Passin through

Listened to Leonard Cohens song Passin Through and in my mind came when I was 22 and sat on a field together with Monika outside the village of Theivur in southern India, undernourished and in love. Monica was a humorous, thoughtful and warm woman. She had lived, if one should believe what she was saying, and I believed everything she said, a turbulent life in the last years. She was 23 and I was astonished that she had so much life experience, that she had experienced so much shit. She wondered what we would do when we came back to Sweden. How we should make a living. A good question that showed that she considered a common future.



I felt happy.

There was no other person I would rather be with than Monika. With her I was happy. In a otherwise sick world, it was wonderful to have her. She asked me how I should earn money, what I should work with. Thats why I went to India, to think and try to write a book and have an income from that. But I had written nothing.


It happened too much to get it down on the paper.


The impressions, for example, from Khomeinys fanatic Iran 1984 needed to be melted, but I did not have the time, it always happened new things.  And the present has precedence over the past. I did not want to miss the moment. In addition, I could not write very well. But I could talk, too much. I would definitely not be a salesman again. Wage slavery at the factory, military service and one year as a telephone salesman gave little desire for further payroll.


The labor market seemed ugly. Job satisfaction probably became out-rationalized already in the 19th century when work measurement found it unprofitable.


I had lots of ideas about everything, for example how to make money, but the ideas were such that I either did not want to or could not realize them.


It was good as it was. We sat on the field in southern India outside the village of Theivur, it was quite hot, a cool pleasant wind blew. Luther was far away. Actually, I did not want to do anything, it was good as it was.



I wanted to be there with her. The future seemed unintresting.

It felt like there was  nothing higher to achieve, this is it, as if it could never be better. A feeling of having everything. Easy and happy melancholy.  A feeling that we are just visitors observing life on earth that is a tragic, cruel, touching and absurd show. Earlier, Monika had said she wanted to be a helicopter pilot to point out that she could not imagine herself living a normal life. Now she was considering to fit in some role in the Swedish society with me.



I could not answer the question about making a living.The answer to the question decided if we could have a future together. Author, dreamer, adventurer I could imagine, but to provide a family in that way - was not possible for me. I understood this despite the fact that realism was not my strong side those days. Monika was thinking of working as a nurse for a while.


She was in India, she had told, to get a distance to her friends with drugs and alienation problems in Stockholm. She was now glad she was with a "normal" guy. How she could think I was normal, I could not understand, yet I did not hide her from my idea that the world is a absurd major mental hospital. She wanted security in existence, but not get bored, and probably she would soon like to have children too. I liked the thought of having children with her. But the thought of being forced to support a family frightened me.




Sitting there with Monica I felt that it was not anything more in the moment or in the future to achieve. I had everything I needed. I felt cynical for the societies I saw, from Sweden to India.


According to me was the human conditions cruel but I was in love with Monika and above all in my illusions about romantic love. And that was a pleasant state of mind, what else would I strive for? To me, the goal was achieved. Live in love.

That was what I wanted to do. It is heaven and what the religions are about. I was very happy and sad. Life and humanity is a strange journey towards death, as a final station, or the beginning of a new absurd journey. Probably, my love was for the woman because neither God, money nor science made me happy.


My imagination of love had given me hope in this tragic world. For a while I sat there with Monika without my illusions about woman and love. Did not think at all and was very happy and sad and nothing did matter any more than that we existed and yet it would be okay to die. For my part, almost desirable, I can not say I loved life, I despised it (or more precise the social conditions humans have to accept for staying alive).



Monika, whom I once loved more than myself, which I thought I felt so well, I have now almost forgotten, and she has forgotten me. Passed landscapes are we for each other. There are many landscapes in the form of people we learn to know and then leave behind us on our way into a new one. Perhaps our own life to our soul is a landscape we pass? Whether the trip is a punishment or a reward can be discussed. Monika and I talked about such things as a part of the socialization process.