Flashes of life on a Day in January

My pen follows me. Better, what my pen writes, I obey. That’s good. With words, I adjure everyday life. It has no color other than grey. Open a gap in time against what is now.

From the good old days, the castle in Åkeshov donates to the everyday life and monotony of the metro. Further out at Ängby, the platform is still icy. I find no peace until the sun rises, and the clouds have escaped.

The free will is discussed by those who believe their thinking have sharpness enough for the task. They forget that free will is not there for everyone, and always. Maybe just for a few and once. It is no point to anyone to discuss whether man has a free will or not.

I claim I am seeking the meaning of life. As if I forgot or did not understand that I already own it. Once the routines were a threat. They tore me away from what I thought carried value. Now and on the street outside my window, it gives me peace, something to return to. No matter what my imagination offers.

Once, and for a minute, among the houses at Nockeby, I realized what was important to me, a goal. The path to get there was long and tricky. Full of torment. I’m there now, almost thirty years later.