Wednesday, Barcelona

A seagull flew through the moon, its belly lighted up by the sun. A bright square on the wall of a building. A circle producing angular shapes, transformation is at the core of the world.

When I woke up at 4.30 a.m. the sky was still black but the darkness had evaporated and blue sky was on its way. My main reason for being here. In search of blue.

The temperature matched the colour. It was cold.

“I am facing my fears during the hour of the wolf” I wrote at 4.30. But there is only one fear. And it is always the same one. It is the fear that I won’t be able to leave when it is time to go. It is a smaller version of death. But I know there is only one way to deal with your fear. It is facing it and stepping into it. I did many times. I left many times. Leaving is easy. I wrote it many times. But it is easy to write it. I still have to learn how to do it well. But I am getting better at it. Exercises in being here, only to understand that nothing lasts forever. Exercising for not being here. Living is leaving. Letting go. Step by step. It is a beautiful walk. Beautiful and sad. Like all good walks.

I walked to the sea. The city was silent. A holiday. Celebrating he Spanish Constitution. The beach was empty. All the beach bars had disappeared. Only sand. And endless blue. My fear was washed away. Or maybe already disappeared earlier when I closed the door to leave my home.

On my way back I found a book next to a garbage container. Andreï Tarkovskyi’s Journal, French edition. It opens like this (and I’m translating:)

“The Journal of Andreï Tarkovski starts in April 1970. Tarkovski is only 38, his wife is expecting a child, he is about to buy a house in the countryside and his autobiographical movie “The Mirror” is germinating in his mind. In the past, a Lion d’or in Venice for “The childhood of Ivan” and a monumental movie, “Andreï Rublev”. Self-assured, writing: “I’m not afraid of anything anymore”, he decides to focus on writing an intimite journal …. “