Mijn NiemandsLand

…or are you not in the hotel and somewhere else entirely, in a place where the floors breathe and the stairs occasionally decide to move themselves? The door you just walked through may no longer exist; it has retreated into a wall and now blooms like a chestnut flower, smelling of other people’s memories. You walk on, but the carpet beneath your feet turns into a dry riverbed covered in stamps and forgotten birthdays. The light on the ceiling blinks in Morse code: “don’t stay too long, the room is getting attached.” Someone—or something—breathes into the wallpaper. Not scary, just practical. A room needs to know who you are, so it can adapt to your dreams, your fears, your body odor in June. There’s a clock on the wall, but the hands have been replaced by two outstretched fingers pointing to where you used to think you were. Time there has congealed, like jam on a napkin in a breakfast room that might be a hospital, or a prison, or the inside of your skull when you dream about suitcases packing and unpacking themselves.

Waking up every morning is a small miracle in itself. As we slowly rouse from our sleep, we become aware of the world around us – a world in which natural laws are constantly at work, supporting our very existence. Although we often ignore these laws, they can be a surprisingly solid starting point for starting the day with a fresh perspective. Imagine taking a few moments each morning to “test” the laws of nature from the comfort of your own bed. Such a simple routine can not only be a fun start, but also a way to get your brain in the right frame of mind and experience a basic sense of certainty and stability. By briefly running through each law, you reinforce the idea that nature is predictable and reliable. Even the most fundamental forces are always there, ready to guide us through each new day.

It is a weekday afternoon, one of those afternoons when life stands still a little, time stretches out like a dreamy veil over the park, where the trees stretch their branches lazily towards a vain sky. And there, almost unnoticed, a red square floats, just above the grass, as if it has always been there, like a geometric mystery, motionless, yet full of a quiet energy, a riddle waiting to be unraveled, spinning invisible threads towards the chance passers-by whose walks are interrupted by this absurd spectacle. And yet, what is perhaps most remarkable is not the people who pass by, scratch their ears in amazement for a moment and then walk on, as if it were nothing more than a temporary optical illusion, a flicker of sunlight in their eyes. No, it is the group of elderly people, with walkers, hunched backs and grey hair, who slowly but resolutely make their way towards this red, floating object. They approach it with a seriousness that suggests they understand something the rest of us don't, as if they were following an inner calling, a whisper meant just for them, an invitation to some kind of transcendental redemption.

Tag: slowly

Somewhere Else.

Laws of nature.

Red Square.