At 4am I begin to dance. At 4am I begin to dance.

At 4am I begin to dance.

At 4am I begin to dance. The soul moves the feet. She carries them far away. Covers them with burning sand. She has been for a long time where the rest of me is yet to come. Wherever I go - I do not leave, but I return to her. To myself.

I feel a distant past calling me. A past that goes beyond memory. A past through which the road to the future leads. Is it possible, looking back, to see what lies ahead?

Talismans of the past have always shown me the way. Old books, letters, photos. Old maps. Old stories. I am uncomfortable among what is new. Clothes that have not been worn before, unsigned margins of books, a table that no one has shared with loved ones.

To continue the history. To inherit. To archive. To preserve stories. Not the ones written by victorious nations, but the unseen ones, whispered in dusty diaries hidden under the bed.

Even as we create new paths, we do in fact continue the paths of others. We walk on the foundations of the past and only on these can we build.

Do you want to see what is under your feet? Look behind you.