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Estance by sharayanan, literature

Literature

Estance

It rains and I don't know who I am. I look at the light, the pale grey light from above, that burns, that burns the back of blinking eyes, my eyes? Tired eyes, blinking, blinking to wipe away the large and cold and stringent raindrops... Where is the answer? In these heavy drenched clothes, inbetween the thick streams running down, down my shivering bare skin covered in nameless scars? Or under the surface of trembling facial muscles, hidden, hidden under the throbbing pain of migraine? I wish I could speak, but I cannot speak: my mouth is sewed shut and I forgot all words. I can barely see, I am blind, blind for anything but this overwhelm

The Question by sharayanan, literature

Literature

The Question

Each of us finds himself, one day, maybe several times, further and further, scratched by the hidden power of this question, incidentally not knowing what's going on. At times of grand distress for instance, when things lose their consistence and every meaning falls into obscurity, the question emerges. Maybe it only touched us once, like the dampened ringing of a bell seeping in our existence and then fading gradually. Martin Heidegger, Einführung in die Metaphysik, 1935 Chapter I (personal translation from German) I was standing there, in my kitchen, a kettle boiling water, steam bubbling its way out of this liquid chaos in a tremb