Genius Loci (Cílek) p.2 /p.1

Genius Loci (Cílek) p.2 /p.1

Cinesthetic feasts

Bees of the Invisible – Awakening of a Place (Part 2)

By Václav Cílek

uzkokolejka forest1

That time under Silbury I begun (for myself only) to compose the ‘pilgrim’s rules’. I finished them two years later amongst the Elbe sandstone, then forgot. Here they are – and they do not want to be taken too seriously, because the essence of a place, just as a human being and their essence, cannot be fitted into a single schemata.

The Rule of Home
A person is at home in a landscape, some people can encompass two or three landscapes, but no more. A small landmark of a place where we feel at home is more important than a more significant landmark of a different landscape. But despite that, we need to travel abroad – for comparison, for the recognition of the smallness of home, and the realisation of where we belong.

The Rule of…

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PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend

PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend

The last three months were a challenge to me. And it doesn’t look like it’ll stop soon.

Old wounds ripped up, old pain butted its head and I tried my best to welcome it like an old, long lost friend… It’s an understatement, if I’d say that it’s easy.

I had some years in mindful and buddhist training; so I observe. I learn, about me, my situation, my hidden puppet strings, the booby traps I set for myself, and how others are capable of manipulating me.

My past isn’t pretty. I’ll leave it at that. But I’ll never move forward, if I back down.

My psychological strength isn’t what it used to be too, I guess there aren’t any reserves left. I jump at the smallest, unexpected noise. I cry at the news (which is very unusual for me- been called “Iceberg” before) and stopped watching TV and read the newspapers. I do the same with pictures of disasters, personal and global… My emotions and feelings overwhelm me, and I seize to function. Continue reading “PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend”

fool moon

fool moon

Oh, god. Terrible. Ghastly. I’m going to be sea-sick. Or wine-sick, or just… sick.

“Don’t you dare! No! Don’t throw up! I caught that fish! Why did you drink so much wine, anyway?” Her pitching voice drilling itself into my head. More than annoying. Plus… I managed to get myself stuck here, on this boat. With her. In the middle of nowhere, without wind, without oars.

Fuck. That’s what I get. Serves me right, trying to screw her. Being romantic ‘n stuff. I think. I gonna…

“Son of a bitch! You owe me a lunch and a warm bed! You owe me good time! You little shit! Scumbag! Idiot! You brought us here! You prick, get us back! I won’t put up with you another week! I swear I’m gonna kill you.”

“No! No wine for you! No! Bad! Bad girl! Put that plate down. It’s the last one. It isn’t fair! My leg is in splinters. Oh, come on! I can’t even move.” But she’s right. I owe her. Much more than that…

She pulled me out of the water. I would have drowned, mangled up and unconscious. I owe her my life. She has to do all the work. And I just lay here giving instructions. It’s ok. She has every right to vent on me. Surviving that storm was a wonder, anyway. The currents though. I donno where we’ve been drifting too. Luckily we’ve got fresh water from the rain. But no more painkillers. Wine is a bliss. At least passing out from wine is better than passing out from pain. I’d wish I had some better stuff. The night is coming. It’s going to be freezing. Starlit autumn sky.

The full moon is rising above the black waters. It’s going to be nasty.

“If we survive this, I’m going to make you pay!” She yells. I hope we get rescued, before she throws me over board.

“It’s ok. I know. You’re my mad girl…”