Butterfly's Dream - Overture 2 (fragment)

My memory still has big gaps. I can’t recall clearly the past few days or, as a matter of fact, anything preceding this moment. I still don’t remember how I’ve got into this room and in front of this print. Perhaps this stranger has come to help me figure out what’s going on.

“You’re right,” says the monk. “Escher has caught brilliantly the fact that the ego is an illusion, that what’s inside our head cannot be fully separated from what’s outside our skin. Not that he was the first to do so. However, he was one of the best artists to show it in an intuitive and easy to understand manner.”

I feel like in a classroom where I’m a student and he is the teacher. As soon as the stranger finishes talking, a revelation begins to germinate at the back of my brain. It looks like the whole scene is happening in a dream, like I have dreamed of it before. The whole situation and the whole dialog seem somewhat rehearsed, artificial, as if we were two mediocre actors playing their roles on an invisible stage. I say:

“My memory is kind of blurred. I can’t remember clearly what’s happened to me recently. I’ve got the impression you aren’t here by chance. Have you come to help me, to guide me somewhere?”

The monk stares straight into my eyes with a serious expression. He nods in silence. Time seems to flow slower now. The air has become somewhat viscous and heavy.

I breathe deeply a few times to calm my mind, then turn my head back towards the artwork. It’s still there, as it was when I stopped in front of it. Yet, something else, hard to define, is different now. I don’t know where my past is rooted, but I’m somehow aware where my future lies. As if everything has suddenly begun to flow in the opposite direction, from the future towards the past. Without being aware of how this information has filled my thoughts, I know there’s a path in front of me, a path onto which I have to step soon. Very soon, probably in less than a minute.

We both continue to look at the print like we’re holding a vigil in front of it. I feel as if Maurits Cornelis Escher himself is standing now behind us, gazing intently at his own creation. However, why am I going through this strange scenario? What are these preparations for? What kind of trip is waiting for me? Or, perhaps, it has already begun?

(to be continued...)

Books by Marian C. Ghilea:
BUTTERFLY'S DREAM: https://bit.ly/2PM63uU
TIDES OF AMBER: https://bit.ly/2HfcHVB

Image source: Pixabay - https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-1283009/