Rachel's
The Sea and the Bells

6:00 of the first day of a new life.

Set off! Set off not to return, set off to renew oneself, set off not to die. I arrive at the port, ascending the current of the alleys and the warmth of a piano, a radiant melodic opening that burns the perfumes of the night, unstitches the sun from the thread of the horizon. Set off to make sense, set off ignoring everything, set off not to... There’s the ship! The austere and determined gestures of a violin in uniform strip it from the mist. Set off, my God! Just set off...

... Two hours later.

Strolling on the deck of the ship, the soot of shapeless memories covers the enamel of hope. In my head, a violin and a cello whisper, a mysterious chamber colloquy in which faults perhaps only imagined are revealed. And finally, here you are! In the watermark of my steps, from the crescendo of a lunar piano, from the resonant grain of its notes. Your face, your hair. I had to leave. Leave not to love anymore.

11:00 of the first day of a new life.

At the bow of the ship, I wrap myself in my coat, muster courage, and look below. I observe the sea, listen to its breath... Nonsense! Foolishness! One must stay with man! I need to think about what I really want, about my life, about the sound of that viola that rages in mid-air, that melancholic viola where possibilities sprout, that viola supported by the roots of round and firm percussion, that viola that from possibilities can reap the fruits of resolution.

... Three hours later.

In my bunk. Alone. I didn’t have lunch. I listen. Sharp and whistling spasms pour from the throat of a guitar torn by fierce nails. They carry the piercing voice of the wind, of others who left before me, left not to suffocate. Lying on the bunk, I listen. Again that piano. Perhaps I still love it.

18:00 of the first day of a new life.

Again at the bow! Speeding ahead! The unison of string instruments fills the sails! We fly at sea towards the unknown! New Gordon Pyms conquering the Pole! I am the pearl and the world is my oyster... No!... The wind falls like a wet rag, and a sudden calm reduces the sound to a catatonic stasis. Something emerges from the waves, half woman, half fish! It approaches! Gnashes its teeth! Says that... AAAAAARGHHHH!!!

22:00 of the first day of a new life.

“Old ocean, you are an immense bluish bruise upon the body of the Earth” Lautréamont said. I am still alive. Standing at the stern, exhausted, disheartened, but still alive. I watch the wake left by the keel and lose myself with it until disappearing. But from the abysses emerges a distant clamor, bells in the resonant air, and then a heart-wrenching violin brings me back, back to her. Enough! I must suture my wounds, drain my bruises.

… One hour later.

Still in the bunk. The roar of the storm is mixed with the creaks of the ship, with the disjointed sounds of a precariously balanced ensemble. And then a voice. A voice in my head.

… Half an hour later.

To start again, to move forward, I have to try to free myself. That's what the voice says. That’s what those soft cello lines say, gliding through the sound with steady sweetness. Enough with the Past! Enough with her! No, I will not write anymore. To sea with these lines! From the ocean's depths, they will pray for me. Pray for me.

… … …

… … …

10:30 of the first day of a new life.

Today, on the shore, I found an old bottle. Inside was a kind of travel diary. I read about a violin that reminded me of that of the Dirty Three in “Ocean Songs”, about a piano that had some resonance with that of “Copia” by Eluvium. Yet it was not about the energies of the ocean, nor the emotional oscillations of bucolic landscapes. No, they spoke of a man. Follow the flow, be inspired by the synchronicities, be guided by the glimmers: I baptize this day as the first of a new life.