BY INA GJATA

Absence (noun)
• the state of being away from a place or person
• an occasion or period of being away from a place or person
• plural noun: absences
• the non-existence or lack of

Absence has many colors. Sometimes it is red, when you are full of life and are in total absence of loss and grief. But sometimes the absence is gray — it is cold and no matter how many colors she changes to, it is still there, standing. Absence is a state. Absence has roots and to me, it speaks of pain.

Just like the light, the absence is persistent. God is manifested through what we feel, so as an emotion absence holds existence. You live, moments pass, you find happiness, even love, but she still angrily holds her space, within you.

I feel the gray space, standing there, sometimes turning its head looking at me. It is only a void secretly wanting to be filled, as all voids are, but stubbornly it protects his space. And so the fire feels guilty to burn, losing its balance. And so the cold takes on…

What is it left of us?

In absence of the fire, there is no life and lifeless ghosts have their territory there. But the void doesn’t care. It is as alive as you and I are. There cannot be only shiny days, some say. But I wish they came around more.

I wish I could write a love letter. A letter of forgiveness — but this absence is too heavy. And as a gray and cold beast who haunts the fire, it attacks. It reminds me of the “Great Fall”, and I don’t know whether to run or to fight. But love reminds me that I am that beast, protecting my own lost territories. Protecting an absence who naively dreams of being filled by dreams and wishes, and of course love.

Don’t we all long to be touched by the magick of love?!

At least, I do. With all of my being. Love makes you complete. And I am talking about love as a great being, the source of all, the great goddess herself.

But there are great floods which take you away from the source, and you find yourself falling in space. And the falling is beyond painful. It is a nightmare, and a journey through dimensions. We forget who we really are and walk into chaos barefoot and most of the times blind.

We are not born into a paradise — Earth has ceased to be one ages ago — we are born inside the dark forest. Inside an angry and punishing dark forest. As I am writing these words on absence and void, the dark moon watches over me. I feel the darkness and the absence of light.

No. We are not only light and fire. We are our voids, too. And it is time to start seeing it. To face it. To touch it with our hands and hold it till it is not a void anymore.

I still walk into the chaos. Thank God I am not blind anymore. This winter wants to freeze my heart. But as a sphinx of fire, she burns for eternity. This heart is mad at this void — at this winter — but it is not moving away anymore.

She is walking too, in this fallen paradise, walking on thorns and dead creatures which are too fighting for some light of existence. I must keep walking, but I feel so tired, and this dark forest is always the same. Somewhere, I see some red roses and some stars, which maybe are checking on me. If I am still walking. If I am still fighting. If the cold has finally admitted that I am right, to always wish for the heat of love, and finally let go, or if he is still blindly haunting me, trying to undress me from my wild.

I know my journey is hard. I know my roads in this same dark forest full of my stories, are heavy and long and require great skills in fighting. I know the great war inside this same place is near. I know the stars are watching over me, sometimes worried, sometimes celebrating. I know I will rise again and get back to the great goddess.

Will I ever fill this void? Will I ever give it shape? Will the other blind part of myself finally see?

The Gods have written my roads and I shall walk them. Fiercely.

Photo by averie woodard on Unsplash

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