A metaphysics painting
Italy welcomed me with a very joyful, playful vibration, which was a nice relief from the vibration of hopelessness drenching Poland (as I walked around I saw a huge flag hung on a main crossroad with the words "Warsaw did not forget '44"). On the other hand this frequency is used as an escape, as an avoidance strategy. All this amazing beauty, pleasanteness, entertainment and wonderful food is just a distraction. My art expert friend Eleonora explained to me metaphysics paintings. The feelings of void and disorientation you dive into by looking at the paintings reflect the feelings the world was in during that period, due to the destruction of war. It was time to re-arrange things, to construct a new reality, thus new ideas were superimposed creating compositions that felt surreal and disorienting. I'm sitting in Milan's central station watching refugees populate the square. They are sitting around, sleeping in adapted sleeping bags on the pavement of the nearby alleys, selling stuff, talking to each other and looking around. The imminent world conflict is now unavoidable, un-neglectable, I can feel it like a huge tension that is about to be released, a bomb about to explode, just as in my recent dream I had about my death. The contrast in the central station square in Milan is enormous. On one hand there are refugees camped around everywhere, an effect of the incumbent war. Last night as I walked past the station, military men with machine guns and war cars were sitting at the entrance. On the other, a blissful unawareness is present of people playing music, laughing, eating, dancing and watching the sunset. My growth in the past few months of traveling was intense and productive, however at some point I fell in a deep hole. When I faced my mother, though I managed to integrate some shadows and make some progress, something unexpected happened, something much bigger. It was a kind of message that I got through her, a warning of something coming. Not only she revealed to me secrets of injustice done on her family by World War II, there was something different in her eyes this time. It wasn't just her usual victim, self-sacrificing mentality, her cynicism and masochism and attachment to suffering. When she talked about dying, it felt as though she gave up on everything, she didn't have any more hope for anything. Not even loving her child was more important than destroying herself. This hit me really hard, not only because it is so hard to watch someone you love suffer and destroy themselves, but because I feel that she gave up on her mission here, that she had something really important to say and express and never will. It's not just the fact that this happened, it's the message that I got through her that keeps me in an expectation mode of something drastic. It feels a bit like the imminent conflict that is coming in our world. I'm sitting at the bottom of this hole, exploring its darkness, and I feel a very strong contrast. On one side I feel the lack of unconditional love from my mother that I can no longer deny, on the other hand the almost desperate desire for unconditional love. I wonder if this is the same contrast that is pushing our world towards conflict. I wonder if this feeling is vibrating throughout our world. I start to walk home towards the small apartment I rented near the station. As I walk through the falling night in the peripheral alleys, the surrealism of the surroundings remind me of that of a metaphysics painting. The gray, silent, quiet, stone, solid buildings look lifeless. They look like they have shut life out, just like the pavement on the road, that leaves absolutely no space for grass. There are no trees except for in vases. The houses are dark and closed, walls erected everywhere took place of life. Everything feels completely void just like the painting. Why did we create these walls, this distance? When I created some distance with my mom in order to deal with my own issues with a narcissist, I assumed things would be ok afterwards, but in the meantime she got a hundred years older. A part of me wants to desperately fix things with her, to believe that it may just be a misunderstanding and things will be ok again, but a part of me is giving up to the evidence of lack of love. Is it too late? Is death the only answer now? That's what she believes. As I visit my friends around somehow I can't knock away the feeling that it might be the last time that I see them this way. The next time everything will be so different. What is going to change so much?