Korschenbroich (Germany)
Mountains of sand in a landscape where there are no mountains. They bear the colors of the earth. Golden brown. Dark brown. Black. Gray. Red. One next to the other, as far as the eye can see. It doesn't see much else. The pit has no visible end. There is no world behind it. I would like to fly, from the inside out and beyond this pit. I would like to feel what it is like to be light.
The small containers. The tiny cars. No movement. On a bridge day like today, not a soul is around. A few of the oversized monsters move around and scrape some earth from the edges of the pit, which is then transported around on a bare and noisy conveyor belt. An entrance to hell, embedded in a lush green landscape. Nothing more happens. It doesn‘t have to.
I can't believe my eyes how peaceful it feels on this sunny day. The air smells of fresh earth. And flowers. And the sweet magic of the approaching end of the world. Nothing to cling to, nothing to look forward to. There are no worlds here that touch me. Except for the laughter in children's voices and conversations with adults on quiet evenings.
We also drive out into a forest for a hike. Something I wouldn't expect here. I move, cross state borders, hear birds singing, but instead of filling up on nature, my soul empties into it. At the end of the trail, I just drag myself through the rest of the day. Another day without fullness.
In a park, I touch the soft trunks of reddish-brown Sequoia trees that I wouldn't expect to find here. I get very close and whisper to them: "The world needs you more than it needs us". They respond by rustling in the wind. They have been in this area before, millions of years ago. That's what it says on a plaque. And 70 years ago, they were brought to this area once again. By people for the sole purpose of turning them into money. It is a miracle that they are still standing. The miracle is held together by an association.
Back in town I wonder. Behind the geometric order lies stagnation. It arises from the boredom and senselessness of all the stuffiness that I suspect lies behind the brick facades. Perhaps they just reflect all the absence of meaning that hides inside me and comes to life on those very days when we leave a place. We arrive even less than usual. And it drives me even less to the next place.
I am still tired from traveling, exhausted because I don't arrive, discouraged because I don't know where to go. I can't leave it at just being in the here and now, enjoying the moment. I lack so much energy. And then we‘re already moving on.
Mountains of sand in a landscape where there are no mountains. They bear the colors of the earth. Golden brown. Dark brown. Black. Gray. Red. One next to the other, as far as the eye can see. It doesn't see much else. The pit has no visible end. There is no world behind it. I would like to fly, from the inside out and beyond this pit. I would like to feel what it is like to be light.
The small containers. The tiny cars. No movement. On a bridge day like today, not a soul is around. A few of the oversized monsters move around and scrape some earth from the edges of the pit, which is then transported around on a bare and noisy conveyor belt. An entrance to hell, embedded in a lush green landscape. Nothing more happens. It doesn‘t have to.
I can't believe my eyes how peaceful it feels on this sunny day. The air smells of fresh earth. And flowers. And the sweet magic of the approaching end of the world. Nothing to cling to, nothing to look forward to. There are no worlds here that touch me. Except for the laughter in children's voices and conversations with adults on quiet evenings.
We also drive out into a forest for a hike. Something I wouldn't expect here. I move, cross state borders, hear birds singing, but instead of filling up on nature, my soul empties into it. At the end of the trail, I just drag myself through the rest of the day. Another day without fullness.
In a park, I touch the soft trunks of reddish-brown Sequoia trees that I wouldn't expect to find here. I get very close and whisper to them: "The world needs you more than it needs us". They respond by rustling in the wind. They have been in this area before, millions of years ago. That's what it says on a plaque. And 70 years ago, they were brought to this area once again. By people for the sole purpose of turning them into money. It is a miracle that they are still standing. The miracle is held together by an association.
Back in town I wonder. Behind the geometric order lies stagnation. It arises from the boredom and senselessness of all the stuffiness that I suspect lies behind the brick facades. Perhaps they just reflect all the absence of meaning that hides inside me and comes to life on those very days when we leave a place. We arrive even less than usual. And it drives me even less to the next place.
I am still tired from traveling, exhausted because I don't arrive, discouraged because I don't know where to go. I can't leave it at just being in the here and now, enjoying the moment. I lack so much energy. And then we‘re already moving on.