You know the dreamstate way things are, like Chianti for example. All the elements in it, all components, working together in a special way, happen to make a good wine, a lesser one, or one that is excellent. Our thinking works in the same way. I mean not our individual thinking, but all of our individual thinking put together, in different measures, may result in this excellent or less excellent wine, this consciousness, that is not just finding its birth in one head but in all of our heads, which is the mixture that makes the quality of life. Just as all living organisms in a river, make one healthy waterstream.
On the helmet of our skulls, like heat shields on a spaceshuttle, we humans have a kind of a bony ridge hat protects us when we come back to planet earth from outerspace. Like this: we fall to earth and with that gravity we push, we throw ourselves from the inside of our mothers whomb towards the exit, forcing the motherfruit to open itself, to give birth, in the most violant of peaceful actions.
This falling to earth was a memory or a dream. Falling down I was, or, falling out of myself, like rain or something like a child.
Let me be clear. I was pregnant. I was carrying a baby. I was very afraid to lose her. It was war. I was going to have her. I was brought to a very special baraque. Number 11 they said. In number 12 there were men. They had the task to clean everything. There was some comfort in that, that they had to clean it.
But this is not the essence of my message. The essence is, this falling towards, which is violant and fruitful at the same time. Like seed that is being sown, coming down without a parachute, but with a helmet. This thinking that is not within us, this ecxellent wine that we can only make together.
The way I lost my child. What it is to touch. To touch earth, to touch eachother. Really. This endless deep secret of life, only to be discovered again in us like seed that has been laying there waiting for the right circumstance to ripen, to give birth. I am pregnant of you to be born in me, inside of me, in the way I touch the earth, the other, you, again.
This self touching quality which is the essential beauty, this coming together, this melting. I cannot say a bad thing about anyone, but since we are making the wine together and I want it to be an excellent wine, maybe that’s why I wrote this to you.
This deep breathing out, just before leaving the birth channel, when we have to pass this narrow passway. When we do not breath yet, and the fluid of our waterbeing is sqeezed out of us, I think that is a good image for change. I am in that new world but my eyes are still closed. I do not know anything yet about the world I am in now. This fluid means: I was drinking wine. And yet: I am, we are drinking wine, this dear wine we are making together that we are tasting, breathing in breathing out.
I am pregnant of you. I loved you of course before I even saw you. You were love before you were born, and before that you were a thought of love. I carry it and it is inside of me and it pushes itself out of me until it is outside of me. That means it is as well inside as outside of me. In this togetherness there is no place for…, but no, there is place for everything indeed.
Only I want it to be that excellent wine. There is a deep need for that. There is a willing, a neediness for it. A crying, a longing. A some-thing that needs to be born, in order to honour life, to be the fulfillment of life, all of our lives. All our lives will benefit from it because we all drink the same wine. And there is this potential excellency in all, that shines through, but needs to be realised whenever. Whenever we are laying upfront, life itself has put us in that position, and we cannot help but go and jump and let ourselves fall and push with this boney ridge on our skulls, our heat shields and push ourselves free into life, realising life, making life for the sake of life only, just making excellent wine for the sake of making excellent wine.
That autumn it was our village that won the prize for the best wine. We were proud and happy and laughing. We always found we had excellent wine, but now, others started to notice that and in a way it made life easier for us and more cheerful. It was the same autumn I lost my child. I still cried over the loss of her. Someone told me that these tears were also part of our wine, an essential component she said and this gives some kind of relief allthough if I would have the choice, I would rather have had my child and hold it.
All this killing. All this giving birth, this longing to be, to become, to jump into being, this irresistant coming into being, this lifeforce, this violant wanting. Oh I hope to make love to you like that one day. But for the moment it is so good to know you are out there somewhere, breathing slowly. Participating, staring into distances. This landscape around you, these images. This poetry resounding. Sentences, a kiss.
You are excellent wine. I breath your wine in and out. I am inside of you, swimming like a frogfish. You carry me, give birth to me. I am on your lap, next to your ear. We laugh a lot. We are having a good time. We create a lot of beautiful children around us, nixies, airy beings. Good spicy ingredients. When we die, all what was in us opens up, although it never really was seperated, and will be just good ingredients for this soup of life, this broth, this wine.
There is no end to this. This is the party we have come to. We are all invited and even when we don’t come, we are a part of it.
All old ones, all new ones, all ones to come. I bless you for being here, for looking wellwillingly upon us, for loving us, for holding us for all of the times.