been spending some time immobilised in bed. dont really want to read. can't concentrate, i m having a very "fertile" period in my brain these weeks. it demands no distractions, bombards me with memories at day and dreams at night.
so instead of taking my mind off it with a good book, i m listening to good music, singing along, listening again, feeling deeper, singing better.
thinking, remembering. i am glad to remember. there is so much stuff that, in a very well thought wish, would prefer had never happened. but happen they did and as long as things happen, i am glader to remember them than to forget them. tears are bitter. but the water of forgetting would be bitterer. i imagine it would offer me sweet bliss, leave me with some empty spots, maybe some sort of phantom pains, maybe put me at some kind of peace with the world - but it would withhold from me the resolution, the strength, the lessons of tears. and then that's the stuff that puts me at peace with myself.
i listen to the beautiful songs of my beloved composers and poets and i get lost in translating the images
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