The moonlit path leads me back through time, along the curve of my memories. Back to the blank page I once was, half of which has already been written. Darkness, loneliness and instincts—that was the beginning.
The moonlit path leads me back to the time when you were still free. Free like a seed waiting to be sown. Free like a seed before it becomes a field of wheat. Free like a seed before it dies in the earth and is reborn as bread. Free like a seed that is complete in itself.
Who decides, and when, that this seed will one day represent the body of God? Who decides, and when, to take away its freedom?
The moonlit path leads me back to the time when water was the only hope of giving birth to life, and that alone was divine enough. Back to the time when water was free from the obligation to be holy. Back when no one had burdened it with expectations or bound it tightly in chains.
The moonlit path leads me back to the time when you were still an egg. An egg from which everything could be born. Back to the time before the egg was bought and sold at a low price. Back when the life within the egg was worth more than life itself, and no one had yet assigned it the role of becoming an object of trade. Because what price can life have?
The moonlit path is fragile and narrow, and two people cannot walk upon it without sinking into the ocean. That is why I walk alone along the path of my memories. Yet you are everywhere around me, ready to take away my freedom and replace it with different roles. The moonlit path is a rare natural phenomenon. Something that fills the empty spaces in our lives, while the pauses become a theatrical performance of the past, unfolding after the curtains of the moonlit path dissolve, released today by the price we have paid. Because back then, you and I were still innocent and free, without a price to buy or sell us. Without the need to be sacrificed so that someone else could believe in something greater.
The moonlit path leads me back to the time when the lamb still meant love and the instinct to multiply life. When everyone was free to believe whatever they wished, and there was no need for another life to be sacrificed for that belief. Because what kind of faith is it if you must kill an innocent lamb in order to believe, for example, that the moonlit path is not magic but simply a natural phenomenon?
The moonlit path leads me back to everything unfinished. Back to missed opportunities. Back to every sorrow and disappointment. Back to every hidden truth and to everything that might have happened if we had possessed a little more courage. If we had been able to fight for our freedom.
Instead, life becomes a succession of chains that we remove only to replace with new ones, believing that the new chains are somehow better than the old. We forget that we are born free, without chains, and we ride unhappily towards each new role and each new chain. Our past is filled with chains that we willingly placed around our own necks. A body bent beneath the weight of chains can see only what lies close to the ground. The chains are so heavy that the body can no longer rise high enough to see the moonlit path leading back through time, free from chains and roles.
The moonlit path leads me back to the time when I met you. Back to you. But is there still a path that leads to you now? You remained so far back in time, and the distance between us now seems impossible to cross. Love itself became another trap that fastened yet another chain around us. Yet my longing for you and the illusion of yesterday are so powerful that I reconcile myself to becoming a slave to the pain I carry for you. Because only then do we seem closer to one another. Tell me honestly—for what reason do you love me? For who I am? Or so that you may dominate me, proving that you are the master while the pain and the chain become the price I must pay? Is love not the greatest madness if I willingly agree to such a deceitful bargain?
But the moonlit path is also a magical and extraordinary natural phenomenon. It is our connection with that destructive force within us that cannot exist without its chains and even suffers for them. To love the cause of your own suffering is both irrational and divine. It is what makes us light enough to walk upon the moonlit path.
Back through time, where everything remains the same, but I have already changed.
(Elena S. Lyubenova)
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