Wednesday, February 27, 2013

captured in amber

It is quite unimportant the sequence of events that led to my expulsion, removed from what had been the reality of my life. When one becomes stateless, exiled, then one is a guest only of fate, a beneficiary only of luck, a plaything of chance. I did not intend to be exiled. That was not what was supposed to happen, it was not our agreement. There was no unlawful protest, no life lived in the counter-insurgency, no sculpture or poem contradicting a ruling elite. As if sculpture and poetry matter to the masses, are anything other than an annoyance to the powerful! But my exile lacked even the romance of intention. There were many days living, loving, laughing, feasting, playing, traveling, singing, exploring, and then they ended.

I cannot recall how or why they ended. There is a blank in my mind, a hole in my memory, like a badly edited film that jumps between future and present and past without any warning or transition. Suddenly my life had changed. If this absence did not yawn so deeply, becoming an abyss, perhaps the gap would contain material for a riveting best seller. I think of all the things that could have happened in those missing years, a political revolution, a drug cartel, rouge scientific experimentations, any one of a hundred tales of espionage and fighting the powerful and blackmail and double crosses. One day, when things are different, I will write each of these narratives, and the multivolume genre spanning set will be known as my memoirs, although none of it will have happened.