Strange mood, Slavic soul

Roughly “halfway along our life’s path” I found my roots. Strange melody for Christmas day, I am not very religious and it’s in Slavic language not very similar to mine. It does remind me of a mood on the photographs my granduncle took. All I know about him is memories, stories, stories of stories and correspondence between his brothers and sisters. Seems he had extraordinary talent and integrity.

I am finally rooted, like the old pine tree I decorated in front of my house. The one my grandfather insisted on keeping while buliding the house. He was near the end of his life path then, roughly double my age now.

I can only hope the island where my roots are won’t be a floating one. The real one isn’t. The one in my mind could be.

I know how to peel an onion very well, but the mosquito nets of illusion never seem to end. They always seem to leave something out, before they fade away. (Sometimes same ones appear again and again.)

Could it be, should I believe that I have some “firm spot to stand on”? No, I am not modest (and I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t want more power) I just fear the “move the earth part” in the famous saying. I am afraid of that emphasis.

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