"...to enclose the present moment; to make it stay; to fill it fuller and fuller, with the past, the present and the future, until it shone, whole, bright, deep with understanding."

Virgina Woolf, The Years


Moments of Being VII - Vast, nude space and the unheard music

I walk in accidentally. The room is vast. The space is vast. It didn't look particularly attractive seen from the hall, but when I peeked in, I was awed by the light of the stained-glass windows, by the vastness of the nude space. A couple danced in it. A man in a t-shirt, short pants and sandals led a tired body: a woman in similar attire who rested her head on his chest, her face hidden, as though she could hardly find the strenght to keep on going. He kept waltzing her, he did not want to let her give up, it seemed, but he did so tenderly, slowly. She let her body be waltzed to the music that only the man was able to hear. From a short distance, a boy in a cap and a little girl in a wheel chair looked at them. Mesmerized. Moved. Or waiting, perhaps. Or wanting attention. You're not allowed to dance! The little girl finally broke out. You're not allowed to...! I heard her shout in the distance, as I quickly walked away for I had to rush, in my mind the insidious image of her parents dancing to an unexisting vals, of her parents ignoring their little girl's selfish demands, the image of her parents clinging to that unheard music, to that moment they were stealing away.

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