Like the raindrops…

Raining. I’m sitting in an old, unfinished building on a cocoa bean bucket. Gazing the hill’s brand new  cloud-dresses. Listening the fall of the drops from the floor above. After a while I start to follow the dripping noise. My eye is on the drops. They disappear in a crack on the concrete. I need some time to realize what I see – that there might be connection between the existence of the crack and the landing drops. Rain by rain, day by day, year by year the constant presence of the soft, gentle drops creates something what the ‘here-and-now’ only would be able to reproduce by a strong, violent machine.

…

I remember how many times I wanted to deal with things and situations ‘here-and-now’. Quickly, immediately, impatiently. Instant life. Violent ‘hammer-drill’ me instead of the soft, patient, gentle raindrops.

…

One day the building might collapse. This could be something dramatic with tremendous noise, dust, smell of destruction. Or it could be a long, soft falling, melting into the minutes, silent faint into the nothingness.

We are always in a constant rush. What for? Where? Where the need, the urge is coming from to do something, be somewhere, be someone? Where the ‘I have no time’ was born? Where we lost the enjoyment of tasting the minutes, the ability to be open to the presence of this very moment? When did I gave the key of the bliss, the love of my life into others hand?

…

…or just leave the question. Does not matter anymore. As I am the one who can stop at any time this crazy, rushing chariot. I can leave it and walk instead. To feel the earth under my feet, to feel as the mud is squeezed through between my toes, the velvety touch of the moss-dressed stones. I can uncover the invisible bug-life, witnessing the perfectly sketched map of their dreams. I can be drunk from the blossoming fragrances. With every step. In every second. Slowly, softly, gently. Like the raindrops.

(A magyar valtozat ekezetek nelkul olvashato.)

Mint az esocseppek…

Esik. Egy oreg, befejezetlen betonepulet ad menedeket. Ulok egy kakaobab-gyujto vodron. Bamulom a felhobe fulo hegyeket. Hallgatom, ahogy a felsobb emeleten felgyulemlett viz a kozelemben pattan a betonra. Egy ido utan elkezdem kovetni a zajt. Nezem a cseppeket. A cseppek egyenesen egy repedesben landolnak. Ido kell, mig konstatalom, a cseppek es a padlon huzodo repedes kozt osszefugges lehet. Esore eso, napra nap, evre ev a puha, finom cseppek kitarto munkaja olyat hoz letre, amit az ‘itt-es-most’ csak eros, eroszakos gepekkel tudna reprodukalni.

…

Hanyszor akartam ‘itt-es-most’ elintezni dolgokat, megvaltozatani helyzeteket! Gyorsan, azonnal, turelmetlenul. Instant elet. Eroszakos ‘utvefuro-en’ a finom, turelmes, puha esocsepp helyett.

…

Az epulet majd osszedol egy nap. Ez lehet dramai omlas, robaj, por, pusztitas-szag. Vagy lehet hosszu, lagy hullas, percekbe olvadas, csendes nemletbe ajulas.

Mire fel a rohanas? Honnan a surgetes? A ‘nem erek ra’? Hova lett a percek izlelgetese, a pillanat ajandeka ovatos bontogatasanak kepessege? Mikor adtam ki a kezembol az eletem elvezetenek, szeretetenek kulcsat?

…

Mindegy is. A jo, hogy barmikor megallithatom ezt az orulten rohano szekeret. Kiszallhatok, es folytathatom gyalog az utam. Erezve talpam alatt a foldet, a labujjaim kozt utat toro sarat, a ko mohakabatjanak barsonyat. Szemugyre vehetem a legaprobb bogar-eletet, a lathatatlan vonalak pontosan bogozott terkepet. Belebodulhatok a szirmukat bontogato illatokba. Lepesrol lepesre. Percrol percre. Lassan, puhan, finoman. Mint az esocseppek.