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

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

holy shit i love you

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 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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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...”

a game of pool

People are like billiard balls.
They come.
They hit you.
Change your way.
And go.
And it's OK.

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

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.

In Your Room (Message in a Bottle)

In your room
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...

- 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.

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.

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

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:

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

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

“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.

fuck

Honestly, I had no idea that this would fuck me up so bad... :(

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.

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.

a moment

Fruit wine, Opeth and a dark cafe... Life is beautiful.

insomnia thoughts

Everything is fucked up and I am happy. The magic of NOW.
So much energy. Where did it come from?!

he's a dreamer

He's a dreamer. He's walked a long path since his abusive childhood and damaging youth. He's healed. He smiles a lot and seems peaceful and mature. He has the sparkling unborn star of wisdom in his chest.

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.

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.

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.

the power of looooooooooooove!

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.

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.

warm and windy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2yJLQjaBfE

The 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.

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

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

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"

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.

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?

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

Monty Python - Dead Parrot

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)

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

DAVID LYNCH IS A GOD!

Cooper's Dream

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.

True, true...

My first trip

Не очаквах такова преживяване... Всичко започна с промяна в звуковите възприятия – всички звуци ми се струваха много далечни, сякаш идват от другия край на света и резонират в главата ми преди да достигнат съзнанието ми. Може да се опише като вълни, които те заливат, но на приливи и отливи, звукът се отразява и отблъсква от теб и после се връща... За всеки един звук ми трябваха поне 10 секунди за асимилация. Но най-странното беше, че и собственият ми глас идваше със закъснение. Сякаш чувах ехо в телефонна слушалка. Беше толкова невероятно да чувам собствения си глас сякаш е извън мен или сякаш аз съм извън него. Всяко едно изречение, което казвах, беше изненада, сякаш не го казвах аз, сякаш бях извън тялото си и се чувах да говоря. Всеки път като отворех уста, се стрясках.
Още в началото изпитах едно усещане, което с течение на времето се засили – усещането, че съм абсолютно сама и че светът около мен се разпада, че единственото, което остава, единственото, което е реално, е моята душа. Нищо друго нямаше значение – само тази дълбока същност вътре в мен. Всичко се концентрираше вътре в нея. Деси ме попита какво представлява тази същност.
– Черен дим... – отговорих.
– И все пак какво представлява? – попита ме тя.
– Енергия...
– Как така?
– Тя е това, което Е... Тя просто е.
Струваше ми се, че тя е единственото истинско нещо, единствената реалност. Всичко друго – тялото ми, околният свят, беше нереално... Нереалното беше много по-реално от реалността. Всеки въпрос, който Деси ми задаваше, изтръгваше тази същност през черупката на тялото ми. Имах чувството, че черното цяло вътре в мен разбива прозорците на тялото ми и се сипва навън чрез гласа ми. В момента, в който проговорех, черната ми същност натрошаваше стъклената обвивка на тялото и ся разпръсваше навън под формата на светлина. Това ми струваше огромни усилия. Всеки път, когато кажех нещо, имах чувството, че се събуждам от дълбок сън, че ме изтръгват от безсъзнание... Усещането за цялост, за съединение със себе си беше толкова всеобхватно и успокоително. Не исках да бъда нищо друго освен този черен дим... Бях едновременно вътре в тялото си и извън него. Не се чувствах част от тялото си, чувствах се като къс енергия и въпреки това нямаше как да се отделя от тялото си. Спомням си, че обяснявах на Деси, че тялото ми е просто пречка, ненужна обвивка. Но само чрез нея можех да общувам с околните, което ме кара да мисля, че дълбоко в себе си всички сме сами. Но в това няма нищо страшно... Би било интересно да правиш секс в такова състояние. В момент на пълно единение със себе си да се съединиш с друг.
Музиката също ме изтръгваше от съня, понякога звучеше толкова реално и стряскащо, че имах чувството, че изпълнителят е до мен. Музиката се блъскаше в прозрачната обвивка на тялото ми като синя вода и ме обгръщаше... Тя беше едно от малкото неща, които очертаваха контурите на тялото ми и ми напомняха, че не съм само черен дим... Звуковите ми възприятия бяха толкова променени, че когато темпото на една песен леко се забави, се зачудих дали не го правя аз. Като цяло списъкът с песни, който правихме 2 часа с Деси се оказа много добър. Treefingers е перфектната песен за такива моменти! Trrriiippy...
Имах чувството, че сънувам наяве. Състоянието беше много подобно на сън, с тази разлика, че имах контрол над мислите си. Тоест можех да анализирам какво ми се случва, докато сънувам. В главата ми изплува думата “stoned”, която беше много подходяща за състоянието ми. Като затворех очи, виждах бели цветя във формата на снежинки... Постепенно черното ядро вътре в мен се превръщаше в светлина... Сякаш преминавах през някакво пречистване...
В един момент осъзнах, че това преживяване въобще не е това, което очаквах. Очаквах да почувствам вселената, да се слея с всичко, да се докосна до Бога. Казах на Деси, че сигурно ще й е интересно да знае, че в това преживяване въобще няма Бог. В търсене на Бог открих душата си... Стана ми смешно, защото се провалих като правоверна New Age последователка – нали те казват, че Бог е навсякъде и вътре в нас...
– А къде е Бог? – попита ме Деси.
– Не казвам, че няма Бог. Просто аз не го усещам... Единственото, което мога да кажа е, че аз съм Бог...
Така казах... Иска ми се да бях казала друго, ама така казах. Явно трябва първо да погледна дълбоко в себе си и после да търся Бог.
Беше ми интересно дали ще е много по-различно от това да си пиян. Определено е различно. Когато си пиян светът около теб не изчезва. Предполагам, че това е перфектното бягство, ако си много наранен, начин да забравиш за всичко и да останеш насаме със себе си. В една реалност, където нищо друго освен Аз-ът няма значение. Предполагам, че медитацията и хипнозата се доближават до това състояние... Спомням си как отговарях на въпросите на Деси като насън... Може би наистина подсъзнанието ми е говорило тогава.
Както каза Мила: "Всеки намира нещо различно. Не знам вие какво ще намерите в себе си..."
Определено си заслужаваше. Аз очаквах да се счупя от смях, а то какво стана... Много себеутвърждаващо преживяване. Просто намираш опора в себе си и осъзнаваш колко плътно и здраво нещо е човешката душа. А тялото е просто обвивка...

Вярата

Aradia:

"Вярвам, че вярата в Бог (или респективно в силите, които му
съответстват) е най-важното нещо и вярвам в хората, и в тяхната
вяра, и им вярвам, когато вярват."

Things I want to do

www.43things.com

1. create
2. read up on an eastern religion
3. drink more water
4. write a book
5. visit india, nepal and tibet
6. learn to meditate
7. go on a road trip with no predetermined destination
8. Stop caring what other people think of me
9. do past life regression
10. trip on mushrooms
11. sleep on a rooftop under the stars
12. Read more
13. Write more
14. get back in touch with nature
15. never, EVER grow up
16. stop spending so much time on the computer
17. actually do what is on my list
18. live instead of exist
19. jump into water fully clothed
20. fly a kite
21. Kiss in the rain
22. travel more
23. let go of guilt
24. have no fear
25. treat people better
26. have all night conversations
27. meet more like minded people
28. be less selfish
29. learn to love myself
30. Don't worry, be happy
31. have my own home
32. spend more time outdoors
33. achieve enlightenment
34. Have A Mystical Experience
35. talk to lisa gerrard
36. see more

Life before life

This is a comment on "do past life regression" at www.43things.com. This is exactly what I am looking for right now:

"I had a fusion therapy this week. Part of the process involved the therapist using a brief past life visualisation, I dont think it lasted for more than ten minutes. I cant recall the whole process but was awed at how quickly I responded to her prompts, she spoke quickly to avoid letting me have time to think and question what was being asked. When she asked me what did I see before coming into being, I described myself as an energy state, with out boundaries or form. I was aware of being a part of, and looking out to into a star strewn black universe. It was a really strange and safe feeling of consiousness with out form. I didnt really think, I was just aware of the wonder and vastness of the universe. The name cosmic water lilly popped into my head, as if the name I have chosen was vaildated. It was weird but comforting. I was expecting to relive a snapshot of a life from another centuary, this was not an experience I expected, but none the less very powerful."

A message from Lisa Gerrard

Let our stories be told in innocent ways that bring knowledge of the things that are not seen.

Lisa Gerrard

A Life Instead of Mere Living

[This is a part of my letter to Aurica]

I miss you so much it’s not even funny. There has been a sudden, rather unexpected change in my life. I don’t know how it happened, I guess it was lurking inside me, clouded by all the material thoughts, by all the stuff that WAS NOT ME. Suddenly I just shook off my lethargy and started to THINK again. And thoughts have been bombarding me for the past few weeks. It almost feels like the old times when we were talking about the universe and the meaning of life. I found out that I am not ready to grow up. “Never disagree with your youth...” If growing up means to stop dreaming and reflecting on life, then by all means...NEVER GROW UP... I look back and I see that I’ve spent the past two years of my life in some kind of oblivion – worrying about everyday stuff, about absolutely inessential things, just making it through the day, languishing... Slowly a phrase made its way to my mind: A Life Instead of Mere Living… It began as a craving for creativity and nostalgia for philosophical conversations and it transformed into a quest…a quest for…God I would say, God in His purest form, God as energy, God as the universe, as the purpose of life. I have been studying Theory of Religion and one of its subjects fascinates me: atheism. It bewilders me how people can be atheists. I have been talking to people who don’t believe in God, trying to understand them, to study them…and don’t misunderstand me – my idea of God is as broad as it gets, it expresses my belief that there is a deeper purpose behind life and creation. A purpose that could in no way be random. I guess I’m lucky to have that belief inside me, today a friend of mine told me she wished she could believe in something, anything…
I have to stop because my eyes are welling up… I’m listening to Lisa Gerrard and the moon is shining into my window, what a beautiful moment… Wandering Star… I’ve missed those moments… Moments when you hear the world’s heart beating inside you, when you’re overwhelmed with beauty. Running in your veins like alcohol… Lisa Gerrard can do this to you:)
I don’t know how atheists could appreciate the beauty of life the way I can. They are living a full-blooded life, I am sure, but there is no magic in their life, no transcendental pursuit, no purpose. How could you believe that your soul is purposeless? How could you believe that the diversity of this world is accidental? How could you believe that music is godless? How can there be Spirit without God?
All of these thoughts led to questions, questions I’ve asked myself before but never really answered, maybe they were waiting for the right time to emerge… Questions about the mind, about reincarnation, about creativity, about the soul… I believe in reincarnation. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Maybe because I’ve known it since I was a child (my father used to talk to me about those things) or maybe because it really sounds reasonable and…wise. It sounds like a well thought out system. A system where things like guilt, judgment and fear are superfluous simply because our main goal is to evolve. No one will be judging us when we die, so we shouldn’t judge ourselves. Self-love, it seems to me, is one of the most important things in life.
The moon is setting behind the trees…
All of these thoughts were triggered by a video about “life between lives”. It is fascinating and it really makes sense to me:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=0QDT58Q6Zxo

Watch all the parts if you can.

Looking at life from this new perspective is rejuvenating. Everything seems different now. A lot of things that seemed important yesterday are insignificant today. For example I know that when we die we define every aspect of our new life: our parents, our country, whether we will be victims or winners…so I am really interested in what I chose. I have been ignoring my parents and my problems with them and now I know I have to deal with this because it is an important step in my development. I chose it because I have to deal with it.
It’s all about learning. But not a cognitive kind of learning. A spiritual kind. It can be done through meditation, through transcendental, mystical experiences… It made me think of trying mushrooms. It seems like a good way to open your mind.

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.”
- William Blake

Look for God... The first place I will look will be deep within me.

I guess I’m a proper New Age follower.

Another thing that seems important to me is LETTING GO. I just realized this couple of days ago. It seems that it is not the point to stuff your mind with ideas, to fight fear or depression, the point is in letting go, releasing yourself from everything you know, everything you fear, setting yourself free. Your mind needs space to reach the truth. Here is a quote from Salinger’s Teddy that describes this very well:

"You know Adam?" Teddy asked him.

"Do I know who?"

"Adam. In the Bible."

Nicholson smiled. "Not personally," he said dryly.

Teddy hesitated. "Don't be angry with me," he said. "You asked me a question, and I'm--"

"I'm not angry with you, for heaven's sake."

"Okay," Teddy said. He was sitting back in his chair, but his head was turned toward Nicholson. "You know that apple Adam ate in the Garden of Eden, referred to in the Bible?" he asked. "You know what was in that apple? Logic. Logic and intellectual stuff. That was all that was in it. So--this is my point--what you have to do is vomit it up if you want to see things as they really are. I mean if you vomit it up, then you won't have any more trouble with blocks of wood and stuff. You won't see everything stopping off all the time. And you'll know what your arm really is, if you're interested. Do you know what I mean? Do you follow me?"

"I follow you," Nicholson said, rather shortly.

"The trouble is," Teddy said, "most people don't want to see things the way they are. They don't even want to stop getting born and dying all the time. They just want new bodies all the time, instead of stopping and staying with God, where it's really nice." He reflected. "I never saw such a bunch of apple-eaters," he said. He shook his head.

***

"May I ask why you told Professor Peet he should stop teaching after the first of the year?" Nicholson asked, rather bluntly. "I know Bob Peet. That's why I ask."

Teddy tightened his alligator belt. "Only because he's quite spiritual, and he's teaching a lot of stuff right now that isn't very good for him if he wants to make any real spiritual advancement. It stimulates him too much. It's time for him to take everything out of his head, instead of putting more stuff in. He could get rid of a lot of the apple in just this one life if he wanted to. He's very good at meditating."

And here’s another one:

Teddy got up. "I better go now. I don't want to be too late."

Nicholson looked up at him, and sustained the look--detaining him. "What would you do if you could change the educational system?" he asked ambiguously. "Ever think about that at all?"

"I really have to go," Teddy said.

"Just answer that one question," Nicholson said. "Education's my baby, actually--that's what I teach. That's why I ask."

"Well . . . I'm not too sure what I'd do," Teddy said. "I know I'm pretty sure I wouldn't start with the things schools usually start with." He folded his arms, and reflected briefly. "I think I'd first just assemble all the children together and show them how to meditate. I'd try to show them how to find out who they are, not just what their names are and things like that . . . I guess, even before that, I'd get them to empty out everything their parents and everybody ever told them. I mean even if their parents just told them an elephant's big, I'd make them empty that out. An elephant's only big when it's next to something else--a dog or a lady, for example." Teddy thought another moment. "I wouldn't even tell them an elephant has a trunk. I might show them an elephant, if I had one handy, but I'd let them just walk up to the elephant not knowing anything more about it than the elephant knew about them. The same thing with grass, and other things. I wouldn't even tell them grass is green. Colors are only names. I mean if you tell them the grass is green, it makes them start expecting the grass to look a certain way--your way--instead of some other way that may be just as good, and may be much better . . . I don't know. I'd just make them vomit up every bit of the apple their parents and everybody made them take a bite out of."

"There's no risk you'd be raising a little generation of ignoramuses?"

"Why? They wouldn't any more be ignoramuses than an elephant is. Or a bird is. Or a tree is," Teddy said. "Just because something is a certain way, instead of just behaves a certain way, doesn't mean it's an ignoramus."

"No?"

"No!" Teddy said. "Besides, if they wanted to learn all that other stuff--names and colors and things--they could do it, if they felt like it, later on when they were older. But I'd want them to begin with all the real ways of looking at things, not just the way all the other apple-eaters look at things--that's what I mean."

***

And last but not least: creativity. This was maybe the trigger for all my thoughts - my craving TO CREATE. I’ve been thinking what creation is and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is a connection with the force of life, with the transcendent, call it God, call it universal energy, call it what you want… The creator is translating the beauty of life. We are just conductors, messengers of the universal mind. This is why creativity is so important – because there’s a message to be transmitted. And this message can be heard in a free, meditative state of mind, when you let go of everything…

"The most beautiful and most profound experience is the sensation of the mystical. It is the sower of all true science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead. To know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their primitive forms - this knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true religiousness."

- Albert Einstein

All of this and a lot more has been going through my mind. I never thought I was a religious person!

I am happy. I see more, I feel more, I think more. I’ve woken up.


P.S. I wish it could be spring so I could spend more time in nature… I’m spending too much time in front of the computer.

Tool - Lateralus

Spiral out...keep going...spiral out....





Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind...

I hope for nothing.
I fear nothing.
I am free.

Nikos Kazantzakis' epitaph