Poems and Tales from Romania | Page 4

through its normal range of heart-perceived phases in the
Garden where I was born. The full meaning of the cycle light-darkness
was heard echoing even in the pulsations of the fungi attached to the
trunks of the trees. And yes, there were parasites, the concept of
parasitism (or there was symbiosis, if you wish) in the Garden of Eden.
As for me, I was always lonely, never found a friend because friends
showed up when I wasn't looking and disappeared quickly when I
turned around. All by myself night and day, I found these petty
pleasures which were my major concerns and top 10 on my personal
Being Humane Scale. Thus I loved to watch the ritual of
metamorphosing our reality into the reality of dreams overnight, and
having read some Freud, I was always wondering who fell asleep first,
the tree or the fungus, the host or the ghost. I loved to watch the world
change coordinates with the Silent Heaven of the Angels, in the sense
that nothing mean could be said while people's minds were half- alive,
that is deeply asleep to the eyes of this world.
Most of the women who inhabited the Garden of Eden were getting
pregnant in fall, because they were taught the earth was gestating with
fruits and their womb was like the earth. This way the population
increased rapidly and the hunger grew with the same speed. The earthy
hunger, that is, a disease much more dangerous and mind-attacking
than the learned doctors could even dare to predict. Yet the Garden was
ignorantly sleeping every night and the women's wombs, like the earth,
grew heavy with fruits, gestating full-season.
Beneath the branches rich with green unearthy smell, in their yet earthy
beds of grass from where the snakes of sin were lurking, the young
boys of the Eden's mothers were growing to become Abel and Cain, or
only Abel, or only Cain. A matter to be decided upon at midnight, by
Eve, the wanderer and the mistress of heart-dictated directions.
Eve was a beautiful young woman by then. An all-loving mother of all
the wombs and all their fruits. One time I saw her in the distance,
wandering in the Park. That's when she became part of my painting.
She looked so unprotectedly naked and so shiny beneath the apple
trees' arch, yet it could have been my eyes. A statue carved in flesh
maybe Rodin's while thinking of Camille her skin the color of the sand,

so young and shiny like the rays of the New Moon. I had been told she
was the Wife, the Given One. I tacitly embraced her much gossiped
idealism and dreamed of her blue eyes, the deep blue eyes of what they
called a Gift. Yet to her, from what I perceived, she was only the rib,
penetrating the flesh and longing for a duplication into Something Else.
Something Tasty. Eve had an insatiable heart; she was always hungry
for the unborn Adams with their unborn loves and poems hiding in the
shadows of the Park. Through her, the rib aimed high, so high that the
final goal could not be guessed by the mind, only perceived by the
senses. Eve had been born a lonely woman and stayed like that since
the Adam in her bed got so bored of loving himself. Life at home was
like dying of hope suffocation, keeping the claustrophobic indoors and
telling him that you are out and doing fine.
The Fun Fair was the place where something was always happening, a
bird would sing, an ant would die, a leaf would fall young and very
green. Good things and bad things. Plus the Fun Fair's keeper was
speaking in rhymes and the power of his words- a melody- kept on
resounding in Eve's ears:

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We have Forbidden Mellow Apple Biting at your discretion!
People presumed (and I see they still presume) that that was why Eve
had all those terrible bedtime worries she was continuously
complaining about. She called them heart-migraines and flesh
insomnias. Some thought she had gone crazy with no real husband at
home, some thought she was sane when she said that the apple- trees of
beauty were having nightmares too, and that their leafy crowns were
giving her the whispered messages from the Honey Moon. So people
listened for hours, for days, for weeks and no distinct sound could be
heard coming from the apple-trees. They tried harder, some of them got
inspired and composed beautiful music, and at the changing of the year
they all felt older, much more older than a year older and scared, much
more scared than they had been of the things they had used to know
before as being terrible.
Eve