A statue with a missing head

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14/10/2012

I should be deconstructed. Immediately. My hands are shaking right now, only by writing the word deconstruct. My heart is bouncing….still there is a great distance between the word itself and the steps needed to turn the word into action, a movement, into a moving statue. What kind of a statue that would be? The answer is one and it is universal… It’s the belief that the statue is not only made of stone, marble, gold, cement, iron or whatever, but also consists of a soul. One can simply realize it by standing in front of one of the moving statues of classical Greek era. By standing in front of the hallucinogenic statues, made by the Mayan, Aztecs and the Incas in central and South America, respectively. Those statues hold the secrets and truths of Mother Nature and the stars. What about the golden statues of ancient Egypt? They sit among beauty and wealth, being the portal to eternity, the balance between life and death. Another great example of a statue’s power is of course its endurance. Despite the fact that all natives from the Easter islands have been vanished along the years, their creations stand, proudly, over the wild ocean, overlooking with those massive heads and eyes, observing the sea and its spirits.

The statue is not dead but full of life. It sits there, with no will whatsoever, patiently-almost divine, not speaking but observing. Made to last for thousands of years, the statue will share its beauty, wisdom and simplicity with the universe, whilst, we ll drop like flies in the ocean, the ground, in a lake full of shit. We may become garbage, ashes, soil or food for animals but the statue will still stand.

I wanna be a statue. But I luck its calmness, its beauty. I may spend my days doing pretty much what a statue does all these centuries; sitting somewhere, observing… that’s pretty much what I do. Still I am bombarded by opinions, ideas, plans, illusions, lies, thoughts and so on. If you consider that almost all statues with faces seem calm, wise or slightly content, then I have a long way ahead of me. I wanna be a statue. I want people to come and see me, admire me , maybe even more, to be astonished by me; for all the things I keep inside, for all the other things that people see in my face , in my eye. Many of them (especially tourists) will take pictures of me but I think I ll get used to it after a while. Others will study me: anthropologists and archaeologists, will try to find my missing pieces, to find my Enigma…
Who made me and why?
What were the materials they used in building me, and how come I have this shape?
What’s my truth and my purpose?
What do I symbolize?

I must have waken up by now, because I see different things, I feel a hypocrite. A liar. I woke up from a dream and now I m happily living the nightmare. Year after year I kill myself. I consciously choose to do so. Year after year..but it’s not only me. It s everyone and everything. Even the statues.. .take a good look at them .what do you see? I see no beauty nor harmony. I see no balance nor wisdom. I see no statues of simple men and women. I see politicians becoming statues; I see priests and nation leaders. I see rich and powerful people. Why? Wouldn’t  be great to have a statue for the whore selling her body at the streets, the unemployed, the losers, the lovers? And why only human figures and not a bird, a tree, a flower, a star, an antelope, a fish or a cat? Why everyone must be successful in order to become a statue and who defines who is successful and who is not.

A statue holds many purposes in life. It is created as a reminder to all of us. When there is a statue there is a strong story behind it, but most importantly, is that a statue is the result of pure creativity that begins from the soul and the heart, travels through the unknown territories of the mind and finally, takes its final form by the creator’s hands. I am tired of being a ghost all my life. Tired of being transparent. I ask for a shape. I need a sculptor right away. To become a statue, that of a Medusa: flirting with the darkest and wildest colors of the ocean, spreading mystery. Challenging the color of the sea by adding some purple for its defense and safety. Falling in love with itself and it’s power. Transparent like the water, the Medusa causes awe, respect and perhaps a slight disgust to the human eye.

I need to lose a part of me if I want the truth. In fact, I must let all my puzzle pieces go if I want to be the truth, cause right now everything seems fake and I am a ridiculous lie. For I will proudly stand as a creation made by the hands of a simple man, inspired by a woman’s mind, created by a child’s voice, shaped by a tree and a flower’s dream. To stand still, somewhere just to remind everyone and everything that sometimes sitting somewhere observing-not talking nor thinking, may lead to secrets and wisdom. …..i should be reconstructed.
Immediately.

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