Of Anxities and Halloween (I)

• Lea la versión en castellano aquí

Halloween drives me to the anxiety of speaking without nooks and crannies in my soul, dressed in white veils transforming into mists that float me distances among fresh gusts of what I am and warm breaths blowing from my belongings.

There, my anxiety becomes certainty. There I reach at least for an instant the perennial home. There, my anxiety feeds on the power of torn grief that turns it into breeze to open roads that bring back to life a horizon.

One day I will go back there. And it will be forever.

That’s just one little part of it, the deepest one from myself that takes me to be and be where I am.

It’s in this anxiety that breathes with the nature of existence when my senses react to what later will be the new solar transformation.

But, before that, there are others, triggered just like the flame trying shadows around until darkness is distracted so it does not look at itself.

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Witches Night explodes my satisfaction during the reunion, for under the disguise echoes dance saying to all that in spite of inquisitions we still are life’s enchantment.

And irreverences crossing ‘the forbidden’ to be all that wrongly has been named as ‘evil’ and is used to revive paper fears so no one dares to be completely.

Bad news. People enjoys being ‘what should not be done’ and fires are lit up for other purposes.

Felt the same watching how Harry Potter penetrated and penetrates unthinkable places waking up in the ‘forbidden’ something familiar.

What did you say? Oh, yes, marketing had a lot to do, so it did with The Da Vinci Code or The Lost Symbol. But this view goes after the marketing; in spite of it and beyond the ‘prohibition’: it’s the possibility to find once more what was lost amidst provoked deafness.

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Other anxietes produces Halloween on me. These, get stuck on the esophagus of non-understanding. Others conveniently play the off-understanding.

On Halloween night I found many avenues orbiting, replete with pilgrims running desperately in search of their dose, eyes popping out with emotion as if they were going to satiate a supernatural thirst.

And they were just going after fear, yes fear, with its two consonants and two vocals and endless roars of tinplate.

There in the darkness of night, their shadows cross as blind beehives going towards the voracity of control just as if it was a pleasure. If lucidity they would recover, they would be torn out watching how they carried out the work of their oppressions to strengthen their chains… off-understanding.
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I also live in ‘Halloween’ the scents of an artifical flower that will never meet the moisture of its roots. On those anxieties and other un-linking ones, after we recover breath…

(To be continued)

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…and it continued:

• Of Anxieties and Halloween: Broken Links (II)
• Of Anxieties among Worlds: Bread, Skulls and Rituals (III)
• Of Bluish Anxieties: The Wheel of Life from a Stone (IV)