0129
Spend a day fasting on food. That day, you shall not intake any food.
Reflect on the very act of eating.
When we consume food, are lives of other forms from the grand nature sacrificed? What are Mother Nature’s expectations?
Should we take accountability for the energy transformed by other existences within the human body?
From now on, how should the power of libido be wielded?
Spend a day fasting on speech. That day, no words from you shall be heard.
Tune your attention to such a human faculty.
When we utter words in human language, do they cause any ripples? What are Designer’s expectations?
Should we take responsibility for those spells that trigger reactions?
From now on, how should such a design be executed?
Try to spend some time fasting on sight. During that time, the shade muffling your eyes shall not be removed.
Contemplate a world without human sight.
Imagine that there has never been such a human perception, and now what? What do you “see” without human eyes?
Which is liable for receiving the part of the world projected on our retinas, sight or vision?
From now on, how should falsehood and reality be distinguished?
0331
Explore the two ends of something. A thought. A scene.
Off the body lying somewhere in a familiar room. A room from childhood.
To the right across the room is on the wall a window connecting to another room. With some dark behind.
Turn around. Which you realize you can do at will. Slowly. From about the edge of the bed.
Drift backward. And soar.
Zoom out. But there’s nothing. Endlessly. But there’s nothing. The space is infinitely stretched. But there’s nothing.
One end.
Change directions. The other way round.
Zoom back in a flash. Back to where you think the body is. But there’s nothing.
Reach the window next to the bed. With some light behind.
Get in. And a vast external world.
First in sight are the rooftops from not far below. Of small houselets. Like matchboxes.
And the fresh smell of something. Of open air and snow. Far-away are mountain ranges covered in snow sewn to the sky.
Roam around. And glide.
In between far and near. Under some outlandish tall pillars with bent extensions high in the air. People are drinking coffee and talking.
The other end.
0403
Explore the two ends of something. At somewhere that connects pieces of memories.
See yourself in a room. In a room from a long time ago. From some unknown year.
Look right. There’s a window above. A window of night.
And a black dog would come fetch you. After all children fell asleep.
And the dog would carry you aloft. In the sky. And in the dark.
High. And high. And above the sky.
But you’d never reached the moon.
Change directions. The other side.
Look left. Across the space there’s an open door. A door of day.
And it leads to a narrow passage outside of the bungalow.
And the passage leads to an open square.
In the square there are low shrubs. You thought you lost a piece of toy there.
But you’d never found the piece of toy.
0409
Meet people in a different world. A colorful one. Without remembering how you step into it.
The long tunnel. Twisty and without an end.
The red-light district. The man and the woman.
The harbour. The surrounding scenery in dark yellow aura.
The sightseeing electric car full of people passing by. The boy among the crowd you encounter on the street.
And the classroom. The boys and girls who couldn’t sit quietly. The parents waiting outside of the school worrisomely.
And the conversation between you and an elderly. A “taxi driver” who has a white car. And who when inquired on the expense answers cunningly. “How long and how much?”
Everything resembles things in our world. As if they’re built on the same physical laws. But there’s something different. Like the structures of things.
Everyone resembles people in our world. As if they’re molded with the same blood and flesh. There’re even “counterparts” of the people you know. But there’s something different.
Like the complexions of people.
As if this world is created based on the same elements in our world. But in a different philosophy.
Drift in a world. A white one that seems to be far above. With being drawn into it by opening the window.
Where everything is while and light.
Where there’s no one, no people, and no beings.
Where there’re only long passages and aisles. Like those in a hospital. And small sections in between segmented by white walls. And while furniture and white paraphernalia.
Where you’re driven forward by some flow. To visit things here and there. And you don’t go where you wish to go at will.
Walk in a world of flying catkins. A world of four seasons. With entering it by an afternoon meander.
Where those soft pompons carried by the spring wind dance in the air.
Where you can meet a hornet on the street. A bird landing on the branch. And a butterfly flying over in front of you.
But where there’s sickness, losses, sacrifices, and vulnerability.
Where there’re little white buds grown. And little white flowers bloomed. From the plants on the windowsill. In succession. Over and over again.
