Looking out of the window, watching the days go by, and wondering if reality was as real as its name implied.  There was a slight reflection of myself in the window created by the glimmering yellow light bulb of the bed lamp.  The sea in the distance glowing the obscured light of a half moon and the skies as black as ever, with little white dots like salt flakes reflecting the few light that penetrates through the winter clouds.

There was nothing more than sheer silence, accept for the occasional squeaking of the doors from the neighbouring rooms and the soft synchronised sound of little droplets controlled, that seemed as if they could last for ever.  In the distance, planes crossed through the skies like shooting stars un-effected by the earth’s atmosphere.

My thoughts ran faster than my hands could handle and like alcohol evaporated through the midst of the night never to be thought about again.  I thought why it had to be misfortune or ill happenings to make me write. Why it had to be silence to drive my pencil to dance as if it were shy to be seen moving. Like a promising writer who writes then throws his notebook into the sea, so that only the crystalline water can feel his thoughts.

Just next to me is Einstein’s’ Biography and beneath that the National Geographic, looking at me as if questioning why they have been left un-opened for these last days.  Lacking the interest they remain untouched for my thoughts are elsewhere from the science of understanding matter or from comprehending the laws of relativity.  I am questioning what could be my endless search, or maybe just dreaming and looking out there hoping to find the answer.

I then hear a cry, a weeping sorrow, panic, and once again I fall into the pit of questioning, looking out towards what could be an un-answerable horizon.  There is nothing more painful than hearing sorrow here in my own silence.  So then just like religion I look out of the window to alienate myself, to cover my eyes from the reality behind me.  Questioning whether it is the host in me that wants me blind or the society that has bred me for so long helping me to become in such a controllable manner.

My reflection remains motionless as much as thyself and there I remained in silence.

Listening to the ticking sound of an old clock, resting on a table now empty, wondering on thy past. Sensing the smell of a pie who’s creator rests within the world of dreams. Beside me on this table, carved with with a knife called time, rests a bunch of apples, as small as a bunch of wild berries, which in Maltese we call a “Merh”.

The window, wide open letting the cool breeze inside, helping my pencil through its scribbling symphony, wondering what else to draw, wishing no end for this timeless moment.

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Listening to Michael Buble in my car, looking out of the window, wondering about the sky above me, waiting for the ferry to come and take me to the other side, towards the peaceful island of Gozo. The island that inspires me, that keeps me close to my thoughts.Gozo is my escape, the cushion that cuddles me, the nurse that has taken care of me the first time I saw the external world. Gozo forms part of the three islands being the second largest of the three; however it has kept its character and history. In winter Gozo is like the flourishing freshness of a flower. And now that March is over, I see that nature is preparing for the hotter season yet to come.

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I met a pebble on the beach, who related her story, “I have traveled for so many miles”, she said, “but still remaining in the same place, today I rest here on this soft comfortable sand, cuddled by the suns’ rays, today I met you, why don’t you tell me your story”.

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I walked without a destination but only a direction, driven to an unknown place. And I walked until I heard nothing more than the whistling sound of the wind and the crushing waves against the rock beneath me.

I looked out towards the horizon and there was nothing accept the dividing line between the sea and the sky. Then I looked behind me and again there was nothing accept the storm that had yet to come. It would have rained but not yet, no the heavy clouds shall wait until everything was clear. They waited for the right moment.

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I forgot how my heartbeat sounded,

I forgot the sequence of my breath,

I forgot what I was meant to live for,

I forgot what had been prepared for me,

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Was it a dream, I ask and now that I think of it, am I awaken or am I dreaming of being awaken, and thus eluding myself of being awake, eluding myself into a world of surrealism. I realized that my strengths were also my weaknesses and beliefs were also my un-answered questions. I found out that the cliff that held the bastions has now crumbled down like a wall of sand. I find out that the tree I once looked at, so strong and resilient is now nothing more than a petal, so fragile so frail. It was like a storm building up far out at sea but then turning out to be a ripple in a fish tank. Does it make sense to fall back in the dream and start all over again or is it better to grief and live an awaken existence?

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And whilst feeling the vibrating shutter make it’s click, I thought how this lens compares to a magnet that attracts these moments to compose an expression. It seemed as if time stopped, and light fell just on the right spots, as if gravity was the Michelangelo in the middle of a masterpiece, shaping the moment through shadows. It was as if there was no deformation through the lens and the reflection of the right tones composed the image as it was meant to be.

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I have been for several days now trying to come up with the best idea to converse with you through blogging. I wanted to create some form of interaction with you and your ideas, to know what you see in most of these images. Since I am not very well with design and coding I had to find something ready and now that I found what I needed, a new feature in www.rchircop.com is launched.

For this launch I have included this new capture I did recently which I felt should be named as “obscure but for how long?”

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