Alan Turing invented a remarkable tool, named the Turing machine, and one of its interesting features is that it can rewrite its own program. It's not a machine you see in real life, but a theoretical tool used in computer science. Today I am musing over a story around this idea, while moving through the summer landscape on the countryside, yet again. The idea that surfaced in my mind was to show how stories in our life rewrite themselves. The meaning of what we set out to do changes when we experience it. Life, if we let it play with us, creates something that is greater than just a fixed idea. How important it is to open our mind and steer destiny in a direction that can lighten up the darkness in our life ...

A habit of mine is to write down experiences I crave. Amazingly life tends to veer towards the direction of fulfilling these modest desires. Like that I want to experience the morning sun slowly rise again. The next day, at dawn, I wake up unexpectedly. Remembering what I wrote, I climbed into my car, hit the road, and there it was. Entering the world in its full might over the tree tops that surrounded the green pastures of the valley close to my house. A pair of good sunglasses and this soothing shining jewelry; mighty, warm and in red tones just amazed me. I was thinking how natural it was that people in historic time worshiped this life giving celestial object and how transcendental and enormous its impact has on our senses. And then, while I was in the midst of the journey, I had to stop as a carcass of a deer was lying in the middle of the road. I had to move it to the side, the body was still warm, but life was gone. I sort of felt that life had continued its journey through time, searching for another home. I was just holding the memory of it. I called the authorities to inform about it so it could be taken care of. However the whole situation touched me deeply, as I have a dog the same size as the deer. The music of life can cease at any moment and we need to hold it tight and not throw it away, by not living it. I felt how thankful I was living lines in my diary, I was living my poetry, but life revised the stanza and something deeper and more profound etched itself, etched into my soul. Somehow it gave a continuation of where I stopped. The event was evocative and had a meaning, something I later discovered when I explored trying to act like an actor, in a little side event in my life. A small course on how to act and play another character or an event from an earlier journey in my life. If the character should show feelings of sadness and sorrow, I could just think of carrying that body, but now it was not a deer, but my dog and every time, emotions sprung to my eyes and it showed the depth of sadness and sorrow with wetted eyes and a teardrop slowly moving down my chin. I could show and express poetry, not only live it, or put it on paper.

By exploring what we set out to do, just as the Turing maching can rewrite its own program, life itself rewrote the moment. Sometimes with some dark strokes in its modification. But we should not let that paint be the conclusion alone. With some imagination we can turn it into a memory that sits easier on our mind and in the end we transform it to a poetic expression of life ...


The Rewrite of Life


The pen is moving over the paper.

Moving over the body of life.

Etching a tattoo with tears.

A movie clip, a moment of art.

A little story for our hearts.


As the writer enters through the door.

To the green fields and summer pastures.

To see for himself.

That life is still there.

Outside his cave.


Yes, he found the spark.

The life and the mood.

Of rest and peace.

But also in this moment

Darkness lurks in the shadows.


Loneliness, and poetry.

Were his journey's companions,

And death was slowly watching.

As it planned the story.

From a distant shadow.


It shook the diary.

It moved the pen.

It rewrote history.

It erased a life.

And from that spring,

That we cleanse our souls in,

Sorrow sprung.


Sure we can as well rewrite.

We can twist the darkness.

We can write a poem.

We can return the spell.

And out of life we pull.

Another verse for our day.

Like a magician.