Going on to lives mixed with dreams with the fire, light inside of us, sailing to reality with the ship of dreams.
By Nevin Ulusoy
In an illuminated shadow of an October noon, the rustle of the leaves are on me. To be freezed in the shadow of the light that infiltrates from the leaves. The sounds of the flowing day soar on the old, stone roads. The violins are on the melody of the light breeze. Being alone with a book and coffee. Pleasure is in one’s veins, wanders around one’s particles. Wind caressing the pages, sipping my coffee, I am in an October dream. A state of drunkenness. Everything is more clear when we are drunk, the curtains are suddenly opened, a drunkenness of pleasure, a state of clever insanity. A little change of the perception of reality, living as in a dream. Watching yourself, like a game, motions coming right from the heart.
I wander the deserted rooms in my mind, the closed windows, the locked door, furniture that I look at and think, no, I have a ball of love now, I take another sip from my coffee, is she in a slumber of loneliness now? I smile when I think of my friend with honey-coloured eyes in the tiny green room in the small city. A sweet friend that says “look, I’m here” with her murmurings full of love lying her head on your leg when you are just about to enter the tunnel of loneliness. The one and only that takes you by the hand in front of the dark labyrinths and leads you to her own bright world. The wonderful creature that sleeps on the tip of your feet or the other side of the table makes you feel that she is absolutely peaceful and brings you the muses in a strange way as you play the writer. She accompanies you stretching her head to be caressed as you read your book, and meets the new friends in the book. She ornaments the flowing minutes with little mischiefs. The moon and the sun smiles at you under the downpour of a never-ending friendship.
The beautiful things we experienced, the seconds we shared full of love, shiny days most people do not even dare to imagine, worth a few lives, having lived that happiness, what an awesome feeling.
I turn my eyes dazzled with the smile of the sun to my book. The words are full of sadness, unending sadness. Is that what goes with October, as in John Banville’s “The Sea”? Loss, marks of memories of childhood that go on for a lifetime, sea, that vast salty water, seeming not to care about us, secrets buried in its dark depths. Waves that beat the side of the days lived and gone, waves keep on beating our hearts, people who live in the autumn of life now. However, the sunsets of autumn and winter are unique, even though sometimes sad, they always have a golden touch. As we listen to the words of a strong storm, we know that the sea is not dark actually and how tremendous the silence after the storm is. Patti Smith emphasizes that loss is inevitable and how we feel the light people who we love and are not with us now inside. The beautiful things we experienced, the seconds we shared full of love, shiny days most people do not even dare to imagine, worth a few lives, having lived that happiness, what an awesome feeling. Thoughts of autumn, but what I am reading takes place in March, what a contrast, the joy of spring is mixed with the tears of “The Clown”, Heinrich Böll’s magnificent novel. A young man, penniless in Bonn, he has lost both his love and hope, has refused to live according to the rules other people have set, is against the institutions, thoughts everybody bows to just like obedient slaves. Her beloved Marie is not with him, for whom he says:
-”I had to lean my face on her head and take the smell of her hair to my sleep with me.” Of course the neighbours who he claims have sharper eyes than the devil do not leave anybody alone. Moral rules everybody accepts but he thinks to be immoral take Marie away, he finds himself in the shelter of bubbles of alcohol, just like the main character in “The Sea”. His father who wants “the best” of everything, his mother who keeps on saying “money is forever”, his mother who supported Nazis until the end of war but now who is a fierce democrat, like lots of people around them. “I think they would do the good and the right thing when they benefited from it.”
I am listening to “The Clown”, we are looking out of his window in Bonn together, he is smoking one of his last cigarettes. He is telling us our story actually, a story of thousands of years, the story of not following everybody’s path, the story of knowing that light is in your hands, the gloom of being away from all prejudices, nonsensical rules and codes of behaviour. Being yourself means being alone on the top of a mountain in a way, watching the never-ending rush from the sixth floor. Laughing with the moon also, along with the melissas’ infinite odour. Closing your book and setting off to hug your cute friend, not doubting being welcomed with joy. These are the last warm lights maybe, to meet sweeter lights. Janis Joplin’s “Kozmic Blues” is playing in my mind. “Time keeps moving on… there’s a fire inside of everyone of us.” Going on to lives mixed with dreams with the fire, light inside of us, sailing to reality with the ship of dreams.