now

It's entirely conceivable that life's splendour surrounds us all, and always in it's complete fullness, accessible but veiled, beneath the surface, invisible, far away. But there it lies - not hostile, not reluctant, not deaf. If we call it by the right word, by the right name, then it comes. This is the essence of magic, which doesn't create but calls.

Kafka

Es ist sehr gut denkbar, daß die Herrlichkeit des Lebens um jeden und immer in ihrer ganzen Fülle bereit liegt, aber verhängt, in der Tiefe, unsichtbar, sehr weit. Aber sie liegt dort, nicht feindselig, nicht widerwillig, nicht taub. Ruft man sie mit dem richtigen Wort, beim richtigen Namen, dann kommt sie. Das ist das Wesen der Zauberei, die nicht schafft, sondern ruft.

unknowable

No, the human heart
Is unknowable.
But in my birthplace
The flowers still smell
The same as always.

Ki No Tsurayuki
(tr. Kenneth Rexroth)

.
.

undoing

an arm reaches out
a curtain is pulled
a window is opened
the light is let in
yet behind each one
of these gestures
there is another gesture
undoing what is being done.

i seek the silence
undoing me.

last attempt - very ironic title, taking into consideration my obsession with the 'last song, last meeting' :-)

i have to apologize deeply to all of you who got worried about the Bridge gone floating. i am so sorry i scared you, but nothing seemed to work as i wanted to and i just had to close it to be able to test different solutions. i am afraid i am a bit obsessed with detail (perfectionism is a curse!), i just can't be satisfied with 'oh, just leave like this, what does it matter anyway' (you will understand better if i tell you that one of my métiers of choice would have been that of decorating illuminated manuscripts).
i think i have found a solution which allows me to keep my old template as well, i just couldn't adjust to the new ones i had been trying in the meantime (oh les anciennes amours!).

language related pondering as interlude (oh les anciennes habitudes! :-): what can be more frivolous and at the same time more thought-provoking, than this habit of the French to switch between masculine and feminine gender when they talk about 'amour'!

i would like to thank all of you who are here for me and also those who have overwhelmed me with letters about the Bridge (reaching from friendly encouragements, polite demands of being included on an eventual list of 'invited readers' to sweet-sulking inquiries and even infuriated menaces :-). i can't tell you how deeply i am moved. please be assured, if i ever let the Bridge sink, i will let you know first and find a way to say good-bye, even if i am very bad at doing that.

and since i find no better way of expressing my gratitude: for all my readers (and especially for Atenea who, despite having an important paper to finish, spent her entire day with me trying to figure out a way out of this mess), my humble gift of friendship - a tulip's dream of frailty and veiled light.

I am veiled even to myself

Nadie puede salvarme pues soy invisible aun para mí

que me llamo con tu voz. ¿En dónde estoy?

Estoy en un jardín.

Hay un jardín.

Alejandra Pizarnik

(Piedra Fundamental)

No one can save me because I am veiled even to myself,

I who calls me with your tongue: Where am I? I'm in a garden.

There is a garden.

(Fundamental Stone,
trans. Zachary Jean Chartkoff)