Like us

The time that does not exist, shows its insufficiency and stops. And at times we are in a film, in Rome dancing to a love song, hugging each other as if we love each other, at 7 am in a rented room we call home. And the music changes and we laugh out loud and dance and play ‘like in the mud’, but dry. Maybe we love each other without knowing it, maybe we are loving each other, maybe we don't want to see it, maybe there's no time to wonder about it. Maybe it just doesn't matter. It's perfect just the way it is.

~Interspersed Moments in Time

Reality or Illusion?

How afraid we are of love, that we take all the stupid care we can to maintain our supposed security of control. Lest we become vulnerable, vulnerable to love, vulnerable to the fear it gives us to express ourselves. Vulnerable to the word spoken, to the fear of winning or losing, or the fear of just playing and the uncertainty of the uncontrollable.

The panic of the gaze and the response of the other, which is none other than our own but projected, with the eyes of judge and executioner of ourselves and our ideal of what we want to be.

We are so afraid that we go with a lead foot, just like those who know they are entering a swamp and count the steps millimetrically before falling to the bottom. How brave we are in the face of life and our daily responsibilities, but how conservative and fearful we become when it comes to love.

Why don't we dive in and play in the mud and have fun?

Jumping up and down, exploring, caressing, submerging, experimenting...with the joy that this image brings us, with spontaneous joy and playfulness.

Why not, why are we afraid, why have we been hurt, why are we not totally safe, why are we not totally secure? Because life is too short to make promises we don't know if we can keep or long enough to keep waiting for that day of having all the securities in hand, which almost never comes.

And we become falsely hard, distrustful, calculating, analysing, dead.

Have you ever had food poisoning?

Have you ever stopped eating because of it?

We play differently with him.

We hardly knew each other. We didn't ask all those initial questions you usually ask when you meet a stranger. Past, future, profession, past relationships. Identities and labels.

We give ourselves the opportunity to get to know that other, who is the being we have in front of us today, not the one we were but the one we are now, here, during these microseconds of our life's journey. Although the wounds and the stories would soon appear, pouring out of our pores, because that's who we are too.

But we don't rush it, we let it lie dormant until the time comes for it to emerge.

We don't dwell on trifles that don't matter. We are both passing through here. We know that our time is limited, that we both have different plans and directions, that there are no promises to make and no promises to keep, that there are no obligations other than our desires and no expectations that last more than a few hours, divided into days according to the social need to tell everything.

By those rules, we play. We get into the mud with the lucidity of one who knows that the mud is there but only for a short time.

We look at it, we recognise it. We perceive that perhaps the mud could become a puddle of water, transparent as a mirror, where we can see ourselves and where we are. And yet, innocent and thirsty for life, with the courage of those who know what they are facing, we create mud from water. We spice it with sacred earth, a product of the illusion of the possibility of being able to create and the magnificence of life that allows us to enjoy something that depends on us, that we create and enjoy. It is not thirst for a thirsty person, because we are not thirsty. It is elixir, which we choose to drink like kings because we can.

There are no promises or formalities. There is no past and no future. There is no fear and no expectations to fulfil, neither our own nor the other's, because there is no time for expectations, and that is beautiful.

There is only the present and two souls who have connected, who like each other, who choose for a while to immerse themselves in the same mud-water, who let themselves be soaked and mix without further ado, knowing that time is finite and that love is a gift they give to themselves. They only want to nourish themselves for as long as those moments of magic last, as a blessing and an apprenticeship of finiteness and consciousness.

There are no ties, there is freedom. The freedom of nothingness and everything at the same time, the freedom of being one and the enjoyment of expressing oneself.

The notion of time is only a convention and at this level of the world we only see what is real. We are two free souls, who respect each other but also ourselves. We can't hold on to each other even if we wanted to, because we know that everything is change and we already accept the rules beforehand.

The time that does not exist shows its insufficiency, and stops. And at times we are in a film, in Rome dancing to a love song, hugging each other as if we love each other, at 7 am in a rented room we call home. And the music changes and we laugh out loud, and we dance and jump and shake our heads, and we move, and we play like in the mud, but dry.

Maybe we love each other without knowing it, maybe we're loving each other right now, maybe we don't want to see it, maybe there's no time to wonder about it, maybe we don't need to know it. Maybe it just doesn't matter. It's perfect just the way it is.

Isn't that what love is all about?

Giving without expecting anything in return, giving with happiness, without expectations, with the innocence of a small child who still doesn't understand - or understands everything - and just does whatever he wants. To love without so much mind. To express ourselves without speculation. To say I love you with the ease, joy and lightness of a bird that takes flight for the first time, every time it takes off. To sit and dream without the need for it to come true. To dream like children, to lie with our backs on the grass, choosing with all the cards on the table. To cuddle and laugh, as if it were free to dream.

What a difference between that and using a broom as a horse to go in search of dreams. Normalise love. That before being painful it is pure and beautiful, and makes us more human and more alive. Before it is corrupted by fears, attachments and our own desires. The subversion that society commands and we approve of.

That disciplined love, positive love, with order, sequences, levels, labels, conditions and formats, we can throw it into the shit and laugh in its face because that is not love. Love is broom-horse love and crossing battlefields without fear of falling off the broom.

What if we jump in the mud like pigs and just enjoy it until you leave?

That's what we did during the micro-moments coming up in 2 weeks.