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The long way to

Lucian-Dragoş Bogdan



Publicat Duminică, 17 Decembrie 2006, ora 11:37

      I heard somebody saying that pictures hide inside them a world; a world in two dimensions to be more specific. Isn’t that weird? I mean look at me now: I’m standing in front of my easel and I’m looking at that mess of colors spread all over the painting canvas. How could everything I’ve painted there be a distinguished, different world? Sounds more like a confession told to a shrink.

      It still is an interesting idea. I mean think about that: I, Abraham Locke, secondhand painter, can create a whole new world? More than that: I am the God of a… a… let’s say civilization? Sounds good. Yeah, right, but what can you do about the one-dimension difference that prevents it from knowing its God and me from helping… hum… my servants? Neh, it’s only her loss ‘cos in my infinite merciless I’m drawing two more red stripes so it can understand what God love means.

      Ha-ha-ha!

      OK, let’s cut it out; enough is enough. Tomorrow my “most beloved” world will belong to somebody else anyway. And I hope that it will bring its God at least one offering - a good price I mean – and whatever happens to it doesn’t concern me anymore. I’m only blessing it with my signature and…

      What the hell is that?

      Look what happens when I’m dreaming all day long! Now it seems to me that my hand is sleeping through the painting…

      Though…

      It really does! That’s weird. I mean I’m passing right now from three dimensions to only two and I’m not feeling a thing. I mean I’m quietly looking how I am reduced only to length and width or width and height or…

      What’s with all those stupid thoughts?

      …What thoughts?…

      …What was I thinking?

      I’m sitting and I’m trying to remember what crossed my mind before I woke up and I don’t get anywhere. OK. If it was important I’ll remember sooner or later.

      I start walking, heading to. After I pass through I avoid going to close to and I let myself covered with that Black Solitude feeling till I reach. I say “hello” and ask for the road to

      - So you’re the least! says studying me from to.

      - How can you tell that? I ask.

      Smiles.

      - It’s obvious : what’s more knows where the less is. And considering the fact that you are looking for the last and you don’t know where it is, means that you are less than.

      I admire the perfect logic. It may be a consequence of the fact that it’s more than me. Maybe one day I’ll reach such maturity as well.

      - So, concludes, what you want is placed to.

      I say a humble “thank you” and start going to. I don’t know why do I want so desperately to reach but there is something inside me telling that I will find something of great importance at.

      I already feel that I am more. I know that because what was on one side is now more and what is on the other side is less.

      The unstoppable flow of space …

      Space… The dimension taking us to our graves enlarging one side and shrinking the other one, over and over. The one that makes the difference between more and less. I, as the last one – the least, then – have much more to go. But the first one already has passed a lot of space and has less than I to go…

      I even wonder if that is possible to exist more than three dimensions.

      I’m being brutally awake by. I’m trying to escape but it’s closer and closer. I start running as fast as I can through trying to reach. It’s following me which means it’s also heading to; that’s good. I guess that’s my only chance.

      I get to and spin. Clumsy, trying to catch me before I climb in hits the. I jump on his beck and hit it with. It screams in pain but there’s nothing it can do but sink in.

      I sit tired, trying to catch my breath. There are many dangers which I could avoid if only I could master the Space. I could get rid in no time of and I wouldn’t die.

      What if Space pays tribute to another dimension? And that one to another? Would I accomplish anything by ruling the Space?

      Maybe or maybe not. And I might as well never find out. For now all that I have to do is to get to. I’m sure that Something will happen at.

      I start walking much careful this time. I might not be that lucky next time I meet a. The are not everywhere to climb and sink.

      From time to time I meet a and I ask about my goal. Some tell me that it really is Something at. God left His Love for us over there.

      It’s been a long walk and I became more and more. If what I found out is true I must be getting to very soon. I don’t even know how it looks like but when I spoke with told me that I’ll realize from the very beginning.

      And I think that…

      I mean I’m sure that after all this effort I finally got at. I can only watch and wonder. It really is something of great magic that says “Love”.

      Something that is Love.

      Staying and staring at I can feel that God wanted to leave something to His servants. Something of great Love and Care.

      I enjoy the divine felling that flows through me. A Red, burning feeling erupting Love. I hide the Love inside me and I let myself flow into and through.

      Oh, God, it’s so wonderful!…

      I hardly open my eyes – like I would never leave that astounding bliss. I open my eyes and watch.

      I watch surprised the hand that presses the pencil, stopped for a moment form his way in the corner of the painting. Puzzled I finish the spin of “e” from “Locke”. I slowly raise my hand and watch again. The colors are dry now except for – strange – the two red stripes.

      I try to understand what’s wrong. I’ve painted a picture, I’ve been thinking about bi-dimensional worlds, I’ve been drawing two red stripes and when I’ve started to sign my name on I’ve been completely blinded by that magic. And…

      Nothing. I feel that something’s not right, that somewhere I have a missing link, but I haven’t got a clue. What’s really weird is that my eyes are attracted by those two red stripes refusing to dry. “They won’t dry” crosses my mind.

      I lift up my shoulders and without other questions I heavy write down the name of the painting: “The long way to”.

      Why “The long way to”? I don’t know.

      Something’s telling me that this is the best name for it.

     

© Copyright Lucian-Dragoş Bogdan
Sursa :   Imagikon
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