I have a pair of earphones. They cover my ears. They operate on batteries and blue-tooth. They are manufactured in China. My mobile brings down music form the internet and deliver it to the phones. I dress in them comfortably as long as I stay at home.
In a few minutes I should go outside to help my wife bringing stuff home from her gallery. Should I continue wearing these phones downtown? Do I dare to introduce myself into this huge crowd of youngsters? All demonstrating their individuality in the same fashion? After all, I am not young any more. This coming summer I will celebrate 77.
On the other side and at my age I do not need to bother.
This is probably the most difficult writing task I’ve ever approached. Will I be able to get my writing in line with me on this subject? Will I make my writing understandable and some reader curious and interested? But on the other hand, the task is in line with where I am this chilly morning in mid-March 2019.
My life strategy has been to put on an intellectual cover as soon as any emotional roller coaster is in approach. It is an impulse from I do not know where. I call it ”primitive”. I have lived this way all my life. The strategy has become well known to me. In the absence of other things, I call it an element of my personal identity. But, after years of mental and emotional turbulence, it starts to crack.
I feel happy. At last, I live. I seem to have risen from the somewhat tedious role of being a responsible, orderly, reliable and predictable man. In one sense I have no experience of this roller coaster concept but to avoid it at all cost.
You told me something
Warmth and happiness showed up
Thoughts whirled around upstairs.
Did forget what you said
Received the undertone you gave
Will remember the event
until dementia sweeps my attic clean.
My pen follows me. Better, what my pen writes, I obey. That’s good. With words, I adjure everyday life. It has no color other than grey. Open a gap in time against what is now.
From the good old days, the castle in Åkeshov donates to the everyday life and monotony of the metro. Further out at Ängby, the platform is still icy. I find no peace until the sun rises, and the clouds have escaped.
The free will is discussed by those who believe their thinking have sharpness enough for the task. They forget that free will is not there for everyone, and always. Maybe just for a few and once. It is no point to anyone to discuss whether man has a free will or not.
I claim I am seeking the meaning of life. As if I forgot or did not understand that I already own it. Once the routines were a threat. They tore me away from what I thought carried value. Now and on the street outside my window, it gives me peace, something to return to. No matter what my imagination offers.
Once, and for a minute, among the houses at Nockeby, I realized what was important to me, a goal. The path to get there was long and tricky. Full of torment. I’m there now, almost thirty years later.
A grand piano stands on the ice,
almost impossible to detect.
It is black on black ice.
At a distance,
a thin rocky islet covered with snow,
makes it possible to see the instrument.
Further out the ice is broken.
Joyful presence fills your interior to the brink. The urge to dress your feeling of joy in words would make it leak, vanish, and disappear. Still, you do it.
The critical moment is to stay in silence. To allow the joy to be yours. At least for a day or two. To make it real enough. Not needing to qualify it by communicating with someone else.
Through your whole life, you walked along the roads you knew well. You dressed in an extra coat of responsibility. You almost touched a sense of acting dumb. You never even dared to imagine what the second level of living would be for you.
My morning sleep is broken
The fog is still there
Outside they start to dig into the street
Renovating the wastewater piping
Their machinery makes noise at seven thirty
Today we shift the location of living
Summerhouse to city living
Drove our car fully loaded from west to east.
Leaving morning dew and a sea like a mirror
preferring the big city.
I started to think and lost control immediately
What is civilisation?
Where is the best place to live?
Where we are going
or where we were yesterday?
Whenever it is crowded and messy to be a human
I fly away using words and thoughts,
always at some distance above the ground.
My consciousness abandons me
extracts me from participating
in what is.
She told me to set my goals
on a fair level
not where I thought I ought.
This advice, I have heard before
But kept it at a distant
Did not understand this advice
in my core.
She gave arguments
to support her advice
But I stopped her.
I heard what she said the first time
and was fully occupied
by taking it emotionally.
I do not need to be that ambitious
to feel good enough.