socially distanced – Can Asphalt Grow Into a Forest?

beyond (imposed) social distancing & (imposed) social assembling

Viktorija Bogdanova, Slovenia – WG3

I wonder if reaching a degree of imposed social distancing was inevitable to encourage a depth-self-reflection. Reflecting upon one’s own path(s) brought me to a widened awareness of what the home is expected to give and frame, as a less dynamic nook where an integration of the pathfinding unfolds. But in these moments of re-discovering one’s own dwelling unit, the home has grown into a constelation where the balance between what I do and who I am is aiming to be maintained through micro everyday rituals – beyond discipline, order or reccurence.

Somehow, one becomes an observer from above forcefully, hovering over the calm urban breath and over one’s own meshwork of inner energies.

Home grows into a honeymoon place of togethereing today’s flow of life and tomorrow’s shared dreams. I observe how each soft caress and word of gentleness bring my body into an ocean of light, honey, herb tea and cinamon. Coffee smell arises only in case of emergency, along with a dust of cardamom.

Being repeatedly inquired about my ‘dream house’, I keep asking myself – ‘isn’t this present fragment of sky dreamy enough?’ Housing ritual memories. The spoon ringing as a bell in your morning tea, and our awakening in abundant silence while drinking it sip by sip. You, bringing me a towel while I am shivering in a bathroom full of spring. Us, unfolding in the nooks of our young world after the return from each adventourous ‘stepping over the threshold’ in times of Corona.

The main road leading to Celovec (Klagenfurt) has become softly silent, but not numb. My womb now opens to the songs of birds, tree whispers and questions: ‘can the asphalt grow into a forest?’

A wave of anxiety pours over both of us with the very thought of returning to pre-Corona meshwork of being. How capable we would be to return back into an imposed social assembling?

Stretching over the edges of the possible, how does one stretch the order grown from the inside beyond a mere attunement with any kind of coercion?

It is only now that I realize what kind of peace inhabits the room when my eyes look bellow the usual height of the window. Once the rectilinear rushing of the vehicles and bikes disappears, the only movement that I see is the dancing of blooming treetops caressed by the wind. In one such micro(and once in a lifetime) moment of piece, it happened to me that I unconsciously draw my womb as it was before the collapse, years ago.

Miracles in a row are healing hidden corners of pain, each time when a creative ‘distance’ and re-assembling inhabit the urban breath.


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