Dreams I had in Afghanistan.

Dreams revolving around THE BUDDHAS and bullet shell...

Where do the dreams come from. Yesterday I dreamed about them again.  About all that life that was given for their countenance. Stone – awoken to life. Yet I am still far away from the Buddhas. But Bamiyan could be present tomorrow. The memory of their comfortless beauty past. But as soon as I can remember – I live past – The bullet that was shot in Bamiyan is past. Its projectile present – my finding of the shell future. Near future.

Repetition – memory – I remember something I haven’t experienced yet.  A dream that returns. The same bullet shell – the same place – the intangible power of the stone (lets me shake) shakes me -  or is it just… - the dust on my fingers is as old as the stone of which the statues where chiselled out. – dust of yesterday – today – and tomorrow – dust ,  I and all the dead who where buried here – only a dream – only a dream – a returning dream -

Long and many times have I dreamt about it. And now, here I stand – with a machinegun shell in my hand. Tears of the past cover my face and the dust of the present leaves me blind… Blind - till now – never before  – has my innocence replaced my knowledge through experience. Here I know nothing. Here in the valley of the Buddhas – I was reborn. I dreamt about it. Today I live a dream.     

SW Afghanistan July 2006