Читать книгу Зов расколотого барабана. Шаманские песнопения и рассказы - - Страница 10

(For one who has entered the self and found no way out)

I will enter you not through the mouth,

but through that which you forgot to exhale.

I will exit you not through the eye,

but through that which you sealed with your gaze.

I will open you not as a body,

but as an untrodden trace,

where your paw has not yet stepped.

I am singing:

Aya-a-a-a…

You thought you were walking,

but it is your trace that walks behind you,

and it is hungry.

It eats your steps,

it drinks your names,

it leaves you behind in its place.

Aya-a-a-a…

I do not heal – I remember

what it is like to be unborn,

when your body does not yet know

that it is human,

and your soul already knows

that it is beast.

I am blowing into your fissure:

Hoo-hoo-hoo…

The fissure is not a wound,

it is the mouth you forgot to close

the first time you lied to yourself.

Hoo-hoo-hoo…

I breathe into you the scent of my father,

who had not yet become a man,

but had already ceased to be a beast—

he smells of smoke that does not burn,

but waits for you to breathe it back in.

I am rubbing your bones:

Rub-rub-rub…

These are not fingers – they are branches

that you gathered into a pile

to hide the fire,

but the fire hid you.

Rub-rub-rub…

I rub your ribs

until they become paws,

I rub your skull

until it becomes a cave,

where hands had not yet been painted,

but teeth had already been used to draw.

I am singing you a name:

Your name is not a sound,

but a hole,

the one you left through

when you decided to become human.

Your name is not a word,

but a trace,

one you have not yet left,

but are already following.

I am concluding:

Aya-a-a-a…

Now you are not walking,

you are remembering

how to step,

when there are no legs yet,