Dissonances or Hang the DJ

For the first time in about a week, I’m sitting in my sitting room, dressed in jeans and a cozy jumper, instead of my pjs, almost like a real person. I’m still a bit of a snot-monster but definitely on the mend now. I even went for a little walk, because I’ve been getting cabin fever.

It’s a Dublin kind of a day (I have to stop saying that, I used to say that in Canada when the weather reminded me of Ireland, but now I’m back in Dublin every day is a Dublin kind of a day really) – fierce mild and drizzling. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe it’s the remnants of sickness but the world feels a couple of degrees removed from reality and shimmering on the edges. It’s not unpleasant, just a touch trippy.

On Grafton Street Christmas decorations and lights, in Stephen’s Green some trees are losing the last of the colourful leaves, while others, a few confused cherry blossoms, are blooming like they’ve decided December is not really a thing they could be bothered with. Half-walking, half-swimming through the misty, muted universe in which the seasons and moods change on a whim, without discernible rules.

My music selection only intensified the sense of the surreal. I made this massive eclectic list and put it on shuffle. For a while, as I was walking, my phone decided to play solely Polish songs for some reason. They sounded so out of place, a soundtrack of a bygone era, of another life, not well suited to Edwardian redbricks, uncomfortable strangers unaccustomed to the rhythm of Dublin streets, and all of a sudden, I found myself looking at familiar places like I never saw them before, missing a heartbeat of the town, and a step or two in the process. Shortly after that “How to Disappear Completely” came up, so painfully perfect, so at home in this city, in this day and this dreamlike state that I could feel every last note, every scrap of lyric pouring out of the headphones, straight into me, coursing through my veins, liquefying into perfect rain(or possibly tear)drops at my fingertips and falling onto the expectant ground, spreading in the mist, flowing down the Liffey, the canals, the sea, and for a couple of minutes the whole world vibrated enthralled, the impeccable reflection of the song as I stood rooted to the spot, letting it carry me, letting myself dissolve and disappear.

I feel such love for this city sometimes it’s bruising my heart, it makes it hard to breathe…

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On the subject of magic

Sometimes it doesn’t come naturally all the time. Sometimes I playact, I pretend, I go through motions, hoping for my clothes to turn into a magician’s cape full of rabbits, flowers and Queens of Hearts. Sometimes the stick doesn’t want to turn into a sword, a lightsaber or a wand. Pots of stew obstinately refuse to transform into witch’s potions and brews. Sometimes the stars remain beyond reach and distant planets full of alien life go undiscovered. Sometimes animals never want to talk and sentient software doesn’t learn to love. The world doesn’t spontaneously spring to bloom nor burns with colour in the fall. Sometimes angelic hush doesn’t cover the parks in blindingly white snow and summer’s gentle dusk doesn’t rock me to sleep in the hypnotic scent of roses, jasmine and night-scented stock. Sometimes the magic eludes me and the days run into one another, gray, and dark, full of numbers that don’t add up, sharp pointy elbows and burnt milk on the stove.

But then again, sometimes it takes nothing at all, a play of light on a fallen leaf, a music note juicily clear, a snippet of conversation overheard on the bus and there it is, the awakened dream. My eyes fill up with swirling galaxies, I dance and fly above the mountaintops, on rainbow wings, a jet-pack, or a travelling spider web. I play with dragons in the air, threading my way through the sky-scraping columns of some mysterious civilization long gone, like a ribbon. I traipse through the ancient ruins of heroic castles and shake hands with the noble ghosts while we await the mighty battles against the evil hordes. I swap gossip with the halflings over goblets of mead at the roadside inns and grow the first ever tomatoes on Mars. I bring dinosaurs back to life, explore the Antarctic and build a hut on an enchanted glade in the middle of the forest older than the oldest tales. I melt in with a smooth silver beech tree and live a life of majesty and peace, singing a quiet song along with the Universe. Sometimes, the wonder is right there, underneath the eyelashes, spinning with the planet under my feet, beating its rhythm right into my ears, breathing quietly, waiting for me.

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