This is a patched up version of a chat conversation I had recently with a friend that I made into a standalone text. I like allegoric things, but I have not yet done too much which would put this tendency into some purely fictional context. So my best chance to show something of this is to take one such episode, improve it a bit, so that it would be more independent of the specific situation, and post it here as a sort of self expression... Well, here it goes:
"Midway upon the journey of our life…
Haunted by spirits of the past I find myself facing a house without a door, whose grandeur promises safe haven, and yet its strong walls forbid entry. There are other houses around, but still I want to find a way to get into this one. Yet this does not stop me form sneaking in whenever a neighbor forgets to close the window. By the fire it's easier to forget that yet another spirit from the past has tracked me down… I spend a little time there until someone notices that there is a draft and decides to close his window. Then I have to leave too… mostly back to the house with no doors… because for some reason I cannot get it through my head that I cannot get in, and expect that maybe out of a thousand I will be the one who will manage to dig a hole into a stone wall with my bare hands.
The past haunts me… call it dramatic, if you wish. It is as dramatic as waiting for Godot. A kind of human-paced drama, without gigantic heroes and the cathartic experience that goes along with it. That is unless you create yourself a world in which you can be the dramatic hero… but this world will be the one in which we are really left alone, because here "everybody" is just a marionette figure who does nothing but our will…
Yet I don't want you to give the feeling that there is no happiness in life. It would have been long over if not so. But the stone wall of that certain house still attracts me, maybe for the very reason that it is nearly impossible to get through, or at least not the way I have tried so far. Yet it calls me still, as at the bottom of my soul I think, I know, I feel that there still is a way… it even teases me by saying it's not that it's impossible to get in, it's just that I am unable to learn how... and it annoys me that in reality this translates to the fact that this is almost the third decade of my life when this stone wall still throws me back whenever I try pushing it… Don't laugh! I'd rather not push… I'll just stay there and watch hoping that I discover a crack on it, because there has to be one! But at the same time I am afraid, because after three decades, I feel I am somehow late. My joy comes from sneaking in to neighboring houses or strangely from the fact that while I am sitting by this wall I do sometimes think that for a moment I did see something shining through the wall from that light that I hope to find inside. These moments, the little things are those that still matter, and these are the things that keep me trust in being as much as making me want to continue…"
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