The Sky over Bilgah

In the world around us – the relatively real one – there exist places where, in the flickering of vanishing details and the onset of the timelessness brought by encroaching silence, one begins to feel the proximity of spaces located tens or even hundreds of kilometers away. Their metaphysical interrelation – at the very center of which one unexpectedly finds oneself – gives rise to a kind of visual sensuality in existential perception. Once this mode of seeing takes hold, one becomes a participant in a dialogue that opens up between the energetically sensed presence and its imagined, unreachable counterpart, which begins to dissolve the moment it brushes against the elusive plausibility of a transcendent reality.

Finding oneself in one of these geoloci, tucked away among the quiet streets of the Old City, one involuntarily feels the vivid nearness of the painted cliffs of Bilgah, lying far away on the jagged shore of the Apsheron Peninsula – and of the sky, that astonishing sky above the cliff.

From there, from the Old City, Bilgah can be seen.