See the light. Love the dark.

Its sweet smell emerges like fumes into the rarefied air, filling your lungs with fresh, liquid joy. It’s narcotic and confusing, like a powerful drug which slumbers the mind and twists the senses. One could only gaze in amazement at this born-from-no where oasis of colours. There are bright, vivid nuances which act altogether in a mute yet deafening symphony which bewitches the eye and enthralls the imagination in a crude explosion of pure, unblemished passion. This is the perpetual lust of nature, the undefined, the unexplored, the mysterious, the exciting. Not a colossal piece of art, but a simple plateau swallowed by thousands of small, trembling flowers.

It looks as if every single law in this world finds a perfectly equal, opposite criticism inside my head. It seems like every natural law turns upside down inside me. It seems that everything, yet nothing happen inside me. The entire Universe is inside me and I am in every minor thing.

I slightly turn into a chameleon. I am blue, a blue that quickly turns into bright red. I am blue and red – painted with happiness. I am green, like all the blossoming flowers around. I am fresh like the early spring grass which uncovers itself beneath my feet; I am filled with a peaceful light and animated by a passionate will of dancing and frenzying with joy.

The wind gently sweeps through my hair, revealing tousled locks of my also chameleonic, roaring hair. The wind comes and goes, whirls around, sweeps the ground with fury then rises in an unnaturally elegant glory. It blows with me, through me, inside and outside me, in everything that I am and everything that ever had I dreamt of being.

I’m a vowel, because I feel so light – so enlightened – that I cannot possibly be other thing than a sound high above, the ground. Just as if a great assessment has been risen from my eyes. I am the beginning, the end, the in-between, like I could contract the entire Matter and put it on a necklace around my neck.

The sun ascends from behind the mountain and floods the chasm which lies in a pathetic attempt of rendering itself. The fierce fire ball rubs its yellow muzzle on every colourful petal, on every crevice in the solid rock of the mountain, on every wrinkle of my face and swallows us all, like a hungry beast prepared to tear the world apart. It’s overwhelming, so much light, and painful, like thousands of hot spears piercing your skin, submerging you, your thoughts, your feelings, your…self. Never had the world been so grievously radiant…

I am a piece of art – the masterpiece of an angel painter. I have no lights, nor shadows. I have no volume. I only have transparency. A bitter sweet transparency. I can be seen through, I can be read, I can be guessed, I can be count, approximated, lifted and dropped… For it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

The nature yells. A mute sound of wakening, disguised in a fastidious moaning of the wind, in a quick blink of a flower, in a short and all-embracing gasp of the earth itself. I am all alone in this huge orchestra of silence, yet I feel surrounded by hundreds of me, as if I were divided and distributed to every sector of my mind, for a better understanding of where I truly lie. I am the soloist, the tenor and the trumpet; I am an unbearable violin, a creaky base, a faint drum…

I used to be a butcher, now I’m only a lamb. I used to be the fire, now I’m only the cinder. I’ve lost every drop of devilishness. I’ve taken a gulp from a nectar filled pot.

What did I do to make things seem like this? Am I a little drunk? Is it in the air? Am I too dizzy, too fuzzy, too obscure, too introvert, too dreamy, too radical, too skeptical, too this and that? Am I? Or am I not? Are you? Or are you not?