What is real emotional experience, which I feel as point of my magnetic attraction? The object of worship, hidden, intimate, unimportant to others. The fruit of the place of power, where thoughts return as a religious source.
Tangle of roots are rolling along the sea. Absolutely empty beach, I am staying there and the sky is such a pronounced dome, that its bend transfuses specific awe. The movement of root is hasty, jerky, sensible. I do not perceive it as a sign, I feel behind it as a breath in the back. I consider that, what is friendly to me. I take it in my hands and I am overwhelmed with absolute joy, full awareness that everything is right, that it must be like that, that there is no other way and countless answers to the questions that I cannot ask because I have already forgotten them.
There is a small garden in the middle of the field of bent-grass behind the house. In the summer it goes over the edges of the planting bed, attesting buoyancy of the plants which are planted unskillfully. It is there like in the market square, when I am not there. Standing behind the corner of the house, I hear the hustle that prevails there. Everything grow silent in autumn. My time is in October, when I silently cast out strange formations from the earth. Petiole of sunflower with strong egg-shaped truss of root, benumbed branch-shaped body of tomato.
Roots are unusual formations. They are like the end and start at the same time. I am grateful to them for many happy moments of enlightenment, and I equate it with a certain worship.
