Written in February 20, 2014.
Three years I surfed the pages,
arms extended, fingers outstretched,
the gray continental sky indifferent to my need for light;
Three years I paced the shore,
back and forth, tracing the break’s contour,
shifting, ephemeral, undulating;
On the beach on the sand that is my brain,
lets information, like water, in,
pass through, then away, soaked;
Three years the troughs and crests and I
kept holding hands and letting go.
The other day I traced the shore at the bus stop.
Concrete platform undulating like lapping waves.
Cigarette butts like flotsam lining the pavement.
I saw the sea foam in my mind.
I smelled the salty air.
I heard the rush and splash.
I felt the breeze in my hair.
Three years came to pass and I arrived
at how it should have been all along. I have beached.
Today is July 15, 20021.
It was a tremendous relief when my Doktorvater, my dissertation supervisor, finally agreed with how I envisioned my research work to proceed. When I wrote the above meditation-verse, I was celebrating with the sound of the sea in my ears, the wide sky looking down on me and the extensive beach, and my feet getting ready to wade through the vast ocean of information ahead. I knew that I had a very long way to go.
Landing on the beach is also a picture of restfulness. I felt that I have reached a base after a long time of aimless wandering. That was a great happy time, just me and my beach in my head and the almost empty university bus-stop, newly constructed, in Regensburg, the concrete platform edges gently undulating before my downcast eyes as I gaze, in my usual fascination, at the cigarette butts strewn all over the pretty pebbles.
It was a dreary winter day but I felt spring light my spirit.