And still I wonder.

What if I let go?

What if I fall?

What is this darkness?

Extinction?

Madness?

The madness I’ve been longing for, to unleash the purity of my mind to what it is destined for?

To write.

And so I do.

And so you read.

And so you touch the darkness.

And then the demon hides again.

But sometimes, these mistakes that could teach you something create fear of what lies ahead on the path of your life. You will think back and remember all the little and big things you failed in. Then you slowly start feeeling unready, concluding that failing once means failing forever. Suddenly, you can’t move along anymore.

Your bad memories formed up a mirror, blocking your way and forcing you to look backwards eventhough your view is pointed ahead. You will feel cold and weak, while the mirror distorts its picture, fading out all the good moments that made up for your mistakes, making your life look like a parade of ruins.

This is the time when you must grasp for a glimpse of hope, may it be the last happy thought you carried with you or the calming words of a friend. Use it like a hammer, take a sweeping swing and crash the mirror into smithers.

Once you step over the glittering splinters you will feel ready for the future. But don’t forget to pick one up, so you have a rear-view at the pile of shards you left behind. To rely on this moment whenever your bygone mischiefs try to overtake you again.

About two years ago we brought her to the veterinarian because she regularly vomitted for no apparent reason. He diagnosed that she was suffering from nephritis due to a too low consumption of liquid, which is typical for cats. He predicted that she was about to live only a few months more, but she stood tough and surprisingly became more vital for some time. Also, we started to take even more care of her food. The last time I saw her before yesterday, she seemed quite healthy considering her age and had put on a little weight. However, when I came for a visit from Vienna last afternoon, it was under the bed on the attic where we found her. Sitting in her own piss next to her vomit she was in the worst condition I’ve ever seen her in. Instantly, it was clear that she was awaiting her end. My father told us, that she was eating less and less in the past few days, and even refused to have a meal just a day ago.

Cats, like many other animals, look for a lonely place to die. Yet she respected us taking her into my sisters room, where we built her a little tent out of a satin blanket and laid her on a pillow. Few hours after, she started roaming around in the house and went to rest under my father’s bed about midnight. Later she tried to go downstairs, stopped halfway, vomitted once more and meowed in pain. Ariving at the ground floor, she took direction to my room and sat down under my chair. We provided her a pillow and then left her alone, hoping she would pass away in the night and be free from her achingly old and used body.

But as always and once more, she remained tough. Under one of the shelves in the larder was where we found her in the morning. She took a walk outside, around the house, and laid down on the wet grass every few steps. I carried her inside again and she – stubborn as many cats are – went back, this time to the pond, and came to rest near the walnut tree.

At 9 am we called the vet who, usually only working in the afternoon, agreed to open his office for this occasion. Two injections later, at about 9.30 am Waska’s heart stopped beating after she had accompanied us for almost two decades.

My sister described it as “like losing a beloved sibling”, which brings it quite to the point. The fact that she was around always and everywhere makes the loss even greater, as every square of the house reminds us of her. Her lively contributions to our days, her meowing for food, her cuddliness, her noble gait and the pride and grace of her being will always be remembered.

Rest in Peace.

For 24 years I have always lived with and near my family and my best friends, always keeping close distance to a safe haven. Now it takes me about 4 hours to reach them, which might not seem a lot of time to many people, but it does to me. Ever since I’ve been studying in Salzburg, I came home at least once a month. Living in Austria’s capital, I’ll be home more seldom. Furthermore, I can not really tell where my home is now.

I do belong to where I grew up and spent the most years of my life so far, but this is not the place anymore where I’m going to live continously for a longer time. Then again, I have not found something like a home in Vienna yet. I will soon move into my third shelter in 5 months and I deeply long to stay there for a longer time. To regain stability.

Being on the move now for about half a year made me think about various other changes I need to make in and to my life. For quite a time I had the impression, that many things concerning me were falling apart. But finally I’ve come to the conclusion that they are just signs of the change I started in February. And they are signs of the change that is still progressing for longer. Of course there is some shift always and everywhere, but this is a big turn of the whole story. The more I come to a decision, the more I’m confident that it’s going to be a positive one. Surprises are possible though, but I’ve learnt to cope with that. The sweet as well as the vicious twists of existing have made me what I am. I do believe that I am the master of my fate, eventhough I can not influence every happening that affects me.

Realizing that I’ve been living in a retrospective since 2008 passed by, only managing to look forward in very singular occasions, I am slowly making the whole turn to set my sight on the future again. Stability always means keeping the hands on the steering wheel while moving forward. The captain is back soon.

I’ve gone through different states of mind since I found myself a place in Austria’s capital city. Expectations, the great possibilities of a big city and friends raised expectations and made me happy. Yet other things, among them several unknowns on the personal and financial side, built up fear. But this one epic battle, which turned out to end in a heart-driven decision, is over. Theres just some banter going on until the day of movement.

Yet it suffices to get me out of focus. Im participating in an election campaign these days, and voting day is close. Most bureau work, mostly the creation of regional papers, is finished and I’ll be soon hitting the streets and get talking to potential voters. Thinking about what is coming up to me, I lack concentration and motivation. Even reading a good book (which is Orhan Pamuk’s “Snow” at the moment) and spending time with friends can change this just temporarily, by far not long enough to have any mentionable impact. Basically, even writing these lines is some kind of therapy for myself. (Honestly, the whole Bekasov project is my replacement for a diary ).

While I am counting down to that step of physically moving to Vienna, I need to take counter-measures against my current state. My thoughts already remain some hundred kilometers to the east, which is partly ok. However, some hours a day I need to be able to stay on track because I want to do the best possible. But its more than that. Eventhough they were not strong enough to bind me here, I have grown some roots here and big parts of them will be capped soon within the change. The way forward is free to go, the way back would be narrow and hard in many aspects.

The way forward is free to go. Seems like this situation has not manifested itself inside my head – yet. Maybe this is the lens I need to see clear again. I wonder if I can find it in time.

Now inside ones mind there are also constant battles going on. More often than we might think, but we rarely take note. While sometimes they happen to be just a difficult choice between given options, turning the momentum of the fight all the way until a decision falls, based on pros and cons. These are often the small confrontations, just demanding some rationality from you to choose their winners. Decisions that really influence the feeling of your life are hardly ever based on rational thoughts. They are not the epic battles inside you, but rather only skirmish with a bit of collateral damage here and there.

You will feel it, when a decisive fight is up to begin. There is no escape, because for once, you are not a puppet master playing with the outcome as you wish, picking some answer based on simple minded calculations. Still, you are the key to the victory, a warring commander and fickle traitor to both parties. The power of reason will drive you to lead an army of conclusions onto the battleground, and just a second later you could be the the spearhead of a legion of emotions, battling for the forces of your heart.

Unlike the choice of the ice-cream flavor you’d like to have now, this is not going to be something cast up in a few moments. It might take days, weeks, months, even years until the winning fraction will finally erect their banner on the fields of pain and glory.  All the barbary, the constant slaughter, your own back and forth as a changeling of fate will be exhausting and sometimes leave you twisted and despaired, not knowing whom to crush the next blow upon. Yet in the end the final strike is yours, and it will always have impact on your life.

If reason prevails, your decision will be taken responsibly, foreseeing, carefully. You’ll stick to the safe side, trying to be least harmful, leaving out most of the risk. You could win some, but also fail just a bit and get some scratches. Else, if after the rage has ended, the red banner of hearts is held high and waves in triumph, your feelings will tell you what to do next. Your next step will be an unforeseen one, irrational, risky. You long for much more to gain than with a decision based on conclusion. So there is also far more to lose and deep scars to receive.

Take your time and examine the surface of your soul. How many epic battles were held there already? Who were the victors? What did you win, what did you lose? Will you be prepared for the next confrontation of intellect and heart?

Just unlike those known to you, it’s not each and every day that you are aware of this special kind of sea. But when you do, you will probably experience many facettes of its attitudes towards you.

This sea, you can sail. Like a captain on a giant ship, standing on its bow, holding course and being in decision and responsibility. When the sun is shining and the winds are blowing, you will quickly get forward and enjoy your journey.

But then, all of a sudden, the sky might get dark with clouds, and the soft streak of air turns harsh and makes the surface lively. Troubles might arise, and your galley, which formerly looked so impressive and indestructible could soon turn to a vessel with a destiny bound to the mood of wind and water.

Even worse, a thunderstorm might break it apart, leaving you as a playball awash, pedaling for your heart and soul. Once and then it will suck you in at the end of the struggle, when exhaustion has befallen your limbs and rendered you broken.

Still, you will never die in this sea. Once pulled under water, with nothing than panic in your head, you will realize how your view clears up as you sink deeper and deeper, and that it is not air you need to make the return. This ocean will reward you with insight when you’re at the state of total hopelesness and fear. It will be a guiding light for you, and bring you back up again. Breaching the surface, the storm will have settled, slowly opening the sky for a brand new day of sunshine.

And as this ocean is not mere a thief, but a giver and a taker, a borrower and lender, the silhouette of your ship will appear in the distance, telling you to continue your neverending travel. And with the silent promise of a new storm on a day yet to come, you will set sail once more and still not be prepared to face it when it hits.

But you will feel stronger everytime you leave the depths, enlightened, to find the bittersweet ocean of melancholia calm again.

So he sat down near a rock that was covered with a thick and glaring layer and started thinking. He looked around in the sullen landscape that he had to call a home, gazed up to the moonlit sky, listened to the crows that passed the horizons and yet couldn’t find a solution. Slowly, he started to freeze on his back, and wanted to stand up. Doing so, he slipped on a plate of ice that had grown under his feet, and bumped his head on the frozen rock. Looking at his reflection on the shiny surface, he realized that he wanted to be just like it.

If ever moving, the rock could easily slide on the snow. He could never be set in pain by jags of ice, because he was already wrapped in it. And no storm would ever be strong enough to hinder it’s movement or break it. So the boy locked himself up in a big block of ice. From now on, he could move freely through his world, and roamed to its borders, finding out that it was an island. Soon he had explored the whole of it, but he did not feel as happy as he expected. For it was before, that he used to climb the trees, risking freezing, painful hands, just to get on top and have the best view of the crow’s skyride and be reimbursed for the endeavour. More than that, he could not even sit down and turn up his head towards the sky, even if it used to make his back aching cold. The enjoyment was gone. The burden was still there.

Since it was terribly cold on his isle, he failed to crack his prison open. Feeling unluckier than ever, he restlessly followed the coastline and watched the sea. The moon drew a few more circles along the black sky of an endless night, before the boy saw something in the far distance, he could then identify as some kind of light. Even though he knew that ice would swim on water, he was horribly afraid of leaving his island, fearing to drown, maybe just following some illusion that his scattered mind might have called upon him. The answer was given to him, when he turned around and realized what had originally made him seek for a new perspective. He had become even harsher, colder and unfriendlier on the outside than the hell of winter he used to inhabit. As his sad heart grew warm with bravery, he finally set out and yielded to the current that soon drove him forward.

Sometimes the boy in his block drifted off to the left or the right, but at last he always remained steady enough on his track through the ocean. The sooner he came to the unknown, the more fearful he got. But with the fear, so rose his curiosity inside. Days and days passed, and the light on the horizon turned bigger and bigger. Every now and then, the gentle cradle of the waves made him fall asleep. Then, after drifting with the tide for a long time, a heavy jolt forced him awake all of a sudden. Opening his eyes he discovered, that he had landed on a rocky beach that blended into green grassland. Slowly he slided along in his brick, always following the direction the light seemed to shine from. He arrived at a place, where everything was brightly illuminated.

All around there were people standing and smiling, smiling at each other, also smiling at him. But they were free, not caught in a big pile of ice that was once thought to be protection and solution from a life without shelter and mercy. He felt so very strange to them, when he recognized, that each and every one was standing in a spot filled with plants in different, bright colors, he had never seen before. The boy could feel, that they were in a state of hapiness, and wondered how he could ever join them being bound to the narrowing walls of ice he could just look through, but not break. Panic occupied his heart, driving away the curiosity in an instant. He just had to journey back to his home, to the island of the neverending winter, feeling that he could never belong here.

And it was once again the turnaround, the act of looking back at what was lying behind him, that should change his fate. All on the way he afore moved up from the shore, there had water seeped down and trickled into the soil. And right where he was standing, he saw a small plant emerging from the ground, slowly opening its blossom. The warmth of the place had begun to tear apart the boundaries of frost around him.  Soon set free again, feeling the blood flowing back into his limbs, causing some pain at first, he sank to the ground and raised his head. A globe, just like the moon, yet bigger and impressively blazing, was on top of the sky.

Now that he thought about it, he concluded that everyone around him must’ve formerly come from the winter’s isle he once inhabitated. Some of their beautiful plants were as high as his knees, some had grown long enough, so he could hide between them. But all of them were bigger and more numerous than those around his own feet. The boy could not remember to have ever met any other person throughout his life in the bleak and cold wasteland. He was the last to escape the barren solitude, leaving it abandoned as just for the crows to stay. He took delight in looking at what he was taught to call “sun”, just as he once savoured the countless hours watching the moon. Even more he appreciated the people around him, who introduced him into their world which was full of  many enjoyable things but also tasks and challenges that he would have missed from the beginning of his own existence if he had ever known of theirs.

Spotting something moving the horizon, hearing a distant croaking from what was obviously a flight of crows, he knew that everything left from his past was a mere memory. He knew that he had finally arrived.