Eternal Light: From Darkness to Illumination


When I returned from Riga, I received the news of Skrips' passing. It's a shock, yet it hasn't quite settled in. It's March, and we're packing, preparing to head north. Receiving this news with a calm demeanor, I remind myself that I'm old enough to understand our mortality. However, the following day, I feel terrible; everything slips away from my grasp. I'm moody, easily irritated, and silent. Unable to cope, I retire to bed that evening. This initiates a journey, plunging me into profound darkness. The duration remains unknown, but the feeling of emptiness terrifies. "He didn't know he was the light," earlier penned by Henry, who also lost a day. Steering my consciousness remains elusive; darkness dominates, utterly desolate, showing no signs of an alternative world. And then, a shift occurred. At some point, I envisioned light behind the darkness, even if it's imperceptible. Suddenly, light emerges, bringing relief, and soon, I fall asleep.

The next morning, I wake up with a vision. I step outside, heading to the forest, attempting to comprehend the tumultuous previous day and night. Finally pinpointing the feeling, I commit to a mission: to construct a colossal stream of light flowing indefinitely.


I aim to create the seemingly impossible—a wooden structure bending and twisting around its axis. Infinity often feels unattainable; the mind falters. Nevertheless, my determination to stay true to my vision remains unwavering. Even if I make mistakes, I won't regret it. I vow to devote all my energy without cutting corners in pursuit of light.

First prototypes

On the internet, I find Enes, agreeing to aid with 3D visualizations, getting us closer to physical parameters and technical solutions. Enes, from Bosnia, sees our contexts diverge drastically, akin to winter and summer, upon sharing pictures of my Lapland adventure. Initially, misunderstandings abound, but improved communication fosters mutual understanding. Ideas resonate immediately with Uldis, a friend experienced in remote design and build collaboration. Our longstanding acquaintance enables us to navigate aesthetics and emotions, steering towards the desired ambiance. My brother, adept at electronics, will assist with lights. Žeka's role on the team remains indescribable, at least for now.

With only a few weeks remaining until Burn, we commence testing sample structures, exploring various wood material thicknesses and checking the reinforcement rod strength for infinity's backbone. Working alongside Jānis, his enthusiasm and energy are infectious. He's the ideal partner for impossible projects, often saying, "I believe!"—more inspiring than a professional engineer's skeptical perspective.

Meanwhile, it's time to journey to Lithuania. Despite lacking a solid solution, I secretly hope that constructing on-site will reveal the right approach, elevating the installation.


Lithuania's weather is scorching, yet my focus remains on an unresolved task. To cool off amidst rising head heat, I take intermittent breaks in the nearby quarry, drying off just enough to resume work.

Soon, my brother joins me. Arturs appears invigorated, boosting the team's spirits. Arturs' sketches outline a guitar's form, while sections of infinity strengthen, forming taut, resilient arches.

Together, we elevate all installation levels into position, finally witnessing the drawn and dreamt vision. Despite being unsteady and unstable, the achievement sparks Jānis to exclaim, "We've never reached this far before!" I share his elation. Yet, the structure reveals its instability; its weight exceeds several hundred kilograms, challenging the arches' capacity. Avoiding stress, I defer resolution till the next morning, hoping for a wiser solution to emerge. It becomes evident that a trip to the hardware store for additional reinforcements is essential, and by the following morning, I'm already en route. Meanwhile, our object collapses— the twist shifted the center of gravity, overwhelming the supports. Moments of despair loom, but I've learned to ride this wave. Persistence is key; failure only occurs when one surrenders. With fewer than two days remaining, decisions can't be postponed any further.

Returning from Kaunas with added supplies, the day before the event, we rearrange infinity, now supported by new structures. It holds but is extremely unstable—not convincing. Then, an almost unbelievable occurrence unfolds—a welder appears in this magical city. A power generator, though mismatched in power, requires testing. It's operational, supporting the structure. Arturs installs lights, persisting until the early hours. The following morning, participants arrive.

Infinity now stands apart from me. No longer under my control, it assumes its existence. Nothing requires fixing or adjusting, no fine-tuning or smoothing necessary. Inside, a peculiar sense of emptiness and relief resides. The subsequent night, we burn; further coordination with the fire department ensures not only brightness but also safety.


Glowing embers persist within the loops. Later, people claim they anticipated infinity's collapse after burning out, yet its structure endured until the fire died. As attendees disperse, I sit beside a girl observing the flames. "During its creation, I was convinced I'd cry once it burned," I reflect, sharing this sentiment with her. She's fixated on the geometric pieces, radiating profound light without flames. "But I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm at peace, neither sad nor joyous," I add. Realization dawns; my disconnection from the memorial occurred days ago when I completed the lights—the end of my journey. I recount Skrips' story, my descent into darkness, and the power of belief. "Thank you for sharing," she responds, holding my hand. I express gratitude for her presence and listening ear. The world has brightened for me as well.

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