mending the cycle
I had torn down a piece of the fence and carried it with me
ever since, hoping that it would serve as a compass. That it
would eventually point me in the right direction as I kept
looking for other pieces that could help me make sense of
the chaos.
At times I would take it out and hold it up and look at the
world and its people through it, hoping to see if anything
changed or if the people would look any different, that
something would emerge and part this sea of confusion and
reveal a shining path free of obstacles.
So far it had revealed nothing.
I was still trapped in the middle of the herd. Pushed forward
by the masses without the strength to break free I had
ended up in a job that I didn ́t want and sent to a place
where I did not want to be.
As summer drew nearer people started returning to the little
town in the mountains and for a few hours during the
weekends it felt as if they had never left.
I forced myself to return to the house that I had rented,
convincing myself that the things I avoided might be the
pieces I was missing, that these were the next few steps on
my path.
So I greeted the people whenever I saw them, sought them
out at the pub and engaged them in conversation to share
my new found knowledge of this place, receiving the names
of places and people I did not know in return.
Some would walk the hills and go further into the highlands
than I had ever been, telling me of places I had yet to visit
upon their return.
There were undisturbed forests and pristine lakes in there
they said, there were reindeer herds and the people who
followed them and there were rivers that ran down different
valleys than the ones that I knew, heading towards different
shores than the one I had followed here.
I liked listening to their stories, trying to picture the places
they told of, holding on to every detail and remembering
every one of their tales afterwards. Only to realise that they
barely feigned an interest in mine.
I would take out the compass again and look at them, to
assess the pieces they laid out before me, to see if there
were clues hiding in the open.
But I could not see any and I withdrew from them as I
understood that there were no more pieces to be found in
my attempt at becoming a part of their world and I started
avoiding them again as best as I could.
I would head up to the house on the hill and sit there for
hours, looking down at the town and the people that
aimlessly stumbled around down there, telling myself that I
should go back to the forests where I could nurture my
solitude and convince myself that there were nothing more
to find within the dominion of men.
I watched them as they carried pallets and last years
Christmas trees and whatever rubble they could find down
to the beach where they stacked them up as high as they
could before setting it all on fire on midsummers eve.
As it burnt I sat there by the house on the hill looking down
on the people and the ritualistic bonfire that had been given
new meaning with the changing doctrines of the world,
slowly disappearing into my own sphere when an unfamiliar
voice broke the silence.
«Should ́nt you be down there celebrating with them?» it
said and I turned towards the sound of the voice and saw an
old man sitting on the steps that lead up to the main
entrance.
«I dont belong down there with them» I said without
checking if it was the right answer first.
«Yeah, me neither» he said as he came over and sat down
on the bench with me.
«You are not from around here are you», he continued, both
stating and asking at the same time, while giving me a
peculiar look as he turned his head to the side, gleaming at
me through bushy eyebrows and a well kept grey beard that
started just beneath his eyes and went on down to his chest.
«I’m not from anywhere really» I wanted to say, admitting
for the first time in a very long while to anybody, myself
included, that I was a stranger here as I would have been
anywhere else in the world. But all I managed to do was to
shake my head.
«I was born here, he said, but I haven’t always felt that I
belonged, even though my kin have roamed these hills for
centuries».
«Did you work down there?» I said, nodding towards the
mines.
«No, never, I hated them when they were sunk and I dont
much care for them now even though they have been shut
down for a long time.»
«They say they might open up again, if the prices keep
rising.»
«So they say.»
I had two bottles of wine with me and held one up, offering it
to him, he nodded in acceptance and pulled out a piece of
cheese and some salted meat from his pack, both wrapped
in brown waxed paper.
We sat there for a while, eating and drinking in silence while
the fire down by the lake flickered and died out as the
people retreated each to their own.
«Do they even know what they are celebrating» I asked him
quietly.
«No, he replied, I dont think they do».