Casa Robino

The only writing that matters is that which stops you from dying,I wonder, constantly, how impossible I've become, how stubborn, how narrow I've grown towards my own little light, slithering into the sun, slick with the sweat of another man's labour for creativity and inspiration. This certain exterior satisfaction and uplift of the madness of a crowd. You can't bleed out ye'r joys, boy. How suddenly, I realised, gulped down...the acknowledgement that I was waiting...waiting and waiting, waiting for the heart to pound harder, for the weather to change,for my ol' words to sing again, for life, for myself, for others...give up the ghost, old man. Become it or outlive it.On tuesday, we quite spontaneously travelled to Aachen, Germany, to visit Anton. There was one ride of the six or seven on the 250km route that in particular stood out -(i) I had gone around the back of the reststation, south of Eindhoven. My testicles had already thawed and flew away to Peru. Wanted nothing to do with this. Heather was silent and Ania and I were worried about her. She appeared to be carrying a huge weight, something like a camel on top of her shoulders. She would say nothing.'There's no problem, everything is fine..' in a small voice, as if it were disappearing into her like a fountain.Around back I found litres and litres of milk, Fla (chocolate yogurt type substance), a banana, crisps and kiwi yogurt. And a cheese and tomato sandwich.Grinning, I returned and the girls had already found us a ride. They were two guys driving to Masstricht returning from Eindhoven for a conference meeting. It was about training people to find what makes the blood whisper et cetera et cetera, to become the greatest people they can be. The potential o' humanity; what makes you passionate, instinctive, quickens ye'r breath, the galvanising mystery and discovery of things, places, people. And what thwarts it - consumerism, despair, loss of direction, meaningless and mundane relations, boredom, restlessness.'How do you help people? Just...listening to them...letting them unravel their own thoughts and desires?''Precisely. The art of listening was eaten a long time ago by things that destroyed our attention span, our way of being attentive to others. Most of us don't even know how to have a conversation anymore..we're just waiting for the other to stop speaking. We learn to kill the interior dialogue inside us, kind of like a meditation, and focus entirely on the other, so that when it's our turn to speak, it is an exchange rather than an attack to the other.'I nod. My attention span seems to be worse than a headless goldfish at times. 'And what drives you?', one asks.I think for a long while. Cars flash by. There's no moon out tonight. Heather sleeps or burrows herself in thoughts, memories. Ania listens and perhaps tries to stay awake.'Creativity...spontaneity...inspiring people...not within a power relationship but more, showing people different lights, energies, ways of think. Only then can I be inspired by other things and people. To feel that I'm not stalking my own shadow, you know?''And now, do you feel like that?''I feel a little stuck in the mud, held by hungry hands of people that don't even exist, as if I'm always waiting to be pulled out of the shit by someone or something else..''You mean, you are unable to be proactive?''Exactly''And do you know what you want to be, what qualities you would like to have, that you do have?'I don't answer. I mull. 'Perhaps you can try and do this exercise..and it's good for writing, too. 'Imagine your funeral. Imagine everything that you desire others to say of you, of your life, of your characteristics, your way of being with people, your actions. 'Write it. Try to write it again and again until you feel like you have come to the point where you are that, where you are exactly what you desire to be. Most probably it will never happen...the end, because we must keep striving, but when you are lost, you find your way by realising your destination and ..your point of bearing.'I mull.You begin again, old man.An explosion of new joys to be discovered.