Šejla Kamerić

Writings

Unedited thoughts on the works of Sejla Kameric:

“What do I know?”, “Dream house”, “Remains”, “Daydreaming” and back.

Did we ever know? We always thought we did, but then we realized we didn’t. Then we wished we had known. At least a little better. Or a little more!

Then we dreamt. And we lived. No, maybe we lived first. Then we dreamt. We dreamt of living, of things we wished we lived through. Of past lives contained in the future of dreams. And dreaming we re-lived our lives. Or did we daydream? Oh, why do we always need to discern between dream and life?

Then we were children. And ran, and laughed, and loved. We watched the coffee pots and the cups. We sneaked at the radio. The garden was big and the world outside just immense and unknown. We ran and hid in the garden. We made stories and lived them through, again and again in our mind. We drank from the tap that was very high up, and crawled in the grass, and hid with curious eyes when the gate opened.

Then we were adults, and loved, and ached, and kept silent. And dreamt of our loves, our aches, and our silence. The world had suddenly shrunk, and the garden wasn’t so big, and the tap wasn’t high up anymore.

Then came the war. And we were big, or no… we were small, or…? It’s difficult to say. The world became big and we shrank again. Or were we still big? Or was it yet another dream? A Nightmare! Yes, a Nightmare! Days looked like nights and nights looked like days. There was no morning, no midday, and no evening. There was no Down and no Dusk. There was Twilight. Extended. As in a Dream.

And dream on we did. As if we couldn’t open our eyes. No, we didn’t want to open our eyes. Dreaming, we breathed slowly, as if we were afraid we’d wake up. One in, one out. Dreaming and breathing. Alone, in couples, together, collectively. Even the house dreamt and breathed. And dreaming and breathing we made Day and Night apart again. We made the sun go up and down and the moon, shine and fade. Slowly but surely, we saturated the world with meaning. Again!

Then we were princesses, and princes. Lost in the forest of wishes. Hard we tried to keep our dreams. We even decided to write them down on paper, with a pen and ink. And write we did. But as soon as the pen needed to be dipped in ink to continue, the letters vanished and evaporated. Like our wishes. Like our dreams. Uncatchable. The brides dress remained empty, hanging from the metallic hanger. And the voice continued to count. Up to 100 and over again. The lullaby extended our dream to eternity.

Then we saw the Red Goddess. Or we thought we saw her. Or we thought she was a Goddess. Sitting on the clouds, her eyes closed. Like us in a dream. Her voice like velvet. Her words heavy, like iron. Them and us. Us and them. The mortal and the Gods. Or were they really Gods? There was Twilight again. And the music. Soft as her voice. Extending the Twilight. To eternity.

No! We needed to dream again!!

Somewhere, a distant land (Australia is the name). Some distant people (aborigines – why are they called that?). They say that Dreaming is the creation, the matrix of Being. It is Time before time. It is not the past because it’s eternal. The forerunners journey became a place. And that place holds past, present and future simultaneously.

…Then we were children again. But at the same time we were adults and elders too. And there were ghosts. Maybe you can see them but they are invisible. You can definitely hear them. They’re twins. And the garden is big and small at the same time. And the tap. High up and quite low. And the coffee pots. And the cups. Parading. Everything revisited, everything still there. No, here.

And the radio, broken!

Then the music. At first, faint almost a noise. Then stronger and stronger. And merrier and merrier. And alive.

Did we wake up?
Are we dreaming on?
What do I know?
What do we know…

Edi Muka