As I gently entered the world as I knew it, I found myself trembling, still not managing quit enough to find that inner peace within as I found on that palace. Small glimpses here and there if I sit in complete silence, lay in the arms of the warmth of my beloved crescent moon or during sleeping. But the world does not play by the rules of everyone living in touch with their senses and so “the show must go on” becomes the workphrase for the majority in which I cannot continue going along with.

Trying to let the busy, loud, overstimulating world – consisting of air society with busy schedules, high traffic, loud construction building sounds, shaking from the ground of the never sleeping cities where people crumble together just to get the idea of being “something”, while that “something” becomes something completely else: air void of never ending competition for greediness, money, power, structure and system not fitting into the natural surrounding around us and so we build and build in unnatural ways, build on the greediness, on the ground of where the grass used to grow, our crops and trees and what else, to sustain a somehow common way of trying to survive on the cemented level rock ground to living in the air with no view to trees or ocean, but another brick in air wall. With air window to someone with the same view to the same and the same and the same.

Now digging out the memories from the palace, in Aragona, Agrigento, Sicily, Central Mediterranean Sea, Earth in the Milky Way Galaxy

The view each morning was like a never ending story, looking far away deep deep into the mountains, consisting of villages with bricks and windows and people with their dogs, cats or cockroaches, whom would look back the opposite way and also get a grasp of that beautiful view until their caleidoscopic eyes might catch that point in the horizon where you would stand. Catching views of misty mornings to the clear blue sky. The shapes of the old landscape, as the silhouette of bodies laying on the side, relaxing, sleeping, being. Other times the view would be erupted by a light fabric, calming down the lights and impressions of the outside world and lightening up the inner world, within me and the palace.

The coldness from the stone floor, the marble creations and monuments inside the building, build to an eccentric Arabic prince. I felt like some of that time stayed with all of us whom stayed together. All of us with our chosen names and experiences created for each and everyone whom, back and forth, shifted to enjoy the warmth of the rays from the sun, lighting up the floor in straight lines for short periods of time

I remember silent dinners that weren’t that silent in the remembrance of the sounds from the cutlery. Water pouring into the glasses and all the stories I would get from the looking eyes that I would look into, over and over, to get to know them better. Looking deep into their being to mirroring myself, to find out which landscapes would be hiding, showing or appearing inside the dilated pupils, shape shifting back and forth and creating further forms to dive into. Looking into infinity of infinity eyes, sun eyes to the water. Sometimes even the darkness wouldn’t show the true from, but mine somehow still managed to find its way through the darkness to gain the contact, to reconnect.

The explorations I allowed myself to go on and the ones experienced the days before the initiation, all granted me something much more, much deeper…

And the contact creating bonds between human to human as I remember it from childhood, carried out a big playful heart to a big sorrow of wanting to connect deeper to those around me. Staying focused in the now. Not focusing on tomorrow or yesterday, but the now. The boredom that appears and in which out of the boredom we create memories. Fun memories, unexpected words to sounds. Being surrounded by people whom are truly present and where the company is about the company, not about the amount of likes from air screen, connected to air virtual world plugged into an electrical device, connecting you with the world but disconnecting you to the surrounding surrounding you physically. All my doubts and fears and thoughts, vanishes almost and I found myself both inviting to being invited to much more that I would in the world of screens and online reality. I felt air sense of community, of presence from people with some of the same needs, wishes and hopes for the world, their life’s and life as we know it. Connecting and creating deep bonds of affection. It felt pure, honest and safe. At times overwhelming too but here I would grant myself the experience of wandering around alone to find the roots of why. Other times simply just staying with that feeling and accepting it but not letting it overtake the rest of the experiences.

I remember some colors from outside, in which consistently brought up a smile though the palette would somehow be called minimalistic if brought into an atelier. That contrast from the dimmed lights and calm stones and marble, just the small things can seem like giant things when everything is scraped to the bare minimum, leaving more space for exploring, digging and diving into the known as the unknown.

Air person taking my hand, guiding me to open up for the voice within, in which I’ve always felt as my true way of expressing myself. That light, that sound and those experience that person gifted & shared, to the group of sun people to another to my voice and I – what we all created was magical and something I will forever store in my memory and cherish deep within my heart. Hands, air space and openness. That creative force is one of the strongest we carries, supported by love, curiosity and the will to continue on. And so,  the darkness from the corners of the palace as within mine felt familiar, like that playground I as a child would love exploring, over and over again with curiosity…

More memories I could have shared, but I’d rather express through sound
How far away do you think the wind carries the voice?
If I ever get to (re-) meet you, dear reader? I might sing it for you
Or maybe you’ll hear it on the streets, in the forest, on the mountain, in the ocean
Maybe you’ll hear it through the mouth of air loved one
Air stranger 
Through your dreams, thoughts or memories
Which memories are then your, which are mine, which are ours?
In which time? Does it really matter anymore?
Until then

Much love
The Memory