The Bird in Space
I don’t know how it happened, it might be after the exhibition in Paris where a Bird in space sculpture moved all of a sudden. Nobody seemed to see it waving its body as if turning into light. I went closer to look at it carefully, a bit concerned and touched it with my hands. It seemed to be warm and vibrating as if life came into it from somewhere. Did you see it? I asked a man around. What? The Bird, it’s moving. It can’t, it is just a sculpture standing there, and maybe it was a reflection from the window light. I went home and that night I dreamt about the Bird space flying together with a flock of birds. It floated catching all the light in her body, and one moment burst into flames, then disappeared.
A few weeks later, one morning woke up and felt my hands had turned into wings, big white feathery wings. What should I do, how could I drink my tea, asked myself sadly. How could I write on my computer now, I need my fingers… Then I realised I only had to think about it and the tea was already made and drunk. My notebook didn’t need my hands, the keyboards moved by themselves, just for a touch of the wings flying above it. That was really amazing. One day, a bird came and sat on my front window sill, just sitting there its back turned to me. It came every day and just sat there by itself, slightly spreading its wings, one at a time. I felt my body lost its flesh and bones, becoming almost transparent, and one day a cat jumped into my left ear and never came out. I could hear it purring there now and then. A terrible storm hit the town one day and the bird left but I could hear it talking to me. Why did you come to my window, I asked? We need your wings, we are at a loss. Come, please. Where? Close your eyes and jump into yourself. I closed my eyes and jumped into myself and there was the bird waiting for me. How is this possible? Well, everybody can do it, close their eyes and jump inside and meet there altogether. But where are the others? They can’t find the entrance, they just want to have fun. Don’t worry, we have to go far away.
And started flying above green hills, mountain peaks and deep seas. Where do we go? We are expected at our most secret world, deep under the ground, where the blue Danube is about to flow into the Black Sea. We landed on rocky cliffs near a huge river. Hurry, please, I have to get back in a few hours. Don’t worry, you will be on time. There is not a gate here, how will we get in? The cliffs opened wide, we entered and then they closed again as before. Aren’t they rocks? Yes, they are, but they are alive. Did you utter magic words? No, they open by themselves, but only when they can sense your thoughts. Nobody knew about it, not even the Romans when they conquered the land and they looked all over. Then the great sultan, he left no stone unturned but never was he to find it. People say he lost his mind, blabbing about a magic place he kept looking until he died drowned in the Danube. We entered a wide marble white salon where the windows mirrored images from the world above. I could see the picture of my house bathed in the sunshine. Hurry now, time flows. I don’t like my winged hands, I want my old hands back. You can have them at the end of the day. Would you like me to change my shape? I can change myself into every being, shape or colour, all of a sudden. What would you like me to be? I want you to be the Poet. The bird changed into the Poet carrying a feathered pen and an ink bottle in his hands.
Let’ go now. The Book is waiting for us. What Book? The oldest Book in the world, writing the story of all the worlds that lived and will live. We are worried the Big Book stopped writing. But who is writing the Book? It is writing itself day and night, the letters move and flicker on the pages, mingling and changing their shapes, shining and whispering all along. I don’t believe you, there is no such book that writes itself. The Big Book is alive, it is a book being. But last winter it wrote the word darkness and there it stopped. A sage came to talk to it and asked what happened, why wouldn’t it write anymore, is it tired, or maybe ill? The book answered him whispering sharply and scratching three riddles on a page and the ink turned black. The most wonderful blue shades light ink darkened and everybody cried. The letters do not shine anymore and do not move. What riddles, are they difficult? Quite. Nobody could solve them till now. The first one is “Shake it, shake your spear”. Can you make something out of this? No. The second one is “Buy lens a lot”. Oh, odd. The third one is “The Prince is there”. It is rather difficult. Is it about a real prince, a prince from forgotten times, maybe? I will go back to my world and ask some pupils about it, they might know. The Book waved its waters whispering slowly. Could you come here every day asked the Poet. I will try to. Get going now, I will be expecting you on the other side of the cliffs. You only have to open your eyes and you are back into your house. Close them again and you will be here in no time. I opened my eyes and here I am, with my hands floating like wings all around me. Sometimes they lift me above the ground and I am trying hard not to be seen by others. The cat though never left my ear and I can hear it purring there in the evening.
9.10.2015, Adriana Dana Listes Pop