- The Most Living is the Present

Woodstock 12498, NY

My Dear,

We came here together for the weekend with some friends. How nice this feels right now.I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave New York for a mini escape. But waking up yesterday, I had the desire to jump through the window of my east village apartment and hover for the rest of my life. So, it seemed right to get in the car and follow the wind's cry.

The house is on the top of a hill in Woodstock. Its surrounded by ice, snow and trees. There are no other houses or any construction close by.We are covered by a silence that transcends through nature, through the waterfall, through the mountain reaching my soul in a space where I feel myself again after a long time.

Although there is such a silence everywhere out there, in this house the noise is never ceasing. So many people; who indeed make me happy knowing that they are around but still I long for some moments on my own to read,to write, to take a peak through the window of the mountain's solitude. I want to think of the present as the lady at the Tibetan Temple we visited earlier said. In Buddhism there is no past or future but only the present. That all there is and all we have.

I am now in a wonderful present alone and with E.M who just came upstairs to check on me. But for some reason this isn't enough. I keep going back to the past of the night I met again with the Silent Man.

I am in. now.

The door closed behind me smoothly. It is not even closed firmly but it keeps us safe. Nothing else exists now but us. There is no universe out there anymore in these hours. The universe is here within these walls. He is arriving from the bedroom. He is wearing a white comfortable outfit and a brown cardigan. Soft garments. Soft garments. The dog is looking at me in the eyes. He wants something from me and his look pre-announces that what he wants has not ending.

The man is finally here. In front of me. He glances at me roughly and innocently at the same time. I reach towards him and we hug. He moves on towards the kitchen. And then I lose him from the image.

I will run faster

faster than your shadow

Tears of solitude wet my agony

for where we shall meet again

It is here in this silent

hideaway full of others

that I dreamt for a moment of us again

- Garia August