Image of a rosette nebula. Blue and light yellow text reads: In between. sonne lui pitza,

In between

content warning: mention of drug consumption

Arriving in a theater foyer, I hear about an actress weaving in between whispers in awe of how famous she is. Whispers saying how lovely and approachable she is, as much as a high mess. I move with my friends and colleagues into the bar upstairs. Drinks in hand, sensing they will not fill this emptiness that lingers in between doing the work and the buffering recognition of institutions.

I find myself standing around next to the bar. In that kind of introvert extrovert vulnerable way – a paradox cocktail of social solitude. A glitch. I want to go for a smoke or just wander off alone for a bit. Stepping away, activating undercurrents, inviting dark matter particles potentially passing through. Every and no – thing guiding me into the unknown. I surrender. listen. And leave. 

Subconscious sur-real life. Spirit worlds. Ancestral planes. Future folds. Darkness.

Down the marble-esque staircase back to the theater foyer. Rain pouring heavily outside as I look around for options of where to smoke. Two double doors rowed next to each other in a glass front – towards the outside / inside. I see three shadows in one of these spaces in between the glass double doors. No security had come to get them out yet. The space seems appealing, it isn’t going to drench me unprepared. As I enter asking for the lighter I need, I sense a dear friend from thousands of years ago. Beyond systemic countable time kind of time.

A friend with whom I instantly know this is not the first time. The kind where you use words but only to connect to the energy behind them. The really kind, kind. Open heart, soul and spirit sassy kind. Demi-god kind. If they have to be an angel, then they’re a dark angel kind. The gay dark brown Romani adopted by loving white Polish catholic parents’ kind. The In Between kind. A leo scorpio vibe. 

Giggling, we talk. Clearly, we haven’t caught up in ages. Receiving invitations for new drinks by friendly strangers as we move inside again post smoke. Catching up about our very recent break ups with people we love. Who find it hard to communicate clearly. Those that pull you in close. Push you away. Fare. The next day. Shadow sides illuminated through our deep exchange. There were many layers. And nuances. Yes. We both know, they are our souls twin flames after all. And twin flames are often better off not being romantic partners forever and ever more. Eyes filled with love he says:

”In Between my sphere
0
waving to your sphere
0
I love you from my edges“

I smile in resonance. Off to the dance floor, dancing, continuing our conversations, laughing, dancing some more, and leaving. Five hours later, in a hallway we ask each other what our names are in these bodies. We share our names. And tell each other we have actually reclaimed them post a fresh rebirth. We laugh at the synchronicities in delight, love and grief. We hug and say goodbye. Embracing a celebratory (k)new friendship in a shared taxi home because of course, we are going in the same direction. 

He leaves first. As he closes the taxi door, it speedily drives off. Sharply u-turns. Drives back. And the door opens again mid drive. A rosette nebula with red, pink, cream-gray and black speckles lands in my hands as a stone. I look up. 

“Aida, I need you to have this,” he says. Bewildered, I whisper “Thank you Umtata”. Trembling in awe, still fully rocked from the u-turn and door opening again unexpectedly. 

4am, night in between morning and I am moved to tears. The stress of gentrified houselessness still present in my bones, I thank the place I may call home as I enter. Feeling exhausted from the big city piss ridden pavement over roots that cannot breathe. Yearning for oceans and mountains. Gripping the stone Umtata gave me, I thank the disordered cosmos. Laying this rosette nebula stone next to the black tourmaline and blue aquamarine on my shrine for Heir Of The Cursed, in the kitchen. Offering company after death.

A Black/mixed person with curly black hair, a long blue top and black trousers in front of purple flowers and a rocky path.
sonne luí pitza is a writer alias name for the multimedia artist Nima Aida Séne (Berlin/UK).
 
Their work is rooted in a performance practice with contributions across music, film, visual art and theater projects. They research and express underlying, un/known, un/seen and re-heard sur-realities to do with belonging and alienation. A new work will be shared at Fierce Festival 2024. Updates to current projects can be found at:  @n.a.bb.s
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