A grand piano stands on the ice,
almost impossible to detect.
It is black on black ice.
At a distance,
a thin rocky islet covered with snow,
makes it possible to see the instrument.
Further out the ice is broken.
A silent sence of joy
Joyful presence fills your interior to the brink. The urge to dress your feeling of joy in words would make it leak, vanish, and disappear. Still, you do it.
The critical moment is to stay in silence. To allow the joy to be yours. At least for a day or two. To make it real enough. Not needing to qualify it by communicating with someone else.
Through your whole life, you walked along the roads you knew well. You dressed in an extra coat of responsibility. You almost touched a sense of acting dumb. You never even dared to imagine what the second level of living would be for you.
Göran Stille
Göran Stille 