. Architectonic elements of life’s labyrinth emerge as I probe my psyche for answers. Heroic figures of warriors and soldiers permeate my dreams, and war is never too far from my mind. Loss is a familiar emotion, and its presence telling. I know I choose my influences, and to focus on figures distorted, wounded, humiliated is to traverse the dangerous subterranean regions without a guarantee of emerging whole.
One of the most powerful emotions is the space between laughter and trembling. As I create my life, I try to combine disparate elements of my past and my present. It’s at that threshold that tension resides, because I do not know if they will congeal. But I do know that I must continually fight darkness with light, despair with hope, and doubt with love.