The Heart

The rays of the setting sun pierced the darkness in rare bloody streams. Drop by drop the sun gave away its strength, slowly — yet irrevocably. A bleak cold wind blew: under its gusts you wanted to shrink and raise your collar. But after each gust a momentary lull came, and the warmth given off by the rocks and the sea again seeped under the thin lining and wrapped the chilled body.

The sea was at my feet. On the horizon it grew darker and darker until it merged in its blackness with the clouded sky. And in the distance the water flared with faint lights where the blood of the sun’s rays seeped from the clouds.

The land was behind my back. Vast fields, deserted roads, and a thin strip of forest far, far behind… Ragged patches of sparse bushes were stuck between the fields, and a quiet village smeared along the forest’s edge as a ridiculous stain of yellow lights.

The sky glowed dimly above my head. It was hardly ever so black. Just a few hours ago it had been wounded, riddled with blue holes, and now they had overgrown, pulled tight; only new wrinkles appeared above. The sky was hardly ever so hard.

The waves softly splashed far below, and their sound formed a desperate harmony with the moan of the wind. Even the rocks under my feet, it seemed, froze only for a moment, only for a second, only to hear this melody…

And ahead, where water and air met, a black point slowly grew, carrying the depth of losses, carrying the height of liberation — carrying death… Something deep inside me seemed to answer it, somewhere that the heart sinks in moments of sorrow, somewhere it rises in moments of joy; and with vague movements I echoed the wind, echoed the waves, and made the rocks not only listen but also look, not only hear but also see the black point that had already become a black spot, and the black spot that tried to merge with its continuation in my chest.

The waves rolled in and ran back, came closer to my eyes and retreated into impenetrable distance. And there was nothing but this motion; everything went away except this unobtrusive melody of air and water. And only one thing remained — the black spot that had already become half the world, closing off half of what was before me. One step, one swift and beautiful pas of my dance, and everything will disappear; nothing will remain, no melody, no motion, only the black spot will grow, become everything, and that sorrow that fills me, that darkness that covers my heart with fog, will become everything, become part of the spot…

And I leave my eyes open; I continue to hear the strings of the wind, I continue to hear the overtones of the sea, I continue to see everything — and at the same time nothing. Before me is emptiness, but perhaps this is what Eternity should look like? The fog begins to thicken; it stretches forward and pulls me with it. But what now am I, what now is my heart? — the fog became part of me, I became part of the fog. No, no — the fog was always part of me, and I was always part of the fog! And already with a kind of joy and calm I want to answer the wind, I want to answer the waves, I want to go forward, move forward, become part of Eternity, make Eternity my part…

And now the rocks awaken, they are enchanted by the rhythm, enchanted by the motion, and they answer the Eternity that has come out to meet us, because they themselves are eternal. And I know they want to make me free, I know they are close to me, and that which is now in my power. I want to step forward, I want to gain freedom. It is absurd to resist this, for ahead is everything, ahead is the wind, ahead are the waves, ahead is more than just wind and just waves; ahead is everything… But my burden chains me to the rocks, it clings to them as to the last refuge; but I already see that the mind is ready to follow me, it has understood freedom, understood Eternity, it is with me. And it only needs to overcome itself, lift my burden, carry it to the edge, and I will become Eternity, and the mind will follow me, and the burden will not cling to those miserable crumbs of roots still growing on the rocks of life.

The mind is enchanted by hearing, the mind is enchanted by sight, the mind sees instead of the burden me — and accepts me, accepts me instead of the burden. It wants freedom — it will get freedom!.. Step… another step… already close, there it is — freedom, there is the wind, there are the waves, and the black spot of Eternity that has swallowed this world — there it is. And the mind is already ready to fly, ready to burst into Eternity, and only my burden hinders me, hinders it. And the burden is no longer needed by it; I have replaced it, it sees me instead of it, and I cast off the burden, I flow off it, I spread to the sides, and no wind will be able to disperse me now, after the mind has become mine, after I have rushed — and dragged the mind after me: into Eternity, into freedom, into the black spot that has grown above the Earth. And the burden remained, clutching with its last grip the root of love that grew on the rock of life. But it is no longer frightening, for the mind is with me, and I am for it instead of the burden, and ahead of us is a black spot rapidly surrounding us, a black point rapidly compressing us, an eternal night rapidly carrying us away, far from the shores, far from the village lights, far from kindred souls, far from true freedom… And I can do nothing anymore!.. I cannot even regret it, regret and grieve — for I myself chose the fog that wrapped the heart instead of the heart itself, I myself chose Eternity — the black spot carrying death and returning no one…

Bleak gusts of wind lifted the waves and threw them at the rocks. The waves rolled at the wind, striving to scatter it. For centuries they became unwilling accomplices of deception, for centuries they unwillingly enchanted sick souls, and for centuries they unwillingly sent them into the black spot of death. An eternity has already passed, and for an eternity they have tried to destroy each other — wind against waves, waves against wind — hoping that the deception will vanish after that, hoping that the black spot will then become only a black point forever. But it is not waves that create deception, not wind that enchants the hearing, but only black fog that settles in hearts, only the black spot that promises everyone joy instead of sorrow and freedom instead of chains.

And on the rock, miraculously clinging to a root, untroubled by either wind or waves, reddening with the rays of the rising sun, was a heart — the heart and the brightest thing in a person, the truest thing that creates freedom, the most important thing that makes one live — love…

Autumn 2001