Knight of cups (terrence malick, 2015)
"All those years, living the life of someone I didn't even know."
Christabel takes your hand and leads you down another corridor. You're trying to take in the sights around you, but she keeps on talking.
"We say 'I get it' all the time, but often people are too fast to say 'I get it,' too fast to make a good impression, to have people think they're as smart as a whip. It would all be a lot more honest if people learned to accept a small amount of silence while the cogs whirr and the machine pounds away and you go through the actual process of 'getting it' before you tell people that you understand." She looks back at you, her hair hanging around her face. "And when I say 'you' I don't mean you, I just mean, like, you know, 'one'." She gestures to the walls of the corridor you're walking down with her free hand, her nails impeccable, dark red. "These walls are made of bismuth crystal, it's a pentavalent post-transition metal. Very rare. As far as we know it's the only bismuth corridor on earth." She looks back at you, over her shoulder, and you force a smile and fight to hold back the words 'I get it,' which you're just itching to say. Instead she opens her mouth to say something, but the words don't come. Her eyes flick away for a moment as she searches. Finding nothing, she simply locks eyes with you again, smiles, and says "Bob Dylan was born here."
Christabel is leading you across rooftops now. From the look of things you're either in Lyon or Bogota. You'd like to ask, to find out, but Christabel keeps on talking. "They say that it is only a child who looks from the window of a moving car at night and wonders whether the moon is following them as they are sped through the darkness. But each of us is at the centre of our own universe. Each of us is being followed by the moon, our own moon, because each of us is in the eye of the storm, looking out." You could have sworn that Christabel was blonde earlier, but looking at her now she's clearly a brunette. How could you have made that mistake? "What matters is being aware of the now. Not being distracted by the 'then' or the 'what if' or anything else. Everything that we seek is here. Now. Now is the only moment that matters, because now is the only moment when anything happens, when anything can happen." Christabel keeps looking at you, but you find it uncomfortable to maintain eye contact. You don't tell her this though. And then she says "You like me, don't you?"
Christabel is leading you through a forest now. Not a deciduous forest. Some kind of rainforest. It's hot, and green, and the leaves on the foliage around you run heavy with moisture. "The word sanctuary means a safe place, a haven, but when we say we seek sanctuary we're not specific about what it is that we want sanctuary from. Is there even something specific? Is it a person, or a cause, or are we simply receiving too much information from the world and would like to tune it out? It's hard to say." As if on cue, she leads you round a turning, to a waterfall. It's small. But large enough for the falling water to completely drown out the sound of Christabel's voice. She doesn't seem to notice this happen though, and keeps on talking. Now that you can't hear her it becomes far easier for you to look at her. So you do. You wonder what it is about her that makes you so uncomfortable, and then you remember the French expression 'jolie laide.' And while you would never be so coarse as to use this expression about a person's face, there's definitely something of the jolie laide about her manner, and voice, and this entire journey that she's taking you on.
Christabel keeps talking, but the roar of the waterfall is louder than ever, carrying away every syllable she utters. All you're left with now is the image of Christabel. Her coppery red hair bounces over her shoulders. Wait... wasn't she brunette a moment ago? Your eyes go to her hands, her gloved hands. No nails on show at all. But wasn't there something about a manicure earlier? And it's at this moment that you suddenly undergo a process of anamnesis and everything comes flooding back to you. You remember exactly who Christabel is and what she means to you and why she's taking you on this journey. The pair of you move past the waterfall, and the roaring water begins to die down. Her voice comes back, slowly at first, but clearer and more distinct with each passing step. But before you can comprehend any of it, you know deep down that as soon as the words are audible again you won't get any of it, for you do not speak the same language.
Christabel takes your hand and leads you down another corridor. You're trying to take in the sights around you, but she keeps on talking.
"We say 'I get it' all the time, but often people are too fast to say 'I get it,' too fast to make a good impression, to have people think they're as smart as a whip. It would all be a lot more honest if people learned to accept a small amount of silence while the cogs whirr and the machine pounds away and you go through the actual process of 'getting it' before you tell people that you understand." She looks back at you, her hair hanging around her face. "And when I say 'you' I don't mean you, I just mean, like, you know, 'one'." She gestures to the walls of the corridor you're walking down with her free hand, her nails impeccable, dark red. "These walls are made of bismuth crystal, it's a pentavalent post-transition metal. Very rare. As far as we know it's the only bismuth corridor on earth." She looks back at you, over her shoulder, and you force a smile and fight to hold back the words 'I get it,' which you're just itching to say. Instead she opens her mouth to say something, but the words don't come. Her eyes flick away for a moment as she searches. Finding nothing, she simply locks eyes with you again, smiles, and says "Bob Dylan was born here."
Christabel is leading you across rooftops now. From the look of things you're either in Lyon or Bogota. You'd like to ask, to find out, but Christabel keeps on talking. "They say that it is only a child who looks from the window of a moving car at night and wonders whether the moon is following them as they are sped through the darkness. But each of us is at the centre of our own universe. Each of us is being followed by the moon, our own moon, because each of us is in the eye of the storm, looking out." You could have sworn that Christabel was blonde earlier, but looking at her now she's clearly a brunette. How could you have made that mistake? "What matters is being aware of the now. Not being distracted by the 'then' or the 'what if' or anything else. Everything that we seek is here. Now. Now is the only moment that matters, because now is the only moment when anything happens, when anything can happen." Christabel keeps looking at you, but you find it uncomfortable to maintain eye contact. You don't tell her this though. And then she says "You like me, don't you?"
Christabel is leading you through a forest now. Not a deciduous forest. Some kind of rainforest. It's hot, and green, and the leaves on the foliage around you run heavy with moisture. "The word sanctuary means a safe place, a haven, but when we say we seek sanctuary we're not specific about what it is that we want sanctuary from. Is there even something specific? Is it a person, or a cause, or are we simply receiving too much information from the world and would like to tune it out? It's hard to say." As if on cue, she leads you round a turning, to a waterfall. It's small. But large enough for the falling water to completely drown out the sound of Christabel's voice. She doesn't seem to notice this happen though, and keeps on talking. Now that you can't hear her it becomes far easier for you to look at her. So you do. You wonder what it is about her that makes you so uncomfortable, and then you remember the French expression 'jolie laide.' And while you would never be so coarse as to use this expression about a person's face, there's definitely something of the jolie laide about her manner, and voice, and this entire journey that she's taking you on.
Christabel keeps talking, but the roar of the waterfall is louder than ever, carrying away every syllable she utters. All you're left with now is the image of Christabel. Her coppery red hair bounces over her shoulders. Wait... wasn't she brunette a moment ago? Your eyes go to her hands, her gloved hands. No nails on show at all. But wasn't there something about a manicure earlier? And it's at this moment that you suddenly undergo a process of anamnesis and everything comes flooding back to you. You remember exactly who Christabel is and what she means to you and why she's taking you on this journey. The pair of you move past the waterfall, and the roaring water begins to die down. Her voice comes back, slowly at first, but clearer and more distinct with each passing step. But before you can comprehend any of it, you know deep down that as soon as the words are audible again you won't get any of it, for you do not speak the same language.