The road. The calls from far away. The adventure.
The road is flowing through my veins. I feel it pulsating, calling me. Where are you taking me, my road ? To the unexplored paths or to the beaten tracks ?
To the blue sky or to the green forest, to the white peaks or to the yellow cornfields ?
I dream insistently that I'm flying. I float and I see everything from above. I float and I reach out my hand to touch my memories, which produce the sound of a girdle
with little bells blown by the wind. Because I keep my memories - just like you'd keep old flowers in a book - and sometimes I rise to them, to make them tell their story again.
And then the road pulsates stronger into my veins and calls me. And I follow it. Because nobody can resist the call of the blood. The road leads me always to the mountain,
because the blood always flows to the heart. Even though it leaves the heart, it returns again and again, to begin a new adventure. And I add this adventure to my girdle with little bells.
I don't follow my brain, that forest of twisted brushwood which can only kindle the night. I rather follow the purple of my blood. And then I reach the heart of the mountain,
where I look into the mirror of the lake - my soul. What will I see this time ? The dawn of yesteryear or the dusk of tomorrow ?
Traveler, follow your own road. It will lead you to the mountain inside you and there, in the mirror of your soul, you'll see who you are. Seeing who you are for real, may you
always become what you were meant to be: a Man.
Sorin Cristescu, June 2005
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