mountain vastness
dark-gray stillness
eagle whiteness
forest sweetness
birds blooming
clouds singing
greens raining
rains ringing
winds swaying
meadows flowing
horses praying
trees singing
rays raining
words dying
ridges glowing
vastness growing
winds glowing
skies tolling
darkness growing
mountains flowing
do you know how fairytales smell?
quiet.
euphoria.
25.5.11
20.5.11
the word is now a virus
Cut word lines — Cut music lines — Smash the control images — Smash the control machine — Burn the books — Kill the priests — Kill! Kill! Kill!
The 'Other Half' is the word. The 'Other Half' is an organism. Word is an organism. The presence of the 'Other Half' is a separate organism attached to your nervous system on an air line of words can now be demonstrated experimentally. One of the most common 'hallucinations' of subject during sense withdrawal is the feeling of another body sprawled through the subject's body at an angle...yes quite an angle it is the 'Other Half' worked quite some years on a symbiotic basis. From symbiosis to parasitism is a short step. The word is now a virus. The flu virus may have once been a healthy lung cell. It is now a parasitic organism that invades and damages the central nervous system. Modern man has lost the option of silence. Try halting sub-vocal speech. Try to achieve even ten seconds of inner silence. You will encounter a resisting organism that forces you to talk. That organism is the word.
The 'Other Half' is the word. The 'Other Half' is an organism. Word is an organism. The presence of the 'Other Half' is a separate organism attached to your nervous system on an air line of words can now be demonstrated experimentally. One of the most common 'hallucinations' of subject during sense withdrawal is the feeling of another body sprawled through the subject's body at an angle...yes quite an angle it is the 'Other Half' worked quite some years on a symbiotic basis. From symbiosis to parasitism is a short step. The word is now a virus. The flu virus may have once been a healthy lung cell. It is now a parasitic organism that invades and damages the central nervous system. Modern man has lost the option of silence. Try halting sub-vocal speech. Try to achieve even ten seconds of inner silence. You will encounter a resisting organism that forces you to talk. That organism is the word.
19.5.11
lost mailbox key
I miss you so much. I miss our laughs.
The high.
The warmth.
The resonance.
The inspiration.
The elation of silence.
The deep compatibility.
Playing. Dancing.
I even miss the shifts. Waking up to find you’ve been replaced by a whole new integrity. So confident and whole. No trace of the scared child I sang to sleep last night.
I even miss the confusion. I miss the colors of your words merging into mine. I miss writing for you. Reading you. Your little wake-up calls. I miss the smell of the world with you in it. The world after the rain. Pristine and vibrant.
I’ll learn to smell without you.
40
Хем е тъмно, хем е светло. Тамян се вие към дебелите въжета. Таванът е мастило. Сребърен прозорец прави черното по-черно. Стъклото е извезано от тъмни нишки. Светлината се разбива на парчета.
Някъде долу някой пали първата свещ. Огънят преминава от човек на човек. Треперещите ръце предават живота нататък, 40 дена след като си е отишъл. Държат се за свещите като за последна надежда. За 40 дена риданието се е превърнало в хлипане.
Днес виното лекува. Днес житото няма вкус на смърт. Днес пускаме душата към земята на безкрайните. Днес режем с горещ нож миналото.
Защото тук долу под мастилото, среброто е тленно, дори и да няма край.
Набръчкана жена събира свещите. Огънят дори не ги е преполовил. Ръцете неохотно се разделят с последната искрица. Безизразен дъх гаси светлината и минава нататък. Вдишваме изгаснал пламък и издишваме.
На излизане ме удря зелена светлина и миризма на мокър бъз. Забравих да се прекръстя.
17.5.11
Аз съм тиха...
Аз съм тиха. По-тиха от котешка стъпка.
Обикалям отдавна и вече съм стара.
Аз съм дълга река, но започвам от глътка
и ти вдигам над себе си моста от вяра.
Аз съм листът, по който навярно си писал
и с мастило от страх си изплакал молитва.
Аз съм толкова вечна. Почти като смисъл
и почти като слънце, с което се свиква.
- Елица Стоянова
Обикалям отдавна и вече съм стара.
Аз съм дълга река, но започвам от глътка
и ти вдигам над себе си моста от вяра.
Аз съм листът, по който навярно си писал
и с мастило от страх си изплакал молитва.
Аз съм толкова вечна. Почти като смисъл
и почти като слънце, с което се свиква.
- Елица Стоянова
14.5.11
From The Depths - Let the Black Flag Fly
Let the black flag fly
Let them reap what they sow
All the smothered anger
Let a hard wind blow
Let every victim remember
All the vengeance we owe
Teach our masters regret should they ever forget
Power comes from below
From gutters and ghettos, oppressed and accursed
Blisters of violence swelling to burst
From smoldering resentment and broken trust
From us
Hopeless
Embittered
The programmed
Conditioned
Exploited
Imprisoned
The poverty stricken
The butchered
The beaten
The outcasts who meet in perdition
Let the black flag fly
Let the conquerors crawl
Let them lecture on justice
With their backs to the wall
Can you even remember
Breathing freely at all
Let us lose all our fear and let loose all our tears
Let a hard rain fall
On towers erected to dwarf our frail frames
On pipelines that flow from our open veins
On wastelands that mirror unspoken interior pain
Rain
Deserts emptied of foliage
Futures emptied of meaning
Empires emptied of solace
Husks emptied of feeling
Let the heavens open
The dams overflow
Joining sea and sky
Merging above and below
For once all flesh and continents are mapped
In the machinery of order
We’re better off unborn, or else adrift
On seas that wash no shores
So let the rain become a raging flood
To wash away buildings and boundaries
Swallow whole the world we have known
And as the waters rise
Let the black flag fly
Let them reap what they sow
All the smothered anger
Let a hard wind blow
Let every victim remember
All the vengeance we owe
Teach our masters regret should they ever forget
Power comes from below
From gutters and ghettos, oppressed and accursed
Blisters of violence swelling to burst
From smoldering resentment and broken trust
From us
Hopeless
Embittered
The programmed
Conditioned
Exploited
Imprisoned
The poverty stricken
The butchered
The beaten
The outcasts who meet in perdition
Let the black flag fly
Let the conquerors crawl
Let them lecture on justice
With their backs to the wall
Can you even remember
Breathing freely at all
Let us lose all our fear and let loose all our tears
Let a hard rain fall
On towers erected to dwarf our frail frames
On pipelines that flow from our open veins
On wastelands that mirror unspoken interior pain
Rain
Deserts emptied of foliage
Futures emptied of meaning
Empires emptied of solace
Husks emptied of feeling
Let the heavens open
The dams overflow
Joining sea and sky
Merging above and below
For once all flesh and continents are mapped
In the machinery of order
We’re better off unborn, or else adrift
On seas that wash no shores
So let the rain become a raging flood
To wash away buildings and boundaries
Swallow whole the world we have known
And as the waters rise
Let the black flag fly
4.5.11
Piano Magic - The Faint Horizon
In youth, we think too little
In age, we think too much
In youth, of what's to come
In age, of what we've lost
We always want tomorrow
So never live today
And that's the curse of our lives
We wish our lives away
With time, the faint horizon
Comes clearer by the day
For some, it's far too soon
Whilst others cannot wait
And all men need distraction
And some men need their gods
For without these diversions
Then everything is lost
In life, we carve the land up
That is not ours to carve
We cannot take it with us
But cut the greater half
And herein lies the problem
And herein the blame
You enter life with nothing
You leave it with the same
***
He should've been a poet.
In age, we think too much
In youth, of what's to come
In age, of what we've lost
We always want tomorrow
So never live today
And that's the curse of our lives
We wish our lives away
With time, the faint horizon
Comes clearer by the day
For some, it's far too soon
Whilst others cannot wait
And all men need distraction
And some men need their gods
For without these diversions
Then everything is lost
In life, we carve the land up
That is not ours to carve
We cannot take it with us
But cut the greater half
And herein lies the problem
And herein the blame
You enter life with nothing
You leave it with the same
***
He should've been a poet.
2.5.11
I Believe
I learn to understand
Getting harder to pretend is ok with me
In this moment I believe
And I want it so much
In spite of everything
You make me so real
I don't have to shut myself in this cage of me
I see what I haven't seen
I wanna share my place to hide
My place to feel
With You
In this moment I believe
And I want it so much
In spite of everything
I learn to understand
If only I was worth waiting for
Getting harder to pretend is ok with me
In this moment I believe
And I want it so much
In spite of everything
You make me so real
I don't have to shut myself in this cage of me
I see what I haven't seen
I wanna share my place to hide
My place to feel
With You
In this moment I believe
And I want it so much
In spite of everything
I learn to understand
If only I was worth waiting for
24.4.11
pointlessly
There is a certain kind of sadness that leaves your whole being senseless. Pointless. It makes you want one thing: sleep. And the only music that won’t make you shatter like glass is Chroma Key. (Kevin Moore knows melancholy, I gotta give him that.)
All life loses color.
All people lose importance.
Even crying’s pointless.
Guilt? Fuck guilt.
Love? Don’t remember.
I feel like an astronaut in a submarine.
And every part of me is paralyzed.
The scattered bits of my consciousness are suspended in the whiteness.
I wonder what makes people move their limbs.
I wonder what makes them want to breathe, sing, fuck, fight and care.
Who lights the fire under their ass…
I am never getting out of this bed.
Never.
A single tear on my collar-bone. Tickling its way to my breast.
I wanted to show someone how I love my body.
Now I just want to sleep.
All life loses color.
All people lose importance.
Even crying’s pointless.
Guilt? Fuck guilt.
Love? Don’t remember.
I feel like an astronaut in a submarine.
And every part of me is paralyzed.
The scattered bits of my consciousness are suspended in the whiteness.
I wonder what makes people move their limbs.
I wonder what makes them want to breathe, sing, fuck, fight and care.
Who lights the fire under their ass…
I am never getting out of this bed.
Never.
A single tear on my collar-bone. Tickling its way to my breast.
I wanted to show someone how I love my body.
Now I just want to sleep.
Riverside - Forgotten Land
Riverside - Forgotten Land
Look at this field, my son
Deserted empty place
Where the dirt silence
Feeds on lost whispers
There was a kingdom here
A city full of life
Songs of its praise
Were being sung
By the mountains
Oh listen to them now
People felt strong and powerful
Proud of their wealth
All of them believed
They were kings of the whole world
They started to take more
Cross the borderlines
Called themselves Gods
Above everything and everyone
Oh listen to them now
Faster and faster
Higher and higher
Great temples of God grew taller
And glittered in the sun
Gods too sure of themselves
Never lost their pride
(... inaudible)
Monuments started to collapse
Oh how quickly they died
How quickly they turned into dust
In their forgotten land
Listen (...)
Swallows are crying
I seize the sun (?)
Of their forgotten land
Look at this field, my son
Deserted empty place
Where the dirt silence
Feeds on lost whispers
There was a kingdom here
A city full of life
Songs of its praise
Were being sung
By the mountains
Oh listen to them now
People felt strong and powerful
Proud of their wealth
All of them believed
They were kings of the whole world
They started to take more
Cross the borderlines
Called themselves Gods
Above everything and everyone
Oh listen to them now
Faster and faster
Higher and higher
Great temples of God grew taller
And glittered in the sun
Gods too sure of themselves
Never lost their pride
(... inaudible)
Monuments started to collapse
Oh how quickly they died
How quickly they turned into dust
In their forgotten land
Listen (...)
Swallows are crying
I seize the sun (?)
Of their forgotten land
13.4.11
9.4.11
7.4.11
now that's what i call poetry!
Night air
Night air has the strangest flavor
Space to breathe it, time to savor
All that night air has to lend me
Till the morning makes me angry
In the night air
In the night air
I’ve acquired a kind of madness
Daylight fills my heart with sadness
And only silent skies can sooth me
Feel that night air flowing through me
In the night air
In the night air
I don’t need those car crash colors
I control the skies above us
Close my eyes to make the night fall
Comfort of the world revolving
I can hear the earth in orbit
In the night air
In the night air
I’ve acquired a taste for silence
Darkness fills my heart with comfort
And each thought like a thief is driven
To steal the night air from the heavens
In the night air
http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Night+Air/3gCp64?src=5
Night air has the strangest flavor
Space to breathe it, time to savor
All that night air has to lend me
Till the morning makes me angry
In the night air
In the night air
I’ve acquired a kind of madness
Daylight fills my heart with sadness
And only silent skies can sooth me
Feel that night air flowing through me
In the night air
In the night air
I don’t need those car crash colors
I control the skies above us
Close my eyes to make the night fall
Comfort of the world revolving
I can hear the earth in orbit
In the night air
In the night air
I’ve acquired a taste for silence
Darkness fills my heart with comfort
And each thought like a thief is driven
To steal the night air from the heavens
In the night air
http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Night+Air/3gCp64?src=5
5.4.11
Да се люлееш напред-назад в устойчив, непрекъснат ритъм
Вдъхновено от: These Monsters - To Swing Back And Forth With A Steady Uninterrupted Rhythm
Тези хора не са хора. Как може с музика да нарисуваш люлки?
Цялото слънце в отблясъка на люлките. Цялото слънце в косите на три слънца. В очите на сина му. В кожата на жена му. В смеха на дъщеря му.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Люлките се разминаваха, а жена му само леко докосваше сандалите на децата, за да ги засили. Гледаше разсеяно в далечината и държеше роклята си, сякаш се боеше, че вятърът ще я отвее.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Дъщеря му бе отметнала глава назад и бе затворила очи. Русите й кичури почти стигаха до земята с всяко засилване. Брат й я гледаше с неволна нежност. При всяко разминаване на люлките леко докосваще ръката й. Години по-късно той щеше да разкаже на сина си, че тя му е била като дете. Толкова я обичаше.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Имаше чувството, че люлките никога няма да спрат.
Тези хора не са хора. Как може с музика да нарисуваш люлки?
Цялото слънце в отблясъка на люлките. Цялото слънце в косите на три слънца. В очите на сина му. В кожата на жена му. В смеха на дъщеря му.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Люлките се разминаваха, а жена му само леко докосваше сандалите на децата, за да ги засили. Гледаше разсеяно в далечината и държеше роклята си, сякаш се боеше, че вятърът ще я отвее.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Дъщеря му бе отметнала глава назад и бе затворила очи. Русите й кичури почти стигаха до земята с всяко засилване. Брат й я гледаше с неволна нежност. При всяко разминаване на люлките леко докосваще ръката й. Години по-късно той щеше да разкаже на сина си, че тя му е била като дете. Толкова я обичаше.
Напред. Назад. Напред. Назад.
Имаше чувството, че люлките никога няма да спрат.
3.4.11
Нещо в нищото (Utopia)
We came here to be washed away...
Още беше тъмно. Миришеше на море.
Не смееше да помръдне. Вдишваше дълбоко. Косата й миришеше на спомени. На кухнята, когато майка му печеше хляб.
Ръката му можеше да остане там завинаги...
Откъсна се бавно и стана.
„Моето прекрасно момиче.”
Всеки път се сепваше като я погледне. Сякаш неочаквано чуваше първите тонове на любима песен.
„Едно нещо си върви в нищото и среща друго нещо”, беше казала тя за тях двамата.
Тя бе неговото нещо. Неговото нещо в нищото.
Лежеше върху дъските и гледаше небето. Събираше цветове - мастило, кобалт, аквамарин, тюркоаз. „Морето е моето небе”, каза си той и се помъчи да го запомни. Синьото се замъгли. Небето се клатеше. По ръба на лодката запъплиха розови нишки. Някъде далеч слънцето бе изгряло.
Върна се мокър. Посрещна го кучето. Близна го и тръсна глава възмутено заради солта. Къщата беше празна. Остави мокри, пясъчни стъпки по дюшемето. Седна на стълбите и запали. Стана му ужасно тъжно. Видя ги в далечината. Дъщеря му тичаше към фара, а жена му изстискваше дългата си пола от водата. Беше толкова красива, че му се зави свят. Искаше му се да изтича навън, да я притисне, да забрави за себе си.
Качи се на тавана и седна на пода до боите и платното. Нещо не беше наред, нещо не беше както трябва. Не помнеше колко време е стоял така, когато тя влезе. Не каза нищо, просто легна в него и се усмихна.
„Не знам какво е щастие”, мислеше си той и не искаше да повярва.
На Д, Н, Р и Т - крада си по малко от всеки... ;)
27.3.11
Ulver - Island
how did we end
so far out?
past praying
and past recall
to believe in nothing
is a faith in itself
a lighthouse
in the eye of the storm
the nightmare
of the nightmare
to follow the signal
of a ghost ship
our names are
written in water
the knowledge
is all around us
we came here
to be washed away
so far out?
past praying
and past recall
to believe in nothing
is a faith in itself
a lighthouse
in the eye of the storm
the nightmare
of the nightmare
to follow the signal
of a ghost ship
our names are
written in water
the knowledge
is all around us
we came here
to be washed away
12.3.11
vowels
Loveless vessels
We vow
Solo love
We see
Love solve loss
Else we see
Love sow woe
Selves we woo
We lose
Losses we levee
We owe
We sell
Loose vows
So we love
Less well
So low
So level
Wolves evolve
We vow
Solo love
We see
Love solve loss
Else we see
Love sow woe
Selves we woo
We lose
Losses we levee
We owe
We sell
Loose vows
So we love
Less well
So low
So level
Wolves evolve
9.3.11
7.3.11
i like my body when it is with your body
Уау, не съм си мислила, че някой може да го опише толкова добре. :)
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
e.e.cummings
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
e.e.cummings
i imagine that yes is the only living thing
love is a place...
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
- e.e.cummings
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
- e.e.cummings
statu quo
„Напиши песен само за нас двамата”, каза му тя.
После си отиде.
Значи ли това, че тази песен не съществува?
~ ~ ~
Вътрешен кръг, собствен свят
В сапунен мехур, реещи се и светли
Исконен космос, нищо не ни грози
Вселената – това сме ние
Вдишване, мечта, клетва
Две ръце в една
Две стъпки – една следа
Една сила – така стоят нещата
Трептене и шумолене зад стъкло
Важни сме ние, от теб до тук
Кацане и излитане и по средата ние
Безкрайно пространство, златни перспективи
На една вълна, извадена от дълбините
Вечно лято, радиус по две
Неудържимо желание, в окови на свобода
Дълбок всемир, еуфория
Нежна меланхолия
Престъпна енергия, престъпна енергия
Всичко леко, леко, може би твърде леко
Пълно, може би твърде пълно
Време, време, безкрайно време
Цялото време на света
Дълбок всемир, еуфория
Нежна меланхолия
Престъпна енергия, престъпна енергия
Една сила – така стоят нещата
Трептене и шумолене зад стъкло
Важни сме ние, от теб до тук
Раждане и смърт и по средата ние
После си отиде.
Значи ли това, че тази песен не съществува?
~ ~ ~
Вътрешен кръг, собствен свят
В сапунен мехур, реещи се и светли
Исконен космос, нищо не ни грози
Вселената – това сме ние
Вдишване, мечта, клетва
Две ръце в една
Две стъпки – една следа
Една сила – така стоят нещата
Трептене и шумолене зад стъкло
Важни сме ние, от теб до тук
Кацане и излитане и по средата ние
Безкрайно пространство, златни перспективи
На една вълна, извадена от дълбините
Вечно лято, радиус по две
Неудържимо желание, в окови на свобода
Дълбок всемир, еуфория
Нежна меланхолия
Престъпна енергия, престъпна енергия
Всичко леко, леко, може би твърде леко
Пълно, може би твърде пълно
Време, време, безкрайно време
Цялото време на света
Дълбок всемир, еуфория
Нежна меланхолия
Престъпна енергия, престъпна енергия
Една сила – така стоят нещата
Трептене и шумолене зад стъкло
Важни сме ние, от теб до тук
Раждане и смърт и по средата ние
5.3.11
краят на думите
„Героят ви трябва да иска нещо, дори това да е само чаша вода.”
Вонегът
Няма как да сме пълни без да искаме нещо. Но знаем ли какво искаме? Не знаем какво искаме, но пък го искаме ужасно силно.
Искаме невинност. И самият факт, че искаме невинност, значи, че сме я изгубили. Искаме да не ни боли и от това желание ни боли.
Искаме да станем цели и това желание ни разделя.
Не изприказвахме ли всички думи на света?
Толкова е тъжно...
Краят на думите.
Дори не го забелязваме, защото те започват отначало.
Като змия захапала опашката си, като пост-рок песен на repeat.
Останах сама с музиката. Изведнъж го осъзнах.
Една крачка напред и повече никога няма да се върна.
Ще си остана сред звъна.
Сред края на думите.
На ръба на съня, където се вижда свободата.
On the other side… What do you mean, side of what things?
Ето пак си мислиш, че не си свободна.
Ти си цяла и свободна, умът фрагментира.
Умът строи кули. Вавилонски кули, от които покълват всички езици.
От които покълва неразбирането.
На върха на Вавилонската кула осъзнаваш, че нея никога не я е имало.
И пропадаш в умствената пропаст.
На разлкатените вярвания. На липсата на гласове. На липсата на ценности. На липсата на възпитание. На липсата на надежда. На липсата на задръжки. На липсата на очаквания. На плоскостта, в която да живееш в поезия не е смелост, а естествено състояние.
Дали е красиво...като музика?
Дали е силно като неочакван риф?
Дали е студено като отблъсната прегръдка?
Или е топло като прегърнат танц?
Дали е НЕЩО въобще?
Дали е дума?
Дума за края на думите.
Дума, която изтрива всички думи.
Дума, която вдъхновява нови вселени.
Не, няма.
Не може да има дума за бездумието.
Докога можеш да игнорираш хлебарките под кожата на другия?
Забрави това, което още не знаеш.
Защо си мислиш, че виждаш мисли и бъдещи пропасти?
Защо си мислиш, че са истински, а не просто вътре в теб?
Понякога искам да спя на улицата, но ми е леко странно без теб...
Мислех, че съм готова на всичко за теб...
Още сълзи. Откъде идват?
„Какво ме прегърщаш, като си по-щастлива от мен?”
И така...можеш ли да приемеш, че всичко в живота ти е измислица?
Приказка.
Колкото по-силна става една приказка, толкова повече умът я разтегля като дъвка.
Той й вдишва живот, преработва спомените, като стар филм, който са оцветили.
Може би все пак има истински цветни приказки.
Които носят цвета в душата си
Те изгарят твърде бързо. И затова искаме да живеем в черно-бял филм, той поне трае по-дълго.
Това че нещо е преходно, не го прави по-маловажно.
Кевин Мур е Бог и Бог е Кевин Мур.
Оооо it’s nice to know…
Not knowing is fine. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…
Trust life. Be life.
Life can be found only in the present moment. Everything that we look for must be found in the present moment – peace, joy, happiness, Buddha…
What is our final destination? If we abandon the present moment, our final destination may be our death.
Една малка смърт.
Всяко заспиване е една малка смърт.
Та какво искахме всъщност? Баница с боза? Или вълча песен?
Отговор Це.
This concludes Tape One of “The Present Moment”. Our program continues with Tape Two.
Преследва ме, мамка му... Дори и от песни, които слушам от години и трябва да изключа, за да осъзная, че са негови.
Вонегът
Няма как да сме пълни без да искаме нещо. Но знаем ли какво искаме? Не знаем какво искаме, но пък го искаме ужасно силно.
Искаме невинност. И самият факт, че искаме невинност, значи, че сме я изгубили. Искаме да не ни боли и от това желание ни боли.
Искаме да станем цели и това желание ни разделя.
Не изприказвахме ли всички думи на света?
Толкова е тъжно...
Краят на думите.
Дори не го забелязваме, защото те започват отначало.
Като змия захапала опашката си, като пост-рок песен на repeat.
Останах сама с музиката. Изведнъж го осъзнах.
Една крачка напред и повече никога няма да се върна.
Ще си остана сред звъна.
Сред края на думите.
На ръба на съня, където се вижда свободата.
On the other side… What do you mean, side of what things?
Ето пак си мислиш, че не си свободна.
Ти си цяла и свободна, умът фрагментира.
Умът строи кули. Вавилонски кули, от които покълват всички езици.
От които покълва неразбирането.
На върха на Вавилонската кула осъзнаваш, че нея никога не я е имало.
И пропадаш в умствената пропаст.
На разлкатените вярвания. На липсата на гласове. На липсата на ценности. На липсата на възпитание. На липсата на надежда. На липсата на задръжки. На липсата на очаквания. На плоскостта, в която да живееш в поезия не е смелост, а естествено състояние.
Дали е красиво...като музика?
Дали е силно като неочакван риф?
Дали е студено като отблъсната прегръдка?
Или е топло като прегърнат танц?
Дали е НЕЩО въобще?
Дали е дума?
Дума за края на думите.
Дума, която изтрива всички думи.
Дума, която вдъхновява нови вселени.
Не, няма.
Не може да има дума за бездумието.
Докога можеш да игнорираш хлебарките под кожата на другия?
Забрави това, което още не знаеш.
Защо си мислиш, че виждаш мисли и бъдещи пропасти?
Защо си мислиш, че са истински, а не просто вътре в теб?
Понякога искам да спя на улицата, но ми е леко странно без теб...
Мислех, че съм готова на всичко за теб...
Още сълзи. Откъде идват?
„Какво ме прегърщаш, като си по-щастлива от мен?”
И така...можеш ли да приемеш, че всичко в живота ти е измислица?
Приказка.
Колкото по-силна става една приказка, толкова повече умът я разтегля като дъвка.
Той й вдишва живот, преработва спомените, като стар филм, който са оцветили.
Може би все пак има истински цветни приказки.
Които носят цвета в душата си
Те изгарят твърде бързо. И затова искаме да живеем в черно-бял филм, той поне трае по-дълго.
Това че нещо е преходно, не го прави по-маловажно.
Кевин Мур е Бог и Бог е Кевин Мур.
Оооо it’s nice to know…
Not knowing is fine. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…
Trust life. Be life.
Life can be found only in the present moment. Everything that we look for must be found in the present moment – peace, joy, happiness, Buddha…
What is our final destination? If we abandon the present moment, our final destination may be our death.
Една малка смърт.
Всяко заспиване е една малка смърт.
Та какво искахме всъщност? Баница с боза? Или вълча песен?
Отговор Це.
This concludes Tape One of “The Present Moment”. Our program continues with Tape Two.
Преследва ме, мамка му... Дори и от песни, които слушам от години и трябва да изключа, за да осъзная, че са негови.
3.3.11
in your arms
Lying on the couch with Yoyo in my arms, listening to The King of Limbs. He's all ears: hushed, falling asleep... This album just skyrocketed into my relevant skies.
P.S. Vive la résistance!
P.P.S. I think I need to thank Orlin for this. *---- o ----* For giving me the faith that I can find that connection with my son again.
P.S. Vive la résistance!
P.P.S. I think I need to thank Orlin for this. *---- o ----* For giving me the faith that I can find that connection with my son again.
27.2.11
The Nights of Wonder
Върви със: Sting - The Wild Wild Sea
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
- Като в някакъв филм сме – усмихна се тя, издишвайки дима от цигарата. Започваше да й се удава и тя се наслаждаваше на факта, че може да гледа как димът излиза от устата й без да се закашля.
- Защо филм?
- Ами, огледай се само... Събрали се група мечтатели на пода до картините, сред миризмата на бои и домашна друсана баница... С крачоли!
Все повече обиквам тази стая. Все повече обиквам хората в нея. Обичам, че когато казах, че Give Up The Ghost ми напомня на How To Disappear Completely, той се засмя... Онзи смях, който значи: „Не е ли абсурдно, че има някой, който ме разбира?” Обичам времето в тази стая – като в Inception. Колкото по-навътре влизаш, толкова по-бавно става. Обичам смеха в тази стая – смях, изпълнен с благодарност и изумление, че не си сам в абстрактността си. Обичам смелостта в тази стая – смелостта да бъдеш себе си, да хванеш другите за ръце със знанието, че няма да те отблъснат. Смелостта да не си дръпнеш ръката от кръга, когато влезе чужд човек. Обичам мечтите в тази стая – тук те не са жалки и насмешливи. Мечтите за отворения прозорец и нахлуващия аромат на липа... Мечтите, чиито погледи се срещат в тъмното. Обичам страховете в тази стая. Тук те не са сами. Тук можем да се вгледаме в тях през очите на другите. Защото когато разбереш някого напълно, няма как да го съдиш. Обичам откритията в тази стая...онези мисли, които „светят отдалече”. Онези мисли, които са разпилени по пода заедно с картините. Онези мисли, които са се разлели върху платната. Обичам лепкавото ехо в тази стая. Обичам мълчанието, когато слушаме в една посока. Обичам как звучи музиката в тази стая. Как веднъж излязла от нея, никога не е същата. Обичам думите в тази стая. Обичам значимостта им. Всяка дума диша тук. Обичам поезията в тази стая. Мисли, които на всяко друго място биха звучели нелепо. Обичам как мислите ни се пресичат и изричат едновременно. Обичам как картините говорят и мокрят. Обичам историите за детския рай и изтласканите спомени, които разреденото поле допуска. Обичам случайните и неслучайните докосвания. Обичам прегръдките, които те изкарват от филмите. Обичам погледите, в които потъваш и погледа, в който никога няма да потънеш напълно.
Единственото, което не обичам, е студът под вратите на игрите ни.
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
- Като в някакъв филм сме – усмихна се тя, издишвайки дима от цигарата. Започваше да й се удава и тя се наслаждаваше на факта, че може да гледа как димът излиза от устата й без да се закашля.
- Защо филм?
- Ами, огледай се само... Събрали се група мечтатели на пода до картините, сред миризмата на бои и домашна друсана баница... С крачоли!
Все повече обиквам тази стая. Все повече обиквам хората в нея. Обичам, че когато казах, че Give Up The Ghost ми напомня на How To Disappear Completely, той се засмя... Онзи смях, който значи: „Не е ли абсурдно, че има някой, който ме разбира?” Обичам времето в тази стая – като в Inception. Колкото по-навътре влизаш, толкова по-бавно става. Обичам смеха в тази стая – смях, изпълнен с благодарност и изумление, че не си сам в абстрактността си. Обичам смелостта в тази стая – смелостта да бъдеш себе си, да хванеш другите за ръце със знанието, че няма да те отблъснат. Смелостта да не си дръпнеш ръката от кръга, когато влезе чужд човек. Обичам мечтите в тази стая – тук те не са жалки и насмешливи. Мечтите за отворения прозорец и нахлуващия аромат на липа... Мечтите, чиито погледи се срещат в тъмното. Обичам страховете в тази стая. Тук те не са сами. Тук можем да се вгледаме в тях през очите на другите. Защото когато разбереш някого напълно, няма как да го съдиш. Обичам откритията в тази стая...онези мисли, които „светят отдалече”. Онези мисли, които са разпилени по пода заедно с картините. Онези мисли, които са се разлели върху платната. Обичам лепкавото ехо в тази стая. Обичам мълчанието, когато слушаме в една посока. Обичам как звучи музиката в тази стая. Как веднъж излязла от нея, никога не е същата. Обичам думите в тази стая. Обичам значимостта им. Всяка дума диша тук. Обичам поезията в тази стая. Мисли, които на всяко друго място биха звучели нелепо. Обичам как мислите ни се пресичат и изричат едновременно. Обичам как картините говорят и мокрят. Обичам историите за детския рай и изтласканите спомени, които разреденото поле допуска. Обичам случайните и неслучайните докосвания. Обичам прегръдките, които те изкарват от филмите. Обичам погледите, в които потъваш и погледа, в който никога няма да потънеш напълно.
Единственото, което не обичам, е студът под вратите на игрите ни.
20.2.11
taxi meditation
Snowdrops on a taxi window pane…
Scores of universes woven into Presence.
Hundreds of anchors into the Now.
Focus…
On…
The…
Raindrops…
Nothing else matters.
Inspired by Alcest - Sur L'Océan Couleur de Fer
Scores of universes woven into Presence.
Hundreds of anchors into the Now.
Focus…
On…
The…
Raindrops…
Nothing else matters.
Inspired by Alcest - Sur L'Océan Couleur de Fer
19.2.11
The Smell
So… I have this Creative Writing book… and there was an exercise: describe the smells around you. I was at a café, drinking milk with cinnamon, quite uninspiring, yeah...
5 hours later I found my smell. I was holding someone for the first time and I thought: here it is - the smell worth describing. The smell of surprise and warmth, the smell of fear and trust, the smell of the Great Unknown… The smell of hope. And knowing that I’ve always hated that smell made it twice as startling. Getting used to a completely new smell, a new body, a new aura...
- Just another perfect moment, - I said breathing in. – Funny how you find strength to find meaning again…
I tried really hard to find a simile that would describe this new smell. It was sweet but astringent – like medicine… At first it reminded me of cough syrup, but suddenly I knew: it was liquorish! A new body smelling like liquorish... inviting and not acceptable at the same time.
5 hours later I found my smell. I was holding someone for the first time and I thought: here it is - the smell worth describing. The smell of surprise and warmth, the smell of fear and trust, the smell of the Great Unknown… The smell of hope. And knowing that I’ve always hated that smell made it twice as startling. Getting used to a completely new smell, a new body, a new aura...
- Just another perfect moment, - I said breathing in. – Funny how you find strength to find meaning again…
I tried really hard to find a simile that would describe this new smell. It was sweet but astringent – like medicine… At first it reminded me of cough syrup, but suddenly I knew: it was liquorish! A new body smelling like liquorish... inviting and not acceptable at the same time.
all this time...
A rush of blood to the nose. Her questions were always inspiring. But where did this inspiration come from?
“If the I does not exist, then who’s uttering these words, who’s lying next to you on this floor?”
“Life is,” he said, “You see, when you say “I am”, you’re actually saying “Life is”. Imagine a river. The I you can’t let go of is a ripple flowing to the sea. But you... You are the river.”
“All this time,” she hummed, “the river flowed...endlessly to the sea...”
“If the I does not exist, then who’s uttering these words, who’s lying next to you on this floor?”
“Life is,” he said, “You see, when you say “I am”, you’re actually saying “Life is”. Imagine a river. The I you can’t let go of is a ripple flowing to the sea. But you... You are the river.”
“All this time,” she hummed, “the river flowed...endlessly to the sea...”
12.2.11
a game of pool
People are like billiard balls.
They come.
They hit you.
Change your way.
And go.
And it's OK.
They come.
They hit you.
Change your way.
And go.
And it's OK.
10.2.11
Есен
Защо той? Защо не те, искате да знаете? Тогава ето какво - забравете за малко, че на носa си имате очила, а в душата ви е есен. (...) А вашият баща е каруцарят Мендел Крик. За какво мисли такъв баща? Той мисли да гаврътне една хубава чашка водка, да друсне някого по мутрата, мисли за конете си и... за нищо друго. Вие искате да живеете, а той ви кара да мрете по двайсет пъти на ден. Какво бихте направили на мястото на Беня Крик? Нищо не бихте направили. А той направи. И затова той е Краля, а вие си клатите палеца в джоба.
"Как ставаше това в Одеса", Исак Бабел
24.1.11
a personal reminder
Life is a play of forms.
Impermanent. :)
Enjoy stories.
Enjoy the play of forms.
Let them come and go.
Trust life.
Be life.
Impermanent. :)
Enjoy stories.
Enjoy the play of forms.
Let them come and go.
Trust life.
Be life.
17.1.11
In Your Room (Message in a Bottle)
Where time stands still
Or moves at your will
Will you let the morning come soon
Or will you leave me lying here
In your favourite darkness
Your favourite half-light
Your favourite consciousness
In your room
Where souls disappear
Only you exist here
Will you lead me to your armchair
Or leave me lying here
It was the perfect room.
An old mattress, a hi fi system, an armchair and bright sketches scattered on the floor.
He put on mind-numbing music and it coalesced with the room.
She felt like her body melted into the armchair.
It was the perfect room.
- Candles and wine... - he laughed quietly.
- If you only knew how he hates this... He thinks it's a pose.
He chuckled:
- That's what I do... every night.
- This room is so magical, its candles can never be sappy.
Then they started one of those conversations only a stoned mind can have. Or an insanely sincere one. And they were both insane so it was a talk of crazy meets stoned.
- Have you noticed that when we're together time runs much slower? When I'm with you I feel no pressure at all, I don't have to pretend or play roles, because you're not judging me.
His honesty startled her.
- Yes, I don't like to judge.
She was watching herself speak and was amazed that her words made sense. She was not that girl in the chair, she was not her voice, she was not her words, she was just a cold awareness acknowledging the thoughts that arose within and without her.
Suddenly she had one of those realizations that come out of mindless stillness:
- We feel no pressure because we don't want anything from each other.
- Yes. That's it. Remember when you were a child and you had no sexual desire towards your friends. You just wanted to play.
- Like children... Perfect balance - she grabbed her notepad - I have to write this down. Will you draw it? Look!
She started drawing.
- You have three kinds of relationships.
The first one is imbalanced - one of the partners is pulling the thread so hard that it's pushing the other away.
The second one is when you're in love - both partners are pulling with the same strenght and the thread is in perfect balance, like a guitar string.
The third one is totally VOID of desires - there is no pulling at all. That's us.
- Equilibrium - he smiled - See, you drew it yourself!
- Now I realize HOW MUCH I wanted from him. I wanted everything. I wanted his soul. I wanted to devour him. But I have neither reason nor rhyme with which to take this soul that is so rightfully his.
- This whole twin soul thing is ridiculous - he said. - It means you're so in love with your ego, you want to find a perfect reflection of it in an other.
- Imagine a world where no one wanted anything from anyone.
He smiled. He got her.
- How can I do it? How can I stop wanting him? But then again... Would you even want to be in a relationship without desiring the other person?
She kept asking herself if there was anything between them. The mind was starting its game.
But she knew that the moment she started wanting anything from him, the balance would collapse like a house of cards.
- Ready to hear the cheerful American peasants?
She put on Mumford and Sons and started reciting the lyrics.
- This is amazing! - he was laughing at every word that rang so true in his heart.
- How could they be singing my exact thoughts? I love it...
Being understood, sharing, understanding together was ecstatic.
- I'm so happy you like it.
But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand
And we'll hold your hand
- You see, I have a friend, he's like a brother to me and I talk to him the way I talk to you - in song lyrics and Tolle words and he's like: "I'm losing you man, I don't get what you're saying..."
- Yes, a lot of people will start thinking you're going insane...
Cause you told me that I would find a hole,
Within the fragile substance of my soul
And I have filled this void with things unreal,
And all the while my character it steals
But Darkness is a harsh term don’t you think?
And yet it dominates the things I see
It seems that all my bridges have been burned,
But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works...
But you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works...
- What's wrong? - he asked.
- I'm just sad. I miss my teacher. He did not deserve this.
- You dear soul. You're a good person.
7.1.11
sex in the air
Walking silently by the frozen river. No moon, no stars and yet pale light and the smell of snow. Smoky stillness in the air. Stepping into weightlessness. A deep breath: “I’ve dreamed a thousand years just to be here where everything is right.”
She emanated warmth.
- Touch me.
- I don’t need to. I feel you – he smiled.
- We’re not separate, are we?
- The marrow of spirit...
- Running through our bones.
She heard the words come out of her mouth and they sounded foreign. No need to speak. Everything was so simple and clear – he was inside of her and she was inside of him.
Smallman
She keeps looking at the blue wristband on her hand. The last wristband that important to her stayed there for 6 months.
"What did you do to me? All my fears vanished. I woke up and that aching sore inside was gone."
She keeps looking at her t-shirt: ALL WE HAVE IS THE MOMENT. What are the odds of buying this t-shirt at this exact moment?!
She doesn't quite remember the whole night, she couldn't feel time passing by.
There was no time. The stomach-gripping fear, the void inside was gone. All she could feel was timelessness. That wave of stillness that we're all made of. A frozen wave of glowing connections.
We are one. This is what happens at gigs like this. We forget our illusional separation, the mind stops and we become one.
That's why it was so natural for her to hold someone she had never seen in her life. Led Zeppelin and Iren in her arms: "Cry, dance, shout, let it all out!"
She tried crying. She tried being mad, she tried being sad, but all she could feel was Love. Yeah, the right one, the only one. Infinite unity.
"What did you do to me? All my fears vanished. I woke up and that aching sore inside was gone."
She keeps looking at her t-shirt: ALL WE HAVE IS THE MOMENT. What are the odds of buying this t-shirt at this exact moment?!
She doesn't quite remember the whole night, she couldn't feel time passing by.There was no time. The stomach-gripping fear, the void inside was gone. All she could feel was timelessness. That wave of stillness that we're all made of. A frozen wave of glowing connections.
We are one. This is what happens at gigs like this. We forget our illusional separation, the mind stops and we become one.
That's why it was so natural for her to hold someone she had never seen in her life. Led Zeppelin and Iren in her arms: "Cry, dance, shout, let it all out!"
She tried crying. She tried being mad, she tried being sad, but all she could feel was Love. Yeah, the right one, the only one. Infinite unity.
24.12.10
Happily Imperfect
Most of us live in a culture and society which is totally obsessed with perfection.
An obsession which invariably leads to pain.
Emotional, psychological, physical, social and financial pain.
The perfection obsession is rampant.
It's completely ridiculous.
It's unhealthy.
It's unrealistic.
And it's potentially very dangerous.
I have personally seen it lead to anxiety, depression, social dysfunction, eating disorders, emotional problems, unrealistic expectations, ruined relationships, massive financial debt, destructive habits and unfortunately, the occasional suicide.
We (we, the society) want it all.
Badly.
Perfect bodies.
Perfect teeth.
Perfect careers.
Perfect academic scores.
Perfect relationships.
Perfect children.
Perfect lives.
We try and convince ourselves that we're all about the deep and meaningful, but when we take an honest, realistic look at how we live as a collective of people... the overwhelming message (perhaps not from you and I personally) is to aim for perfection.
And in order to have (the appearance of) perfection, we (we, the society) will do almost anything.
We have ten credit cards and spend money we don't have.
We obsess about labels and brands.
We obsess about how others see us and what they think of us.
We mutilate our healthy bodies with elective surgery and make rich surgeons richer.
We preen, pluck, suck and tuck ourselves within an inch of our lives (literally sometimes).
We starve ourselves.
We self-diagnose and self-medicate.
We lie to ourselves and others.
We spend our lives acting out our perfect marriage, career, existence.
We compromise our values.
If only we could all see the beauty of our flaws.
The beauty of normal.
If only we couldn't understand the (potential) happiness in normal.
I love my life, my relationships, my career, my body and my existence on the big blue ball despite my big nose... my slightly chubby tummy...my fifty-seven bad habits, my numerous issues... and my atrocious singing voice.
I'm happy in my imperfection.
When we live in a paradigm that says "I will be happy when XYZ is perfect", then we are destined for a life of misery.
When we learn to be happy with (rejoice in, even) our imperfect selves, our imperfect lives, our imperfect relationships and our imperfect bodies, then we're on the road the real personal growth.
Aiming for better is admirable, possibly even noble... but striving for perfection is stupid.
The moment we stop chasing perfection and start aiming for enlightenment (self-awareness, self-realisation, a different way of thinking and being) is the moment we start to move towards genuine happiness.
Where we sit on the (world famous) Craig Harper Happiness Continuum (made that term up but I like it... you can use it!) is inversely proportional to our desire for perfection.
That is, the less we are... all about perfection, the happier we will be.
So... the take home message you crazy kids?
(1) Perfection is a myth.
(2) It's perfectly normal to be imperfect.
(3) Stop trying to be some perfect, weird-ass version of you... and be you.
I know professional personal development writers aren't meant to use terms like weird-ass, so... I'd like to apologize for my inappropriate, imperfect communication style.
Not.
By Craig Harper
An obsession which invariably leads to pain.
Emotional, psychological, physical, social and financial pain.
The perfection obsession is rampant.
It's completely ridiculous.
It's unhealthy.
It's unrealistic.
And it's potentially very dangerous.
I have personally seen it lead to anxiety, depression, social dysfunction, eating disorders, emotional problems, unrealistic expectations, ruined relationships, massive financial debt, destructive habits and unfortunately, the occasional suicide.
We (we, the society) want it all.
Badly.
Perfect bodies.
Perfect teeth.
Perfect careers.
Perfect academic scores.
Perfect relationships.
Perfect children.
Perfect lives.
We try and convince ourselves that we're all about the deep and meaningful, but when we take an honest, realistic look at how we live as a collective of people... the overwhelming message (perhaps not from you and I personally) is to aim for perfection.
And in order to have (the appearance of) perfection, we (we, the society) will do almost anything.
We have ten credit cards and spend money we don't have.
We obsess about labels and brands.
We obsess about how others see us and what they think of us.
We mutilate our healthy bodies with elective surgery and make rich surgeons richer.
We preen, pluck, suck and tuck ourselves within an inch of our lives (literally sometimes).
We starve ourselves.
We self-diagnose and self-medicate.
We lie to ourselves and others.
We spend our lives acting out our perfect marriage, career, existence.
We compromise our values.
If only we could all see the beauty of our flaws.
The beauty of normal.
If only we couldn't understand the (potential) happiness in normal.
I love my life, my relationships, my career, my body and my existence on the big blue ball despite my big nose... my slightly chubby tummy...my fifty-seven bad habits, my numerous issues... and my atrocious singing voice.
I'm happy in my imperfection.
When we live in a paradigm that says "I will be happy when XYZ is perfect", then we are destined for a life of misery.
When we learn to be happy with (rejoice in, even) our imperfect selves, our imperfect lives, our imperfect relationships and our imperfect bodies, then we're on the road the real personal growth.
Aiming for better is admirable, possibly even noble... but striving for perfection is stupid.
The moment we stop chasing perfection and start aiming for enlightenment (self-awareness, self-realisation, a different way of thinking and being) is the moment we start to move towards genuine happiness.
Where we sit on the (world famous) Craig Harper Happiness Continuum (made that term up but I like it... you can use it!) is inversely proportional to our desire for perfection.
That is, the less we are... all about perfection, the happier we will be.
So... the take home message you crazy kids?
(1) Perfection is a myth.
(2) It's perfectly normal to be imperfect.
(3) Stop trying to be some perfect, weird-ass version of you... and be you.
I know professional personal development writers aren't meant to use terms like weird-ass, so... I'd like to apologize for my inappropriate, imperfect communication style.
Not.
By Craig Harper
17.12.10
unfurl and unchained
Unfurl and Unchained.
The unsongs of magical times.
The hymns of soul discovery.
People matter.
Personalities matter.
"I've embraced mine in loving light", he said.
The dim piano drops coming out of the silent whiteness.
Falling like glowing snowflakes.
Into the silent whiteness.
The wind stings my face and tears up my eyes.
A taste of blood in my mouth.
Believing is love, obsessing is fear.
We've forgotten what love is.
Always remembering...
The unconscious whispers, the constant backnoise of thought...
That we could find...
A way back there...
Beyond the moon...
Right through the air...
Goes with:
The unsongs of magical times.
The hymns of soul discovery.
People matter.
Personalities matter.
"I've embraced mine in loving light", he said.
The dim piano drops coming out of the silent whiteness.
Falling like glowing snowflakes.
Into the silent whiteness.
The wind stings my face and tears up my eyes.
A taste of blood in my mouth.
Believing is love, obsessing is fear.
We've forgotten what love is.
Always remembering...
The unconscious whispers, the constant backnoise of thought...
That we could find...
A way back there...
Beyond the moon...
Right through the air...
Goes with:
10.12.10
only love is real
та, поне изводът, до който аз съм стигнала, е, че истинската любов е това, което всъщност сме
едно цяло
свързано
безвремево
и егото спира достъпа до това осъзнаване
както каза ти, не е "празнина", а непознаване на себе си
и в моменти на липса на его
с друг човек
си спомняме
от какво сме направени
едно цяло
свързано
безвремево
и егото спира достъпа до това осъзнаване
както каза ти, не е "празнина", а непознаване на себе си
и в моменти на липса на его
с друг човек
си спомняме
от какво сме направени
5.12.10
a comment on "beyond karma"
This comment really is so perfect, I'm going to quote it:
http://www.beyond-karma.com/you-do-not-exist-how-to/notice-i-do-not-exist/comment-page-1/#comment-2362
http://www.beyond-karma.com/you-do-not-exist-how-to/notice-i-do-not-exist/comment-page-1/#comment-2362
“if there is nothing to accelerate this journey, then how do I experience some kind of peace”
Janice, we may not be able to accelerate the journey, at least not with the mind, but we can enjoy it. Instead of focusing on finding an answer, solution, just know that there is confusion, and then give yourself a break. Think of ways to give your mind, body, and emotions a break. And, have peace knowing that you will find peace, and that you are enjoying the journey. If you fight with confusion and give it too much attention, then may be you will tire yourself (and possibly others around you), and give up on the journey.
Times with confusion were the times I gave myself a break from all the “spiritual talk” and went out to play, went for a swim, a good meal, and maybe a movie. Those were the times I tried not to get attached to the words, the concepts, to figure them out, or figure out the confusion. Just let it be. If you try to figure out confusion, you will do so with your mind, and the mind will drive you mad. Just let the confusion be.
3.12.10
just a portal
We're just a portal, darling. Nothing more.
What are we so scared of?
There's nothing to lose.
It's already there.
It's what we are made of.
I always thought that I was me. But no, I was wrong, I was you and never knew it.
Embrace this moment.
Remember.
We are eternal.
All this pain is an illusion.
What are we so scared of?
There's nothing to lose.
It's already there.
It's what we are made of.
I always thought that I was me. But no, I was wrong, I was you and never knew it.
Embrace this moment.
Remember.
We are eternal.
All this pain is an illusion.
1.12.10
Duh!
Such a moment of clarity.
Suddenly I see everything through the lucid winter air. All pain is gone. Everything is SO SIMPLE, how come I didn’t see it before? Yes, that’s exactly what it is: a slight shift in perspective, a subtle, intangible sparkle in perception.
We are all made of love.
We’ve just lost the key. The key to awareness of our substance. That’s what we’ve been searching for, it’s already there..... There’s nothing to look for, nothing to seek, it’s there. And it’s going to be there all the time, forevermore......
If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.
We are all made of stars. Universes within us. There are so many gateways to this infinity, we just need to reach out and open the doors. There are keys that work instantly – touching a soulmate, holding you child, being present.
Nature.
Music.
Silence.
“Death”.
This is our natural state.
Why have we been missing something that’s been there all along?
Yes, Kaushik, the I does not exist, it’s just an idea. We are all synchronic eons.
Danny, I hope you see what a sheer wonder your album is. It is a pure gateway to love. Nothing more, nothing less. Thank you.
Suddenly I see everything through the lucid winter air. All pain is gone. Everything is SO SIMPLE, how come I didn’t see it before? Yes, that’s exactly what it is: a slight shift in perspective, a subtle, intangible sparkle in perception.
We are all made of love.
We’ve just lost the key. The key to awareness of our substance. That’s what we’ve been searching for, it’s already there..... There’s nothing to look for, nothing to seek, it’s there. And it’s going to be there all the time, forevermore......
If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.
We are all made of stars. Universes within us. There are so many gateways to this infinity, we just need to reach out and open the doors. There are keys that work instantly – touching a soulmate, holding you child, being present.
Nature.
Music.
Silence.
“Death”.
This is our natural state.
Why have we been missing something that’s been there all along?
Yes, Kaushik, the I does not exist, it’s just an idea. We are all synchronic eons.
Danny, I hope you see what a sheer wonder your album is. It is a pure gateway to love. Nothing more, nothing less. Thank you.
26.11.10
25.11.10
insomnia thoughts
Everything is fucked up and I am happy. The magic of NOW.
So much energy. Where did it come from?!
So much energy. Where did it come from?!
19.11.10
he's a dreamer
He is unbearably lonely. He knows he should accept it and let go. He is struggling. He's denying the chaos within. Trying to stay on the surface. But at night it feels like drowning. Ugly thoughts emerge. He lets them pour in and gets lost in his desires.
His dreams are beautiful but painful and raw. Untouchable. He shares them and denies having shared them. He doesn't want anyone touching them. He's a solitary child.
16.11.10
mirror
If there’s a mirror you want, just look into my eyes...
But I’ve never looked into your eyes.
Yet you’ve been my mirror for ages.
I see you each time I look up to the sky.
I still feel you when I smell the autumn streets.
The notion of looking into your eyes is overwhelming. It scares me on so many levels, yet there’s an odd that everything will fall into place.
Like it always has.
There’s a chance one glance will encompass years of understanding and love.
We’ll remember all the songs that we’ve shared and everything will stay still in relief.
One look will scrape us bare and will leave only what is real. The core of our souls will come to light like it always has.
Maybe we’ll be too scared to speak. Maybe we’ll feel we’ve never had to talk. Maybe it will feel like home. Maybe we will cry. It will be a moment of utter nowness.
But I’ve never looked into your eyes.
Yet you’ve been my mirror for ages.
I see you each time I look up to the sky.
I still feel you when I smell the autumn streets.
The notion of looking into your eyes is overwhelming. It scares me on so many levels, yet there’s an odd that everything will fall into place.
Like it always has.
There’s a chance one glance will encompass years of understanding and love.
We’ll remember all the songs that we’ve shared and everything will stay still in relief.
One look will scrape us bare and will leave only what is real. The core of our souls will come to light like it always has.
Maybe we’ll be too scared to speak. Maybe we’ll feel we’ve never had to talk. Maybe it will feel like home. Maybe we will cry. It will be a moment of utter nowness.
all the souls I adore
Here’s two words for you, he said: ha ha
You’ve switched lobes, he said.
I don’t do shoes, clothes and tv shows, he said.
Forgot how much it hurts to miss a breathing being in this world, she said.
You’ve made kinetic that which was inert, he said.
I adore the way you write, I said.
No fucking peace of anything can help it right now, she said.
You’ve never been in the left lobe, he said.
Vortexes abound, he said, it’s cosmic and divine.
Let’s see where this goes, I said.
There is no ‘this’, he said.
My neurons are firing in a different way now, I said.
Your neurons are hurting my neurons, he said.
I'm just glad to know you're there somewhere, she said.
You’re hurting me, I said.
You’re hurting yourself, he said.
Welcome to my post-modern world, I said.
Your pre-post-modern world was very different, he said.
I’ve read the book from cover to cover and I’m sorry, I said.
I forgive you, forgive me, I said.
Dreams are reflections of your own mind, he said.
I bet Tori and Alanis are laughing at me, I said.
So how do you feel about it, he said.
It felt good, I said.
How are you, she said.
Reborn, I said.
15.11.10
carpe diem
Today was a long walk in the wind with my son. It's amazing to watch him make sense of things. It's amazing to realize that HE UNDERSTANDS. In his own unique way. I bet he sees things much clearer than I ever will. Everything is interesting to him. HE LIVES IN THE MOMENT. He notices every sound, every texture, every light... Nothing else matters to him than NOW.
Today was a big day for Dora's music development. I bought myself a pair of shamefully expensive wireless headphones. I want to turn into a Bradbury character: never putting my headphones down and reading people's lips. My precious:
First thing I heard: OPETH. It was like a revelation, like I had never heard them before. It was one of those moments when a band suddenly gets you by the throat and you're like: WOW, where the fuck have I been all these years? Today I fell in love with Opeth.
Today was a big day for Dora's music development. I bought myself a pair of shamefully expensive wireless headphones. I want to turn into a Bradbury character: never putting my headphones down and reading people's lips. My precious:
First thing I heard: OPETH. It was like a revelation, like I had never heard them before. It was one of those moments when a band suddenly gets you by the throat and you're like: WOW, where the fuck have I been all these years? Today I fell in love with Opeth.
14.11.10
here comes the sun
It's seven in the morning and I just saw the last gleams of Venus. My son is drinking his milk beside me. I promised myself that I would write every day, but yesterday evening my head was completely empty. Which is a very healthy feeling by the way.
Next week there will be an exhibition of Dali's illustrations for the Divine Comedy and I want to write an article about it. The illustrations are so precious and they follow Dante word by word.
And last week there was an exhibition of Magritte. Did you know that the window in "The Looking Glass" is actually cut out of the painting like in a child's book?Here comes the sun... Breathing is bridging the gap between black and light.
I feel good.
13.11.10
warm and windy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2yJLQjaBfEThe last few days have been very special. It’s the weather.
Warm.
And windy.
The sky is a blackish-gray, but there is an inner light in the air coming out of nowhere...
My new job is on a small street full of foreign shops, enclosed by dancing yellow trees. I see them dance in the light of my window. I see a balcony that’s falling apart gracefully. The yellow leaves rain on the balcony.
And I miss you most of all, my darling...
Today I met someone who likes to take pictures of sunrises. We exchanged sunrises.
I am learning to forgive. I thought I could forgive, but now I see that real forgiveness is so much greater than what I’ve been doing. Real forgiveness is acceptance that “What Is Just Is”. Acceptance of the moment - of everything that lies within.
It is
so
damn
hard.
But when it happens, it’s beautiful.
24.8.10
In the shadow...
Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God...
Then God is not dead.
- Agalloch
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God...
Then God is not dead.
- Agalloch
15.8.10
През призмата на Изида
Изида наистина си отива с дъжда...
Всъщност с какво не си отива Изида?
Изида и пътуване под арка от дървета...
Изида и слънчогледови полета...
Изида и снопове от лавандула...
Изида и слънчеви зелени хълмове...
Изида и първа морска пяна по глезените...
Изида и танцът на теченията...
Изида и платна на хоризонта...
Изида и морска безметежност...
Изида и хладната утеха на водата...
Изида и вятър по солената кожа...
Изида и зрели златни звезди...
Изида и непрогледно черно море...
Изида и миризма на огън и сол...
Изида и Млечният път...
Изида и Касиопея...
Изида и величието на небето.
Изида и величието на водата.
no direction
I watched the people from above,
how they are hurrying at any cost
and most of them, in look for love
are going nowhere like they're lost.
Their minds, obsessed by dreaming,
are filled with sorrow or with doubt,
but just a single day with meaning
is surely better than a life without.
- Николай Николов
how they are hurrying at any cost
and most of them, in look for love
are going nowhere like they're lost.
Their minds, obsessed by dreaming,
are filled with sorrow or with doubt,
but just a single day with meaning
is surely better than a life without.
- Николай Николов
11.8.10
И все пак тя се върна...
"Можеше ли да я задържи? Можеше ли да я задържи, ако беше друг? Но какво щеше да задържи? Само една илюзия и нищо друго. Не бе ли достатъчно и това? Можеше ли да се постигне нещо повече? Кой знаеше нещо за черния вихър на живота, който кипеше безименно в чувствата ни и превръщаше празния звук във вещи, маса, лампа, родина, в Ти и любов? Съществуваше само предчувствие и страхотен полумрак. Не бе ли достатъчно и това?
Не бе достатъчно. Достатъчно бе само, ако човек вярва в него. Щом кристалът е разбит от чука на съмнението, човек може само да го залепи и нищо повече. Да го залепи, да излъже и да наблюдава натрошения му блясък, който е бил някога бяло сияние. Нищо не се връща. Нищо не се повтаря. Нищо! Дори ако Жоан се върне, няма да бъде същото. Само залепен кристал. Мигът бе отлетял. Нищо не можеше да го върне назад.
Той почувства остра, непоносима болка. Нещо го разкъсваше. „Господи, боже мой — помисли си — как може да страдам толкова, и то затова! Наблюдавам се отстрани, но това не променя нищо. Знам, че ако загубеното се върне, ще го изпусна отново, но копнежът ми ще остане жив. Аз разсичам болката като труп в моргата и по тоя начин хилядократно я съживявам. Знам, че един ден ще мине, но това сега не ми помага.“ Той хвърли премрежен поглед към прозореца. Почувства се ужасно смешен, но и това нищо не промени.
Силна гръмотевица разтърси града. Дъжд закапа по храстите. Равик стана. Улицата изглеждаше посипана с черно сребро. Дъждът запя. Едрите топли капки обляха лицето му. Той престана изведнъж да разбира смешен ли е, или жалък, страда ли, или не. Знаеше само, че е жив. Жив. Животът го държеше и разтърсваше. Не беше само страничен наблюдател; величието на неудържимото чувство пламтеше в жилите му като огън в пещ; нямаше значение дали е щастлив, или нещастен. Достатъчно беше, че е жив и съзнава това. "
"Триумфалната акра"
Не бе достатъчно. Достатъчно бе само, ако човек вярва в него. Щом кристалът е разбит от чука на съмнението, човек може само да го залепи и нищо повече. Да го залепи, да излъже и да наблюдава натрошения му блясък, който е бил някога бяло сияние. Нищо не се връща. Нищо не се повтаря. Нищо! Дори ако Жоан се върне, няма да бъде същото. Само залепен кристал. Мигът бе отлетял. Нищо не можеше да го върне назад.
Той почувства остра, непоносима болка. Нещо го разкъсваше. „Господи, боже мой — помисли си — как може да страдам толкова, и то затова! Наблюдавам се отстрани, но това не променя нищо. Знам, че ако загубеното се върне, ще го изпусна отново, но копнежът ми ще остане жив. Аз разсичам болката като труп в моргата и по тоя начин хилядократно я съживявам. Знам, че един ден ще мине, но това сега не ми помага.“ Той хвърли премрежен поглед към прозореца. Почувства се ужасно смешен, но и това нищо не промени.
Силна гръмотевица разтърси града. Дъжд закапа по храстите. Равик стана. Улицата изглеждаше посипана с черно сребро. Дъждът запя. Едрите топли капки обляха лицето му. Той престана изведнъж да разбира смешен ли е, или жалък, страда ли, или не. Знаеше само, че е жив. Жив. Животът го държеше и разтърсваше. Не беше само страничен наблюдател; величието на неудържимото чувство пламтеше в жилите му като огън в пещ; нямаше значение дали е щастлив, или нещастен. Достатъчно беше, че е жив и съзнава това. "
"Триумфалната акра"
18.12.09
Музиката
Вдъхновено от Demians - The Perfect Symmetry
И въпреки цялата ебана шибня, я има музиката...
И въпреки че раждаме деца без да сме готови, я има музиката...
И въпреки че нямаме капка смирение, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не можем да преглътнем гордостта си, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не знаем къде да спрем, я има музиката...
И въпреки че изричаме немислимо грозни думи, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не можем да простим на най-близките си хора, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме пълни с жлъч и горчивина, я има музиката...
Въпреки че нямаме нито търпение, нито търпимост, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се примирили и се носим по течението, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се превърнали в най-големия си кошмар, я има музиката...
Въпреки че нямаме сили да бъдем по-добри, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се отказали от мечтите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме свикнали със страха, че сме свикнали, я има музиката...
Въпреки че искаме да убием детското в себе си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не обичаме себе си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не учим децата си да обичат себе си, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не уважаваме родителите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че живеем в компютрите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не забелязваме небето, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме забравили да бъдем хора, я има музиката...Въпреки че сме суетни егоисти до дъното на душата си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не сме достойни хора, я има музиката...
Музиката покрива света като сняг и опрощава всичко грозно в нас... Тя замайва сетивата и притъпява съзнанието, докато вината ни започне да изглежда поносима. Музиката е нашата свръхдоза. Свръхдоза вдъхновение, свръхдоза опрощение, свръхдоза извинение... Извинение за грозното ни съществуване. Бягство от отговорността. Примирение с посредствеността. Пречистване. Пътуване през безкрайни снежни полета.
Просто...покой.
И въпреки цялата ебана шибня, я има музиката...
И въпреки че раждаме деца без да сме готови, я има музиката...
И въпреки че нямаме капка смирение, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не можем да преглътнем гордостта си, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не знаем къде да спрем, я има музиката...
И въпреки че изричаме немислимо грозни думи, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не можем да простим на най-близките си хора, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме пълни с жлъч и горчивина, я има музиката...
Въпреки че нямаме нито търпение, нито търпимост, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се примирили и се носим по течението, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се превърнали в най-големия си кошмар, я има музиката...
Въпреки че нямаме сили да бъдем по-добри, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме се отказали от мечтите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме свикнали със страха, че сме свикнали, я има музиката...
Въпреки че искаме да убием детското в себе си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не обичаме себе си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не учим децата си да обичат себе си, я има музиката...
И въпреки че не уважаваме родителите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че живеем в компютрите си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не забелязваме небето, я има музиката...
Въпреки че сме забравили да бъдем хора, я има музиката...Въпреки че сме суетни егоисти до дъното на душата си, я има музиката...
Въпреки че не сме достойни хора, я има музиката...
Музиката покрива света като сняг и опрощава всичко грозно в нас... Тя замайва сетивата и притъпява съзнанието, докато вината ни започне да изглежда поносима. Музиката е нашата свръхдоза. Свръхдоза вдъхновение, свръхдоза опрощение, свръхдоза извинение... Извинение за грозното ни съществуване. Бягство от отговорността. Примирение с посредствеността. Пречистване. Пътуване през безкрайни снежни полета.
Просто...покой.
9.10.09
Brainstorming
Aurica was right... Inspiration does come, if you have it in you... You just have to start somewhere. With a song. A song dedicated to Pink Floyd. But so very alive in its own way.
Amazing how a song can unlock the beauty of autumn. The sky you haven't noticed in months... The majestic clouds over the mountain. Trying to find words to describe it...no words, it's like a perfect piece of music - complex, yet in perfect harmony. Airplane traces over the red autumn trees... Seems that we can add something to the beauty of the sky - plane stripes. :)
And after a while
You realize time flies...
And the best thing that you can do
Is take whatever comes to you
'Cause time flies...
She said nothing ever happens
If you don't make it happen...
Little yellow petals in the stroller of my sleeping child... This is the beauty of life... It should always make me cry...like now...
An old man glancing at the trash can... Just briefly, he seems ashamed...
A boy pushing his bicycle with a flat tire...
A mother saying the same syllable to her baby over and over again...
The smell of autumn...
And me, crying, listening to Porcupine Tree, and writing on the back of an old heating bill...
Writing...for the first time in months... Or years?
What makes me write?
Drugs and music.
But drugs are not the way. Or are they?
How do you unlock your mind?
When songs like this touch you once every 3 years?
11.9.09
on writing...
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
- bukowski
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
- bukowski
20.6.08
Marillion - The Wound
Marillion - The Wound
I've done everything that can be done to heal this wound
Left it on it's own for years
I've done everything that can be done to heal this wound
Left it on it's own for years
Couldn't touch it, didn't pick it, didn't get it wet
It didn't stop the bleeding
I bandaged it, I wrapped it, stitched it, tourniqueted it
I held it stiff and aching in the air
Held it there til I went berserk
Didn't sleep
It didn't work
Didn't stop it weeping
And the wound is your life
And your life took on a life of it's own
(Or so you foolishly thought)
And your life rolled on over me Bang-Bang like 56 train wheels
Every time I heard news of you
And the wound was in every lousy song on the radio
And the pain was like a tree-fern in the dark, damp, forgotten places
Darkness didn't stop her growing
New-born baby cells dividing..
Curled up tight unrolling day by day
Stretching up, stretching out
Forming the same identical shape
Clones. There ain't too much sadder than
Clones - relentlessly emerging from the hairy heart of the wound
And the fern is beautiful in it's own way
Uncurling in the dark
Beautiful with no one there to see it
As the wound weeps and aches
(Now there's some sad things known to the man from the planet Marzipan)
16.6.08
Alanis Morissette - Incomplete
Fucking spot on!
Alanis Morissette - Incomplete
One day I'll find relief
I'll be arrived and I'll be a friend to my friends
who know how to be friends
One day I'll be at peace
I’ll be enlightened and I'll be married with children and maybe adopt
One day I will be healed
I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
One day, my mind will retreat, and I'll know god and I'll be constantly one with her night, dusk and day
One day I'll be secure, like the women I see on their 30th anniversaries
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
Ever unfolding
Ever expanding
Ever adventurous and torturous
But never done
One day, I will speak freely
I'll be less afraid
And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art
One day I will be faith-filled
I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and whole
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
Alanis Morissette - Incomplete
One day I'll find relief
I'll be arrived and I'll be a friend to my friends
who know how to be friends
One day I'll be at peace
I’ll be enlightened and I'll be married with children and maybe adopt
One day I will be healed
I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
One day, my mind will retreat, and I'll know god and I'll be constantly one with her night, dusk and day
One day I'll be secure, like the women I see on their 30th anniversaries
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
Ever unfolding
Ever expanding
Ever adventurous and torturous
But never done
One day, I will speak freely
I'll be less afraid
And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art
One day I will be faith-filled
I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and whole
I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line
And I have been missing the rapture this whole time
Of being forever incomplete
17.4.08
23.3.08
22.3.08
Muere lentamente
He dies slowly,
who does not travel,
who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself.
He dies slowly
who destroys his self-love,
who does not accept help from another.
He dies slowly
who transforms himself into a slave of habit,
repeating every day the same course,
who does not change mark,
does not dare to change the colour of his clothes
or does not talk with persons he does not know.
He dies slowly,
who avoids passion and its turmoil of emotions,
just those that bring bright to the eyes
and restore destroyed hearts.
He dies slowly,
who does not turn the page
when he is unhappy with his work, or his love,
who does not risk the certain or the uncertain
to go beyond a dream,
who does not afford, even once in his life,
fleeing from sensible advice.
Live today!
Risk today!
Do it today!
Don't let yourself die slowly!
Don't prevent yourself from being happy!
Pablo Neruda
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dies slowly he who transforms himself in slave of habit, repeating every day the same itineraries, who does not change brand, does not risk to wear a new color and doesn't talk to those he doesn't know.
Dies slowly he who makes of television his guru.
Dies slowly he who avoids a passion, who prefers black to white and the dots on the "i" to a whirlpool of emotions, just those ones that recover the gleam from the eyes, smiles from the yawns, hearts from the stumbling and feelings.
Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table when is unhappy at work, who does not risk the certain for the uncertain to go toward that dream that is keeping him awake.
Who does not allow, at least one time in life, to flee from sensate advises.
Dies slowly he who does not travel, does not read, does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself.
Dies slowly he who destroys his self-love, who does not accept help from another.
Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the incessant rain.
Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it, who does not ask over a subject that does not know or who does not answer when being asked about something he knows.
Dies slowly he who does not share his emotions, joys and sadness, who does not trust, who does not even try.
Dies slowly he who does not relive his memories and continues getting emotional as if living them at that moment.
Dies slowly he who does not intent excelling, who does not learn from the stones of the road of life, who does not love and let somebody love.
Let's avoid death in soft quotes, remembering always that to be alive demands an effort much bigger that the simple act of breathing.
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