There are days when life perches on my nose tip, like some glasses. Glasses of wisdom, of the kind that comes with age, that age which is neither biological nor temporal, but merely proportional to what we have already seen, and that brings to our eyes the fatigue not of having seen it all, for we never see it all no matter how much we may see, but the sameness of things struggling, in never ending repetitions, for first places and absolute novelty in our field of vision.

Perhaps I might offer, by sharing it, the wisdom of my glasses - to offer the unbearable relief that comes, precisely, from already knowing that such struggle will end with no vanquishers or vanquished, and with no heroes or victims, because I have already seen how, in spite of that, so many more fights, so distressingly similar to each other, eternally begin again.

But the glasses are suddenly blurred, by the effect of so many breaths condensed and concentrated on reinforcing another vision – this vision, increasingly naked, and therefore, increasingly honed by the awareness that each person must see and experience, thus live, by herself, by himself - or, on the contrary, to persist upon the bearable scenarios of her own, or his own, voluntary blindness. To see or not to see, beyond the nose tip, that is the question – that is the choice - such as we are taught by that age which is neither temporal nor biological, but merely proportional to what we learn - that no one else and nothing else, except our eyes, with or without glasses, can make for us.

It bows my shoulders, life, in such days – these same shoulders which I then suddenly shrug in a boundless “oh, screw it”… and which I wrap in a shawl of detachment, before detaching myself completely from the scenario, where the frantic elbowing of images and contexts that tear at each other’s hair for absolute novelty continues.

Then, at that leisurely pace that only age brings – the age which is neither biological nor temporal, but merely proportional to what we have already gone through – I take off my glasses, and deliberately go, from some deserted cliff, not throw myself, no – tsk, tsk, tsk… the dramatic fantasies people think, and therefore believe… they are!... – but see the ocean. That one, yes – no matter how often I may see it, always an absolute novelty.

© 2007 by Otsana – All rights reserved (digital artwork © by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®)

Notice: Otsana is one of several literary characters created by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®. Discover her profile in the introduction to her first story here, in AD, by following the link provided below. Both the character Otsana and her literary works are © by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*® - All rights reserved  

Introducing Otsana: www.authorsden.com/visit/viewshortstory.asp?AuthorID=14937&id=23107