Indian Vertigo
Benares, Varanasi…!? Never mind. The meeting point for bodies and souls. I walk on the thread of existence. The Ghats, this road between life and death.
I don’t feel so alive nowhere else, so mortal. My reason is shaky, lose grounded; a kind of distortion in my perception. On the one hand physical presence, on the other the spiritual abysm. Between both, bodies, fire, blood, colors, scents, songs, prayers. This atmosphere makes me feel dizzy. Mix of a material and spiritual universe, condensed of hope, laughs, silences tears.
My reason is shaky, my vision becomes cloudy. Am I really present? Are they truly? Life slips on the steps, drowns in the water flows, reborn in the songs, flies up into the smoke, closed down into the ashes, filling the wind…
Soon, this man won’t be one anymore. This woman prepares her passage to otherworldliness. This child takes his time to live. He knows that a cycle is going on, ephemeral passenger of life. I breathe, on the verge of suffocation. I look, near blindness. I touch, at the border line of the burn.
I am…
Marta Rossignol
