The joys of being vulnerable

It’s windy here at the top of the Three Crosses hill. Vilnius is no Montenegro, but I enjoy looking at the red roof tops from somewhere up high. The entire city collapses into an ensemble of grey-green-creamish-and-intensely-red. A collage of a sort where all the shapes and forms blend into one.

I could swear I could see a cat on one of them roof-tops. A white cat formed out of the concrete of the chimneys.

As you go through life, people might move you and they probably will. Some of them might move you to the depths of your soul. What you do with it, though, what you do with it, is your own business. It’s your own venture. You cannot change the way you feel. You can only change the ways you deal with it. And even that is probably disputable.

I don’t know if it’s a virtue or a vice to get so easily affected. To be so vulnerable. Sometimes it comes as a salvation, though. When it gets incredibly dark, sometimes, when it gets really dark, somebody might just come your way and all of a sudden switch the light back on. As if they had some secret access to that light-switch which is unavailable to you cuz’ at the moments like that you are blinded.

People fill me. Their stories, their hearts, the kindness that shines through them, even their wounds are enriching. If you obtain permission to look into their hidden selves (at times even unavailable to themselves) it can be incredibly full-filling. But it can tear you apart too.

Detachment is the key. Detachment is the aim. It’s a certain type of coping mechanism.

It’s cold now, it’s really quite cold now as it’s gotten quite dark. At the top of the Three Crosses hill the breeze is not that gentle anymore – it’s rather chilling. It gets to my bones.

Everything melts, everything flows, everything goes. Everything blends into one – what a collage.

There’s no escaping.

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