with great patience he practiced his visionary powers
until he could speak into the blackness that has depth nor dimensions
thus he slipped into metaphor, into the symbol the world itself is speaking
when he was forty years of age, it was he who first escaped
he became a sound, deep inside the Earth
he became a tremor that set in motion the unraveling of something, unnoticed but ever present
of something that had been woven into the very fabric of our days, our lives, our minds and hearts
immediately our dreams brightened and a vanished world returned
you can still see where he stood for all those years,
there the grass will not grow.
a litlle patch of barren rock on the green top of the cliff.
it started on his third birthday.
he wouldn’t blow out the candles on his birthday cake,
he wouldn’t open his present – a big wooden cart his uncle had made him – it would lie in the shed unused for years after.
his cousins danced, his father kissed him
they all sang for him
but he remained silent.
and he never spoke again, well, not the way we speak anyway.
at first he’d only go to the cliff in the afternoons, when the teacher had finished her lessons and we went to play in the fields.
he used to join us but now he would stand there on this spot, always the exact same spot, looking out over the sea, standing perfectly still. we would go up to him, make funny faces, pinch him or just ask him to come play with us. he never responded, so we stopped.
off course his mother would come and take him home for supper, but when he grew older he started to refuse. not only food, but school, too.
his father would get angry and drag him down. the boy never fought him, or anyone else, but as soon as they let him go he would walk back.
when he was eleven he first spent the night there, standing through the dark night, watching the sun come up over the water.
sometimes his mother would stand beside him on the cliff, asking questions, in despair, only to get a silent smile in reply
years went by. so many years went by that eventually we stopped paying attention. even the strangest things become normal, you know. until, of course, the sound started. first only in the night, only for a few minutes and barely audible. slowly, over the course of months it became stronger and lasted longer. well, and the rest is history.
only now do people see what he has done for them, what he sacrificed, how much he loved them.