BACK IN TIME

The moon path leads me back in time on the curve of my memories. Back to the white sheet I was, and half of which is already written. Darkness, loneliness, and instincts - this was in the beginning.

The moon path leads me back when you were still free. Free as a seed waiting to be sown. Free as a seed before turning into wheat fields. Free as a seed before it dies in the ground and is born again like bread. Free as a seed, which is sufficient in itself.

Who and when does it decide that this seed will later represents God's body? Who and when does it decide to take away its freedom?

The moon path leads me back in time when the water was the only hope of giving birth to life, and that was enough divine in itself. Back when the water was free from the obligation to be holy. Back when nobody has loaded it with expectations and tied it tightly to chains.

The moon path leads me back in time when you were still an egg. An egg from which everything could be born. Back in time, before the egg was born, sold and bought at a low price. Back when the life in the egg cost more than life itself, and no one has yet invented for it the role of being the object of a sale. Because how much does the life cost?

The moon path is fragile and thin, and two people cannot walk through without sinking into the ocean. That is why I walk alone on the path of my memories. But you are everywhere around me. Ready to take my freedom and to replace it with different roles. Moon path is something rare as a natural phenomenon. Something that fills the gaps in our lives, and the pauses are like a theatrical spectacle of the past that is being played out after the curtains of the moon path are dissolved and released today by the price. Because back in time, you and I were still innocent and free, with no purchase or sale price. Without the need to be sacrificed, so that someone can believe in something great.

The moon path leads me back in time when the lamb was still love and instincts to multiply the life. When everyone was free to believe what they wanted, and for that purpose there was no need another life to be sacrificed. Because what faith is this when you have to kill the innocent lamb to believe that the moon path is not a magic but a natural phenomenon, for example?

The moon path leads me back to all unfinished things. Back to missed opportunities. Back to all sorrows and disappointments. Back to all hidden truths and back to the things that could have happened if we had more courage. If we could fight for our freedom.

Instead, life is a series of chains that we take down and put back on, thinking that the new chains are better than the old ones. We forget that we are born free without chains, and we ride unhappily to the new role and the new chain. Our past is full of chains that we have voluntarily put around our neck. A body hunched by the chains sees only low down what is going on. The chain is so heavy that the body cannot rise and see the moon path that leads back in time, free of chains and roles.

The moon path leads me back in time when I met you. Back to you. But is there a way to you now. You stayed so back in time, and the distance between us seems so insurmountable. When the love trap tied up another chain. But the nostalgia for you and the illusion of yesterday are so strong that I reconcile myself to being a slave with my pain for you. Because that is the only way we'll be closer together. Tell me honestly: for what reason do you love me? For my own sake? Or to be able to dominate me, showing me that you are the master, but the pain and the chain are my price? Is it not the love the greatest insanity if I voluntarily agree to this devious deal?

But the moon path is also a magical, exceptional natural phenomenon. It is our connection with that destructive power in us that cannot exist without its chains, which even suffers for them. To love the cause of your suffering is irrational and divine. It is what makes us light and able to walk on the moon path.

Back in time, where everything is the same, but I am already different.

(Elena S. Lyubenova)