DORIT DORNIER

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Musings of a tightrope walker...

A Place of Distance

My tightrope is a place of distance
Strung above the days of noise.
Far away but ever close
To passing clouds and shreds of thoughts,
And erring birds of circling words
Which, landing for assembling brakes
Plan here their new courageous flights.

 

 

Today

Walking my tightrope today

I saw the trees all upside down

Searching for clouds on water’s face

Now where are their roots?

I guess in the sky...

And mine?

Yours?

 

Now

I'm sitting on my tightrope
Holding my breath.
All I have is the moment,
All I have is the Now.
I stretch my hand to the future,
The moment it's now it gets past.
I stretch my hand to the past,
I'm missing my moment of now.
I try to hold on to the moment,
All I ever had is the Now.
I'm sitting up on my tightrope
But I better continue to breathe,
Cause the moment I do stop breathing
The loss of my breath is my now.

 

Time

I am obsessed with the reality╔ or non-reality of time╔

Is time a dimension?

Is there any duality to time?

Is time linear?

Is there any non-time?

Is time energy?

How can we loose time, safe time, win time?

Can time stop, be compressed, slow down, extend or reverse?

 

Passing

Passing of thoughts like

The birds in the wind

No traces

No traces

No traces

Passing of feelings

Like waves in the wind

No traces

No traces

No traces

Passing of dreams

Like smoke in the wind

No traces

No traces

No traces

 

Footprints

After the snow has melted away,

But the lake is still frozen,

Footprints can be seen crisscrossing the ice

Where deer and foxes passe

With hungry stomachs longing for food

After the years have melted away

But the body is still alive

Footprints can be found crisscrossing the soul

Where deeds and wishes passe

The restless mind longing for love 

 

Contemplation

Spending some time on a bridge╔

Looking up the river

Looking down the river

Contemplating

Future now and past

I couldn’t make up my mind

Where the future was╔

Was future the stream coming towards me?

Was my place on the bridge the ‘now’?

Were the leaving waters equal to our idea of the past?

They had passed under the bridge, yes╔ but

Weren’t the waters running down constantly towards the future?

If I would be sitting in a boat

The water would carry me towards the future ahead.

Spending some time on a bridge╔

Observing the waters

Was creating 'illusions' of now, future and past

Maybe there is no past

No future either

And not even a now.

There might be only the ‘flow’!