A Pot.

I have heard somewhere recently that a person can be seen more or less in the middle of many size scales. For example, between a single cell (microorganism) and a planet (macroorganism). Or between a hydrogen atom and the solar system. Or a neutrino and a galaxy. Or the Planck length and the observable universe. Between nothing and everything, you might say, but let’s leave it.

At the age of maybe 6 I somehow came across the concept of infinity. I could not cope with it in any way and I was struggling horribly. Finally, my Father came to the rescue by offering a metaphor: a pot into which you can pour water endlessly. I spent a lot of time with this pot and the water pouring into it in front of my eyes.

But, let’s go back to here and today. I am agonising over the Tale. I can’t get off to a good start; whatever I begin, I keep having to go back, because it’s not feeling right. At times I feel as if I can see the whole, but a moment later – I can’t imagine the next step. But I’ve been here, in this very same deep shit far more than once – the feeling that there is no way forward is just an unpleasant illusion. The way is there, but invisible; it has to be forcibly crossed by crawling and clinging to whatever you can. Without technical mastery, without sophistication. Pressure and dull effort are the core elements of my strategy.

As for Leśmian, the struggle is not that hard, although I seem to have taken a little pause, too. I’ve been reading Rymkiewicz (very good) and I imagine freely Dookoła klombu [Around the flower bed] as a kind of circular chorale, which I’ll write down in a flash, or so it seems to me.

By the way, a gorilla, a dolphin or a rose bush, for example, are also at the same place on the size scale as a human being, which may affect conclusions.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)