Saturday, July 30, 2016

Self-aware ignorance

     While reading „When Nietzsche wept”, my Infatuation hid itself in a dark corner, and Ignorance, revealing her face after wearing a mask wisely designed to avoid features recognition, came and sat nonchalantly cross-legged. I looked her straight in the eyes and she did likewise.

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     Usually this is how things happen:  we defiantly stare at each other until she begins to roll her eyes, scratching the shortcomings on her arms and at one point, almost when I expect less, she stands up and fades away.
 
     But this time things went differently: Ignorance stopped looking at me. Instead she looked down to.. herself. At first I wondered, her gesture aroused my curiosity. Nevertheless, did not take long to realize – she was analyzing herself.  Thin legs, skin unnaturally overlapping, she was glancing down at the ridges of her limits, softly touching – with a vague masked mercy – her sunburned eyelids.

     I  was under the impression that she needs a mirror, but on second thought I decided not to give her one – she would have broken it and stuck the broken pieces into the bridges of her foot, thus hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would cultivate wisdom.

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     Suddenly, I was enlightened: she has become self-conscious -  of her shortcomings, of how unwelcome she is.  I laughed and, along with all my pieces of information, watchmen of my own identity, I took her in my arms, holding her tight and whispered only one thing. Imperceptibly, I could read gratitude on her face. Between the lines, nothing else.

     "I will kill you", I told her. Apparently (and fortunately?) I was unworthy of any response. 

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Maira Gall