noticed that there are so many different things around me as far as my eyes can see. The room was quite comfortable and nice, despite the fact that most of its furniture consisted of old wooden chests and closets. Chandelier decorated with all sorts of figures and cutouts fit in the interior very well. When the evening twilight thickened in the room, this chandelier got its own, indescribable charm of antique. But the biggest attention I paid to the wooden ledge of some subject from the pantry. It was interesting that I could not immediately figure out what it was. By that time, more than two months passed since I had rented this apartment, located just in two hundred meters from my workplace. And in all that time I never looked into the pantry. My curiosity was flaring up more and more. Quickly stepping on the soft carpet, I found myself at the pantry door. However, it was opened just a little and it seemed impossible to open it. A sofa and an old chest of drawers were too close to it. I gently pushed the sofa away and managed to reach my goal.
That very object was… easel. It was obvious that it was used often enough. At the edges and particularly at the bottom lining, paint droplets were translucent. Sometimes they were mixed and formed incredible color combinations. However much time has passed since then, and an easel seemed to be frozen in anticipation of new creation. I carefully took it out and put it in the center of the room. Somewhere on the shelf were laying pieces of canvas, which could be still used for work. However not being an artist and having no skills in dealing with the canvas, I decided to leave it where it had been for the last few years. Having gone through some notes and heaps of books, I found a few sheets of paper of the needed size that fit the frame. While making my search I was surprised to find out that the apartment owners were teachers of literature. Most books were dedicated to this profession; folded sheets with essays, written expositions and other school works were laying here and there. Some of them were clean and had high marks; others were covered with red ink inside and out. I noticed one essay. The handwriting was such that it seemed as if letters were carved with a rough stone on a rock. It did rather resemble an ancient cuneiform than a modern language.
After selecting some sheets of the needed size, I grabbed one of them and attached it to the easel frame with clips. It was a burning desire to draw something. I picked up a pencil and was ready to start my work, when suddenly…
…When suddenly I realized that I do not know what to draw, moreover, I had no idea what I could draw at all. At that moment, I felt great emptiness inside. I was still the same as before, but now I looked at myself as if a little higher, from somewhere far above. I had nothing in my head besides small daily activities. This idea flashed in my mind like thunder. In a twink, I realized that I don’t live, but just go through my life. As if with my brain on autopilot. All my activities, being very important and necessary (but necessary for whom?), in a new light didn’t make sense any more. Even before realizing the emptiness inside me, I immediately felt an irresistible longing to get new knowledge.
Inspired by my new desire, I went to work.
In quick and a bit hasty steps, I went down to the first floor and went out. I did not notice when the morning cool, invigorating my sleepy mind, completely disappeared. By 10 o’clock, it was so warm that it seemed to be a real heat by midday. The city, not subsiding for a minute, was gaining more and more speed now. After passing through the shady park, sown with all sorts of trees and flowerbeds, I came to the place of my employment.
My working day began quite normally. I joined the public frenetic pace so quickly that there wasn’t left any trace from the morning meditation. It was a feeling that the whole world in all its immense diversity was trying to occupy all my thoughts without giving me a second to come to my senses and realize what I’m doing and why. In general, I liked my work, especially when I compared it with other less prestigious types of work. And every time it calmed down my mind flurried by various thoughts. But really I was interested in and delighted with what I was doing probably for the first 3—4 months. During this time I was actually getting acquainted with both workflow and people involved in it. Then rather a strange phenomenon appeared. Neither the conditions nor the staff nor even the increase of wages gave me the former keen interest in my work. Time after time vague suspicions about the soundness of my existence appear. Somewhere in the depth of the soul the idea is emerging – how great it would be to direct all my creative and intellectual potential to a hobby.
But work took so much time that sometimes, in moments of extreme fatigue I didn’t understand whether it really exists, my favorite activity. If it is possible generally to have such activity that would bring both money and pleasure. Moreover, a permanent pleasure, which will not transform with the course of time into something like duty.
Such thoughts occurred to me constantly at least once every 2—3 months. And they ended either with a conflict at work or simply with a change of mood and the realization that I was thinking again about some stupid things, and I should be immensely grateful for having such a good work.
However, after this morning such thoughts seemed to seize control of my mind, not giving me any opportunity to concentrate on work. Usually I immediately took a tool and began to make simple movements learned over the years. Fingers seem to begin making the necessary actions themselves. Sometimes these actions are so fast and precise that even eye can’t catch them.
My colleagues and I have spent most of our time at the enterprise in such «mechanical’ condition. And strangely, it was the key to a successfully done work. However, this fact does not have so much influence the personal success. As it will turn out later this is really not the same thing.
Today the usual order of things for me was broken a little. Although somewhere inside there was a strong feeling that now everything is exactly as it should be. As soon as I took my tool and started using it for the processing of a metal workpiece or a wire, I was horrified to realize that movements once had been brought to the automatism no longer worked. My mind like a watchful guard was keeping me on slight alert. I was so much aware of every movement that it took much more time to process a detail. Saying nothing of the efficiency. I felt absolutely everything – a cold metal touching my skin, a smooth detail surface occasionally slipping through my palms, a specially processed framework exuding a faint metallic smell. Sometimes I felt that I clearly saw how both the framework and its parts were made on a lathe. As a machinist takes a piece of raw metal and starts to pass it through many incisors, giving it the desired shape…
There were so many feelings that they were flashing in my mind like a hurricane, forcing to shudder and revitalizing every cell.
My awareness of new and fascinating sensations was rudely interrupted by a lunch-break call. It was like a hammer booming in my ears. Earlier I did not notice it at all and a couple of minutes before this creaking and sometimes slightly hysterical ring tone I was getting up and ready to go for lunch. Somehow, I instinctively stood up (as if this call had lulled me and returned for a while in my previous sluggish state) and went towards the passage that led through the long corridor to the exit.
As expected, it was really hot outside. The sun scorched faces and hands of people walking in a united stream along the narrow factory streets. On the left and right there were tangles of cypress trees, making with their height a shadow veil, the only one thing that could save from the ubiquitous hot rays of the sun.
Approaching the cafe building I suddenly realized that I did not want to eat at all. My appetite was completely suppressed by some stronger sense fluttering inside me. By that very sense, which was raising me over all these buildings and working there people all day long. It raised me somewhere very far away and at the same time so close that the completely surrounding reality seemed to merge into a single rhythm and to overwhelm me by all its infinite variety.
Standing
