Some parts of Verenis are not meant to be read in silence alone.
1
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''Ik wacht geduldig
tot jij bereid bent
mij te zien.''
-Verenis
Like a fox finds the right doors
where others see only walls.
Sometimes that is wisdom.
Sometimes danger.'' ✶
The Ambiguity of Verenis
Ambiguity is the silence between two or more certainties —
some not yet known,
some not yet wanted,
some not yet carrying their meaning.
It is the place where imagination, doubt, truth and meaning
are allowed to meet.
This is how Verenis carries itself:
one sentence, two doors,
Two meanings at once. ✶
-Left by V
Come in.
Nothing is imposed here — only touched.
A quiet place where meaning does not explain itself,
but makes itself felt.
Perhaps you are not here by chance.
✦ Healintis ✦
You don't need to look for your suprise.
It is already there.
She doesn't call out.
She doesn't push.
Only a silent opening
where you find something
without moving.
You don't have to open it.
But if you stay,
just for a moment —
you might feel:
It was never closed.
- V
Some things
belong together —
without ever touching each other.
And sometimes…
changes everything
as soon as you do.
Perhaps coincidence disappears when even two shooting stars manage to touch, says the fox with a smile. Perhaps the following does exactly that too. ✶
No one would reveal their whole self at once.
Verenis does not either.
Een verhaal kan nooit een hele wereld omvatten.
Soms toont het slechts een glimp,
want wie het geheel te vroeg ziet,
kan vluchten voor wat eigenlijk gevonden wil worden.
✶ The Garden Without a Map
It is said that there is a garden somewhere that does not appear on any map.
Some call her a legend.
Others say that she is alive.
The paths change when no one is looking.
The trees seem to be listening.
And between the roots, doors sometimes appear that were not there a moment earlier.
One evening, a fox found the entrance.
He was curious.
Just like foxes are.
Even before he had taken his first steps, he saw something moving among the bushes.
A white rabbit.
It looked at him for a moment.
As if it wanted to check if he had really come.
Then it shot away.
The fox gave chase.
Between roots.
Under branches.
Along brooks.
But no matter how fast he ran, the rabbit stayed just ahead of him.
Until it suddenly disappeared.
As if it had never been there.
The fox stood still, panting.
Confused.
He looked around.
And then he saw the grapes.
High above him hung a grapevine full of fruit that gleamed like little stars in the moonlight.
He jumped.
And missed.
He jumped again.
And again.
Ever higher.
Harder and harder.
But no matter how often he tried, the grapes remained out of his reach.
Eventually, he sank down under an old tree.
“They must be sour,” he muttered.
The leaves above him rustled softly.
As if the garden was smiling.
For deep down, the fox knew that it was not true.
The grapes were not sour.
They were just out of his reach.
And sometimes we tell ourselves stories so we don't have to feel how much something means to us.
While the fox sat there, a terrible roar sounded somewhere further away.
He followed the sound.
There he found a lion.
The king of the animals lay entangled in a net of roots and ropes.
The harder he fought,
the tighter the knots closed.
His strength did not help him.
His pride did not help him.
His anger did not help him.
The fox tried to untie the knots.
But without success.
Then he saw movement in the grass.
Rats.
Tens.
Maybe hundreds.
The lion frowned.
The fox hesitated.
No one expected help from rats.
But the rats said nothing.
They set to work.
Tooth by tooth.
Thread by thread.
Button by button.
Until the net fell apart.
The lion was free.
For a long time, no one looked at each other.
As if each of them had learned something that could not be put into words.
Then something strange happened.
A door appeared between the roots of an old oak.
No one had seen her before.
The lion looked at the fox.
The fox looked at the rats.
And the rats looked at the door.
“What lies behind that?” asked the lion.
The fox stepped forward.
But this time he tried not to grab anything.
Nothing to own.
Nothing to prove.
Slowly, he placed his paw on the doorknob.
And opened the door.
What he saw,
He never told anyone.
The lion returned to his realm.
The rats disappeared among the roots.
And the fox was never seen again.
Some say that he finally found the grapes.
Others say that he discovered that he never really looked for grapes.
But the oldest stories tell a different story.
They say that the garden was already leading him from the moment he saw the white rabbit.
From the rabbit to the grapes.
From the grapes to the lion.
From the lion to the rats.
From the rats to the door.
Perhaps none of those encounters was a coincidence.
Perhaps every step had to take place first before the next could become visible.
The oldest stories do not tell what lay behind the door.
Maybe because the story was never really about the lion.
Or about the rats.
Or even about the fox.
Maybe there is one character who is still walking through the garden.
Maybe that is you.
✶
Verenis resembles a collection of doors that appeared over time.
Some visitors will open one.
Some ten.
And some walk away after the first door.
Everyone walks their own path through the garden.
Maybe that is exactly how it should be. ✶
Geschilderd door V
You think you are looking for something.
But perhaps the search itself
what takes you somewhere deeper into the meaning of Verenis.
✶
**Verenis can feel motionless.
Yet even now,
after an eternity,
something is beginning to appear.**
Some things do not become precious at once.
They are shaped slowly,
hidden from sight,
until time gives them their glow.
Like wine.
Like a pearl.
Like Verenis.
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