There can only be one way to get together, the direct one.
There can only be one willingness to be with one another, the unconditional one.
And there can only be one time to be together, the now.
We sat on our jetty, still flowing around, blown around by the chaos, but already with a fixed point of reference and anchor where we could find peace, in togetherness, in the here and now. We had read it by speaking it and tearing it from the chaos, the pier, the ferryman and the window, but the pier led nowhere and the ferryman was firmly on the other bank.
„Speak, and it will.“, you spoke to me again.
„I want a lake over which the jetty rises and which the ferryman can cross, in the width from the beginning of the jetty to the point where the ferryman berths his ferry, at which the arriving passengers ask him to cross, and in the length so that the ends can just be seen in the twilight. Reeds are said to grow on the banks, in which birds and other small animals find a home and refuge. Water lilies should now and then pierce the surface of the water and break through the uniformity.“, I spoke to you.
„On the bank the water should be shallow, so that you can go a few steps in without having to swim, but then the lake should become deep, so deep that it is impossible to even guess the bottom.“, you said to yourself me too.
„The lake as a mirror image of the human being, easily distinguishable by its exterior and probably also in what it allows the world to see and reveals itself, easy to see through, but in its depth, in its self-being, cannot be assessed. Yes, not even guessable, often not even for yourself.“, I spoke to you.
“And it should be fed by a small stream that flows into it on the west bank and extends the border that the lake forms, but is only so wide that it can be crossed with a deliberate jump and is so shallow that it can be reached you can wade through, so that there are three ways to reach the jetty, the ferryman, the circumnavigation of the lake on the east side and the one on the west side, including the crossing of the brook.”, you spoke to me.
“And it should also be fed by an underground spring. On the one hand there is an obvious inlet that feeds the lake with new water, but which also brings all the rubbish into the lake that is charged to it on its way, and on the other hand a hidden inlet that provides it with living, unpolluted, untouched feeds water, of which nobody can say where it comes from and what it contains, and yet that makes up the uniqueness.“, I spoke to you.
„Yes, that’s how it should be,“ you said to me.
At that moment it became, and we found ourselves now at the jetty, at the end of the jetty that began on the shore of the lake and protruded so far that it stood above the water whose depth could not even be guessed.
I took you by the hand and pulled you behind me, to dive into the clear water of the lake, into the flattering water, and wash around us, let ourselves be caressed, entrusted and carried, moving playfully and easily. We swam until we reached the bank where the ferryman was waiting and where the chaos still flowed.
