Every little cobble....

A friend of mine said once that every person has a story to unveil.... True! I'd go as far as to say that everything around has a story. Stories are not just a human characteristic- every little stone, or every leaf has its story. There is a story in the wind, in the silence surrounding us at night, there is a story in the roots and branches of trees, in the fragrance of flowers in spring... We fail to see their story many times. Whispered, sung, or just uttered- they rarely get to us, not because they'd lack essence or import, but rather that we lack the knowledge and patience to listen to their story, to watch their story....

Here is a glimpse into a possible story- imagination and peace will fill the rest of the puzzle...

Easter

Just wishing a very Happy Easter and Joyeuses Paques for those who celebrate Easter this Sunday! May you enjoy the beloved's presence and love!

" sprinter"

spring + winter =.....?..... "sprinter????" What started as a very shy spring some days ago became a very brave and bold spring. I guess these are some of the advantages of the global warming..... or maybe it's just me trying to see the full side of the glass.

missing the winter d'autre fois....

That night the fresh, sweet and mild air was like the one they used to breathe while in one of the small villages scattered among hills and valleys. It was not the air of oncoming spring, but of winter, quite surprisingly a pre-Christmas winter. It reminded her a lot of long time ago, when she used to spend her winterholidays somwhere near the mountains with her grandparents. It smelled like burnt wood, smoke playfully coming out of chimneys. It smelled of people chattering around the fire, of women preparing traditional meals, of men talking over a glass of moonstone of the "serious" matters of the village, of kids anxiously expecting the next day sledging.
It was night, winter, after a several days snow....now it had stoppedand a freezing cold was conquering the village and its surroundings. Everything was so white and so light; in spite of the dark night outside all things seemed to have an inner light of their own. And everything was so frozen that almost all noises- footsteps on snow, gates being opened and then closed- almost sounded like broken ice.
Here and there some lonely dog was barking out loud its miserable life. Others always answered, closer and more distant, all joined by a clear cold echo.
That night there were lights in the sky- a huge bright moon and her billion little sisters must be having a ball...
Everything is so clear and fresh in her memory as if it all happened this last Christmas....and yet entire years passed by like eagles in their flight. The same SHE was trying to find the same sky, to grasp the same air, feeling like then. Only the faint breeze of air "d'autant" was present... The light of the earth were more powerful than those in the sky, the fragrances around her were stronger than those of the nature in winter. She was surrounded by parfumes and exquisite flavours; the cigarette smoke and the expesive drinks were invading her, sometimes the air becoming so heavy and overwheming that it almost choked her.
The infatuated laughters, the innuendo, the mean gossip floating within the room were almost hurting...she was wondering: "why hasn't anyone invented the time machine yet?"....
And she was at Aspen....

"Parliament controversy"- winter: good or bad???? NC

who said the winter was heading towards the region of the rising sun?....last week or so the sight of fragile, yet so powerful through their fragrance, made my thoughts wander towards warmth and sun and life. Spring seemed so close I my fingertips could almost touch it...it was practically there in front of me...so powerful and so life giving, and so generous in itself. it was like nature came to life- little shy flowers tempted by the warm light of the sun rays, the sky,the birds, people's faces, but most of all the air, so rich and full of je ne sais quoi. Something you can only feel but you're quite incapable of verbalizing...that's spring...feeling happy without an apparent reason, feeling powerful and yet not having an ounce more in your possession that the other day, not being alone all the while wandering the streets by yourself... That's spring....the way I felt it some time ago....

but then in a matter of hearbeats i looked outside...my eyes and face were "hit" by white. Amazing and ironic how the same white of snow can be so longed for before a certain day, and how menacing and somehow disturbing in our little petty and shallow daily habits...how come the snow so pure and so often associated with childhood memories and bells of sledges seems now , on the threshold of spring, to have become just...well, just white and cold, and blizzard...whining drivers, horns, jam, nerveous swearing and breakdown....yet we do fail to see that it's the same white, the same pure snow...we fail to see that maybe things in nature, all around us don't necessarily evole around us...we human beings are not the ones to have set the things going...there is a bigger picture here than just us getting comfortably to our jobs in the morning, or than us filling our bags with more and more food for the body and less with food for thought...so we end up complaining:
- look there is so much water in the streets because of all this melted snow!- oh damn! it's cold again, dear. Have you heard? they said it'd be - 5. Oh God. I so hate the cold!....- comon, can't you see I'm in a hurry?!?!? cross the damn street for once and for all, old man! Why don't you stay home if you can't even drag your two boney feet...? We are trying to get to work here....
and so on...all day long....every day appears to come with its own list of human complaints- weather, injustice, poverty.... and again , i really have to use this word again, as i said again ironically you , i most, of us fall in this trap of the whining immortal souls over mortal and insgnificant trifles...
trying to detach myself from it a bit here's a glimpse of the beauty of what we so much blame - winter...

Late Valentine...

moonstruck

The magic of spring nights....fragrance....unknown to come....

Yesterday a leaf decided to come to life, a leaf so tiny and fragile you could say it is nothing more than your imagination's spring. And still, even though so incredibly close to being invisible at first, that leaf grasped to life with each of its cells.

Its bright light green made people turn their heads and some would even stop and watched it for a while- it was life itself they saw in front of their eyes, life stronger than anyone could imagine in that dark and chilly afternoon of February.

Spring had come quite early that year. Quite hesitant at first, the sun got warmer and warmer till snow melted into huge streams of water coming down the mountains through the dark, sinuous valleys; strong, fast waters that invaded everything- houses, gardens, yards, people's mind and soul.

But then those days went by and became just some faded memories. Now it seems as if God in his anger against the mankind's sins had forbidden the sun. For days on the sky was overcast and everything seemed as still as if nature itself had turned itself into a painting. The air became hard to breathe, it became almost solid and the everlasting clouds made it all be as those polar days that everybody heard about- those days that always seem to be on the verge of irreality, of fantasia.

Jonathan was one of the people watching the leaf- at that moment that leaf seemed to be their last hope. Yes, it was indeed the first to appear, but somehow in a strange way they felt it was also the last, the only one. And so now, they all stood there like true religious worshippers, gathering around, more and more each day, each moment of their pathetic lives.

There were some that even started to write prayers and they kept on whispering them like zombies, on and on. And life went on like this for days, for weeks it seemed. People started even doing things that not long ago seemed meaningless to them. Some of the oldest and considerably wiser men decided that sacrifice was needed. Don't think I'm talking about rivers of blood shed by dozens of virgins... No, they had in mind a more subtle kind of sacrifice, and that sacrifice would have to be collective. They simply decided they would all have to leave their houses, their daily chores and come to the leaf. They would stay there until there was a sign of forgiveness coming from beyond the dark blnaket of clouds.

They summoned everybody from the village to the tree. They all came, some already hope painted on their face, eyes glistening at the perspective of a better life in the near future. Some others quite reluctantly: they had been working all their life to build a house, a shelter for later days.

They all went there around the fertile tree, but Jonathan. The night before this sudden, painful and yet full of hope decision, he had a dream. He dreamt about them all going around the tree, staying there quite stupidly while their houses were being plundered by fearful, fierceful knights coming all the way from the northern realm. He had dreamt about houses burning to the ground, about people being killed, people dear to him, from the village.
One of them was more dear to him than is the sea water to the fish, or the rich dark land to teh delicate lilies in the valley that used to grow all around their village. That one sweet, gentle girl he always had in mind was Tipareth. And that dear beloved girl was killed in the dream.

The next morning while all the others were tranquilly heading towards the leaf, he looked for Tipareth, trying to talk her into running away with him. Yet, she was nowhere to be found. When asked about her, people would just shrug and turn their back on him.

Desperately he searched for her for hours on and on until exhausted, he set on a stone near a once beautiful and rich garden. Now deserted and empty, the garden looked like the surface of Mars, as it was described in the ancient sagas of the village- bare, dry, lifeless and dark. he knew somehow, he could even feel it through every cell of his body, that they were wrong. Their sagas, which were the pride of the village, hid more than showed at first sight. It wasn't just about glorious event from their history, or about braveheart knights that fought courageously for the people's well- being. It was more about all the blood taht had been shed, innocent blood , most of the time. What had been considered heroic and act of bravery was in fact cowerdice and crime. And now they were all to pay for that....
Tiny bits of their history, of his life itself were pumping before his eyes, snapshots of a better, but superficial life.

He then realised- they had all cared for their properties, doing eveything possible to make things work properly. For them the richness of their land was enough and they did all to keep that. Fortunes were spent each year to have the best garden of all, to build the largest mansion of all. They invested in their ultimate goals everything they had- money, time, efforts- in their greediness they even invested what they no longer had. They kept using the word very often, yet without realising the word had become shallow. "Love" was no longer there to enrich tha land of their heart. It was just a meaningless word, an empty glass once filled with the most precious of wines. A word on eveybody's lips, but in no one's soul. Blinded by ambitions, searching for beauty at all costs they had been trampling on it as wild horses would on the green pasture of spring.

Now it was all clear, what people needed was love, what that leaf needed to survive was love- their love.

Revived by the thoughts Jonathan made for the tree to share them with the others.....

Useless to say that Peles was not by far enough for this girl, whose face you'll actually be able to see later.... Full of beautiful memories she continued her epic journey to Sighisoara- a medieval little town, quite cozy and picturesque....
The houses are fully coloured and seem to invite you in for a glass of dark red wine...You were probably wondering why dar red wine...Well, this is apparently somehow related to Dracula, whom you have all heard of. I didn't go to schools or study any history so I don't know much but what I have seen in Hollywood movies- vampires, cruelty, Vlad the Impaler, blood, a myth, a legend, true facts....noone really knows for sure....
But the place is magnificent, though too much commercialized, losing somehow a part of what makes it unique in Europe... But try to imagine how it must have looked some 2 centuries ago, full of dramatism, grace, bravery, art and romanticism. Everything must have so gothically superb!














The guradian of the town bridge:




















Time now just like it was some two hundred years ago:















Dracula's father is said to have lived here.... it might be actually truth...but what I do know is that the place has a strange air about it....















someone from the past, maybe....?















Walking in the cemetry may sometimes seem refreshing, especially on a hot August day- quite a bless- shadow, freshness and silence, a lot of green and flowers. One wouldn't say that is a cemetry....















Just someone coming out for a walk, since we were in a cemetry, that's quite normal, I presume :)



















Feeling like we could use a lil' music?















It just makes me dream, dream of a time I was a lil' rock some centuries ago...oh, good old memories!















The road of the chevalry....














Finally a lil tranquility and freshness at the end of this beautiful day- the sky's purity promises a new beautiful day coming and puts its mark on the whole splendour of the place:

They say stones have no soul, hence the saying "your heart is like stone." But if they haven't been endowed with a soul, they have , at least, been gifted with the will to listen and pass over the stories of the humble or more noble people, as they are witnessed by the ever alike stones and cobbles covering most of life's roads. Shortly, they have been given the gift of storytelling.
Thus begins my story... As a matter of fact one day I woke up hanging at some girl's neck. And thus begins my journey. She's quite a traveler this one. Through time we have traveled together thousands of miles away from home, to places of unimaginable beauty, places which just like virgin maidens, have unveiled their beauties and mystery shyly at first. As we became more familiar and intimate with the place, it started revealing more and more of its beauties and significations, with such an amazing strength and depth!

My first stop was at a place called Peles- a gorgeous castle, the pride of Romania. Set in the midst of mountains, it unveils its beauty as one approaches Sinaia. It took us almost 6 hours to get there but it was all worthy - the effort, the money and the time spent on the road. Being quite a generous stone, here are some pictures to show you all the splendours we have seen there:

players?

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players....
(William Shakespeare- As You Like It)

we all think of ourselves the best...every time we move, every tiny thing we do, we take a look around to see how people around us are impressed, we long to see admiration and approval in their eyes. And when this fails to happen, we just delude ourselves, indulging in the illusion that it is the other's fault.
but in the end we are all fools, we fail to realise we are just players playing some predefined roles...Who or what predefines them? society most of all, the fear you cannot find yourself in the well traced strata of society, the fear you might be different and then rejected. so you comply yourself to all sorts of rules more or less self imposed by which you eliminate the danger of getting lost. And you are proud - you are like others or maybe even better. And then another deadly fear comes- that of being vulnerable, of showing you also can have feelings, the fear of letting the guard down. And then, though you were already wearing a mask, you put on another one, a mask so masterly forged that it hides your self from you. In the end not even you succeed in knowing you, you end up being the role you have been playing for so long.
We fail to be true to ourselves and those around and all the strifes and pains and struggles, and smiles and lines are nothing but a reproduction, a presetting....
Shakespeare was a genius, there's no doubt about it....

The end- by The Doors....

what triggers change in people, what can make someone tread on someone else's feelings so easily and quickly as though treading on the fallen withered leaves of trees in parks?.... what can transform a beautiful friendship based on mutual trust and understanding into a crawling relationship, into something tedious, tiring, based on lies, disrespect, mistrust? You end up wondering if this all hasn't been your fault. You always tend to think it's you that did something wrong, that did something to hurt the other one. and then you're trying to fix things but nothing seems to work, nothing succeeds in bringing back what it used to be. Even worse it's like a drowning person fighting to submerge at the surface, almost knowing it's the end but still struggling to catch something, to continue living. in the end the more one struggle the longer the pain is, the outcome is the same- the end of friendship, death, you name it. The only difference there is , is the long almost endless pain you go through quite willingly or cowardly, just hoping that maybe one moment things will be again the same they used to...and your days go by devided into these 2 states and moods: on one hand you still hope for the better and try handling things like one would do with a china, always careful about the other's feelings and words and life, and then on the other hand seeing the dead end of the road you are walking on, seeing that the more you try the deeper you get into your despair, and the farther you get yourself driven away from that friend....
And by the end of the day it's still the same questions that haunt you: what went wrong? where is the sincerity that was supposed to found our friendship? and isn't this friendship worth while saving? but the questions remain empty, echoes in your tormented head, no more than that...

is it?

recently it has come to my mind as an epiphany that knowing someone is an utopia. in reality the most we can get a glimpse of someone is 2%, no more than that. and the greatest mistake of all is not only that you dare to think you know a person, but to project in that person qualities and features that are not there. You project in that person filling him or her with wishful thoughts only. You see that person as everything you wish them to be- honest, trustful, supportive, caring. And you start building a totally different personality, to build an ideal. after a while you see how blind you have been, how wrong... People are almost never the way we want them to be. You help them, support them, lend an ear to their words and troubles, but then there's no feedback, no nice words, just sharp and contradictory lines. You start wondering what you did wrong, because you feel you have done something wrong. But your questions fly just like blinded bats in the light of the day, leaving you bare, hollow and with a huge sense of meaningless. But the mistake was yours for entrusting some feelings, thoughts and qualities in people, for fighting to see the best in them always, but failing so easily and unacceptable to take them for what they are...

They say truth hurts, indeed... seeing how different things are from what you hoped for, you ache, you can't stop but feel down and blaming yourself and the person...there remains too much pain and shattered dreams and expectations behind.
I'm starting to wonder when this trust i have in people is going to die...how much wrong can i still be in misjudging them... how much do i still have to suffer for being let down by people....

Is it so bad to want to know if your friends are...

Is it so bad to want to know if your friends are ok?
I've come to realise, quite the hard way I could say, that waiting for your friends to share with you their dreams, and hopes, and feelings, their love or their sorrow, is something quite sacrilegious. You can't possibly expect anyone to give that away to you. You are just a no one, expecting to be minded, a door never meant to be opened. It's sad to see how people think they are just so much stronger if they keep that all to themselves. It then, becomes their treasure only, and rarele are there people worth enough to get a glimpse of it.

Anyway ....

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;

Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;

Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;

Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;

Give the world the best you've got anyway.

winter

What a rare joy and beauty it has become to see snow lately! You come to see it on the screen behind the dusty and cold glass of the TV set, you see it and you wonder what was like in the old days, the days your folks told you about. You see it and you still think it’s a setting, something technology can fake so perfectly… you watch it for a while, might even like it but then you get bored and realize your daily things and plans couldn’t or rather wouldn’t go hand in hand with what winter once meant: snow. You might like it in pictures, wallpapers, hell, you might even like it in the mountains, you like to know it’s there for you to go in the weekends to some log cottage with your friends, to ski a little, sledge, have a snow fight just to turn to the warmth and the wine waiting inside. Everything is fine, and yet the bottom line is that by the end of the day / weekend you already forget about the real beauty snow offers… Even worse than that, many of us have been taught to hate winter, snow is accidents, disease, death, snow is me not getting in time to the party, not being able to take my walk… And quite ironically, we indulge in this hyper-need we have for commodity and coziness, that snow has become a top enemy for us, we started to like it on the screen only, as a fairytale setting for Christmas stories, a time when all miracles happen. And yet we fail to see a miracle it’s happening right now outside; it’s snowing. Quite sadly, snow has entered this category of miracles, now… And blind as we are we would rather go for the “beauty” we see on TV, or in magazines, rejecting what God has offered and wished for us in winter: white, purity, silence and peace, and the simple joys people used to share in these moments.

Have you ever tasted winter?
It’s like that freshly lain down snow, the taste of nature, of something so familiar and yet so unique and unbelievably unpaired. Once you tasted it, it remains there for good in your mind, and resurrects every winter, every time it’s snowing, like it’s doing tonight.
The snowflakes have been performing an unseen ballet, as if flowing on Tchaikovsky’s music – they are carried away by their own will to cover everything, mostly the ugly houses and streets- the human creation.
Belles ringing as in a ritual to call for the snow: there shall be snow! And there it was- white, dancing, refreshing and full of life, as one would think was imagined by T. in his dance of the sugar plum fairy. Such a joy to try to grasp it with all senses, to try to glad your eyes with it, to taste it, to listen to it silently covering everything! It’s actually the very few instances when you can listen to the sound of silence. As absurd as this may sound, when snow lays itself on the ground, it does it with so much dignity and so silently and yet be music for the sensitive and open heart.
It’s definitely magic, a magic worth falling in love with!

friendship?

someone asked me once what friendship is.... it's definitely not something easy to define, it's rather felt in the heart, felt and lived. Friendship is life lived together with its good and bed moments, it's hope shared, it's dreams talked about and built together...
Friendship is tears wiped from your face by some fingers, it's a warm and smiling face, friendship is direction- knowing where you can turn for advice, support and fun. Friendship is about, above all, giving, about intuitively knowing the other's feelings and sympathising with them.
Friendship is not being alone, is not crying or laughing alone....Friendship is not being down under the too heavy burdens. friendship is not about being selfish, about fixing some goals to achieve and then just heading towards them alone, friendship is not shutting yourself away, friendship is not lying.

Friendship should always be expectations achieved, accomplished, otherwise, the relationship becomes just a utopic, idealistic "could be"... and the one expecting smothing from it would be just an idiot, naive and immature nerd...

revelation

The raindrops running down the windows of the French hall were tapping a mad dance... a rhythm that in itself was pure art form, an art so longed for by the young sitting in the light. Her book aside was left open to some lines of splendid beauty, lines whose meaning and innuendoes triggered in her the very memories of what once meant passion of heart.

She rembered her love, the one and only love she decided to put aside, to lock away from all human mind and witty spirit. She knew bravery, or strong will had nothing to do with her reclusion... It was just a state of spirit, a role she had to be playing for a while... self imposed or not, her lonely and so reluctantly understood mood, gave birth to deeper feelings and thoughts she could have ever imagined. It was as if suddenly a black veil had been lifted from upon her eyes. Reality seemed crystal clear now- people were depossessed of their masks, their soul was like a naked skeleton revealing everything to her sharp sense of knowledge and observation. The world in itself was there just to reveal more aspects like a rose would open and reveal its every single petals to the delighted eye, in the light and warmth of the July morning sun.

Looking back over the last year, she finally found the meaning of love- love is not happiness as they all use to say, love is suffering, and through suffering love is healing and knowledge. Love was meant for her, or any other sensible person just to bring deeper understanding of the world, wisdom and patience... once you suffered the tourments of love, you end up seeing the import of reason. Heart is there to tease and torment the weak mind, to make it stronger, sharper and much more analythical.

a farewell

The dark seconds of time parted the ones I love from me, the present being just a solitary statue of clay- cold, worthless and meaningless....

.............................................



Time has been quite cruel lately taking away precious people in my life, taking away their smiles, their wittiness, leaving behind just shadows and shiverings and loneliness. A certain word, the opening of a door , the expectation to see that person but then nothingness, just a cold void strangling you, leaving you dead and bare inside...

healing

feelings are certainly the hardest to fight against. How can you murder and then bury your feelings? Is it possible? or maybe, without being watered with hope those feelings will just die away like the leaves of trees in late fall? Is it time, in the end, that can kill what you feel or are there other feelings necessary to replace the old ones?.....

darkness falls...

Has it ever happened to you to be so blind and not see the signs that life has put forth along the way? You pass by, like a sleepwalker and you can't or won't see them; but they were there all the time. You keep remembering the smiles, the good words, the warm looks that person set on you, but you ignore all th erest- a word left unspoken, avoidance, the loss of interest, discussions never to be finished, topics never to be touched- all there, just to tell you straight in the face: "I don't want you around, I don't you to be part of my life!"

But in the end, I guess, we are BLIND because we don't want to lose our HOPE, blindness thus becomes synonym with hope. Ant you desperately try to hold on to your disease, because as long as you are blind you don't lose hope. Once you are cured of your blindness, hope fades away. We generally use to think and say that blindness is darkness as opposed to light and truth. But then, what sustains hope better - darkness/ blindness or truth / light? When do we most need hope?- When we are blind..., therefore the one that feeds hope the most is darkness. It's while walking blindly in the darkness that you see the tiniest flicker of light as a huge amound of hope. And you start believing that you can turn the feeble light of a candle into the melting overpowering light of the sun.

.... and you fail to realize that ain't possible.

That's your sin...

the beauty in us....

The beauty of the world is there open so generously to us.... the beauty of life is in us, in everybody's inner self. That beauty, though, needs to be let out.

There were times like the Renaissance, when that inner beauty and value needed and meant time and patience to be discovered... Such a spiritual voyage could take years- a voyage to discover the other- probably one of the hardest and most astinishing exploration, the exploration of the human soul.

But back then, time didn't mean money as it does now, so that voyage took even ages, it seemed, but in the end the prize was priceless.

Nowadays there's no time for that anymore, those have become trifles. Why waste timetalking to someone about things that should really matter? We have given up exploring the human soul, exploring the other, to take up exploring the universe.

Quite ironical, isn't it? We no longer know the one next to us, the friends even, but we aspire to conquer the universe...
Where is that curiosity to know the anatomy of the other's soul and mind? I long for that, I long to be discovered and to discover someone else's dream and aspirations, but also fears and flows... Why are we so afraid to show ourselves the way we really are???

Brav out Breizh !

France.... un mot qui contient toute la beaute du monde... un pays superbe qu'on aime le plus pour ses gens, pour la culture, pour la bonte de l'ame. La pensee seule a la France et je me laisse emportee par les sons de la Fest Noz, bien lois dans un coin de paradis- au Bretagne. Sur le petites ruelles des villages marins, entouree par le parfum sale de la mer sauvage, parmi les vagues, le vent et l'amour, les eglises en pierre et les menhirs de Carnac.... Une splendeur bien profonde qu'on pourrait jamais oublier, une splendeur de la simplicite, de la tenacite, de l'endurance. On n'a jamais assez de France, de ses contes et legendes, de ses forets et plages, de ses sourires toujours la pour toi, de ses chansons traditionnelles, de ses fetes de nuit pleines de la joie de vivre et de vivre sa vie a cote des amis.

On n'a jamais assez de Paris- ville des lumieres, de la boheme, des promenades a la tombee du soir, a la musique de l'accordeon, et au parfum du lilas.... la France est ou on decouvre l'amour, c'est la qu'avec son fiance on se promene sans fin...

wings

Tonight, the birds are flying more savagely and wildly than ever, carried away by the mad wind. The sky, mirror of the soul carshes itself against the world with its thickness and darkness. It's becoming too heavy to carry on just one's shoulders.....

Loneliness strangles, but breathlessly and painfully you continue your way just like Jonathan Livingstone, the seagull continued its flight. And alone, somehow stronger in your solitary voyage, and yet so much weaker, you go on, just hoping that maybe other solitary wandering soullike you would join you in your voyage, just hoping that your solitary endeavour had found its end.
But then you look up at the sky- the mirror of your soul and you see it's crying. You see its dark, dull colours- those of your life and you start longing for blue and light, and life, and someone....

rain falls like tears from the stars....

It's been raining for a couple of hours, and yet I feel as if fall has entered my soul, a chilly, frightening fall, heavy with salty rain and cloudy thoughts- a sky forever hiding its beauty behind a dull, dark curtain of misery

How can I go on,
from day to day
Who can make me strong in every way
Where can I be safe,
where can I belong
In this great big world of sadness
How can I forget
those beautiful dreams that we shared
They're lost and they're nowhere to be found
How can I go on?

the road nowhere

there is a fight going on... it's between us and God. It's, apparently, a matter of pride. Since the very beginning we have been given this Earth to treasure and respect, and since the same very beginning we seem to obstinate ourselves in destroying it. Everything that was once so splendidly full of life and beauty, so promising and alive is now deserted, empty, dry of any meaning . And as if this weren't enough people have started now to destroy the inner natural- feelings, hopes, ideals.... People no longer dare to express openly what they feel, because once you open your true self, you become vulnerable- you get hurt, others take advantage of your feelings, and in time you turn to stone. It's the easiest and most logical thing possible. And then you come up with your own rules- harsh ones, restricting ones for you as well as for the others. And if these rules are broken this becomes then the unimaginabale crime ever. It's not that bad that everywhere you turn your eyes you see human debris, but your crossing the street on red becomes definitely unacceptable. Then it seems that our pitiful laws and rules are much more important in our eyes than respecting nature, life and beauty. God's laws are forgotten because we want to feel better in our new role as masters. We have the power and hence we set the rules, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

question

Has it ever happened to you to fall in love with a guy who in his turn has fallen in love with someone else? Well it has happened to me... this brings me to the impossible love that tears me apart. Do I tell him or do I just give up the entire idea as I already know what the end is?
Well, as I'm terribly coward when it comes to love, i will probably keep it to myself. It's no use riscking to lose what I have so far for a dream. Dreams are meant to fail anyway, so why invest in them? Especially when intuition tells me this would be just a one way trip...

Anyway if more about this topic is to come that would be in French, as French seems to help me better get it out

pluie

Se promener seule dans la pluie a la nuit, entouree par le vent d'ete- c'est comme l'amour. Le vent, c'est la caresse douce du bien aime sur ton visage sur ta peau brulante. Le parfum du foin, de la chaleur humide et la pluie, c'est le parfum du bien aime, le parfum de son regard, c'est son ame et son amour pour toi.
Donc se promener seule n'est pas si moche que ca, c'est en effet se promener avec son bien aime car la nature- la pluie, le vent t'entourent tout comme les bras de celui que toi tu aimes.

a better self

One of the greatest vanities is to think you can make people better. They are the way they are and will become better, that is if they become better, only if they decide to. Otherwise all the good intentions you might have are doomed to become ashes, and your fall will be greater. Everytime we settle our hopes on someone, blindingly believing that person could start having the same dreams and ideals just because you have them for him/ her there will come one day when all those ideals of turning the world, or just a single person better will crumble all around you just like the multiple puzzle pieces of a broken mirror. And everytime you start gathering all those pieces in an attempt to recreate your world, it's gets hellishly hard. You finally come to understand the Sisiphus's myth, and you finally see that's life- ups and downs, probably more downs, but anyway as long as you find the guts and strength to start picking puzzles again , there is still hope.

brancusi

.... words are powerless to utter eternity. let your self engulfed by the breath of true art and aspiration, feeling the warm chill of marble, its whiteness almost transparent and simple as a virgin soul....

puzzling

Has it ever happened to you to lay your hands on a book that was so intriguingly capturing that you can no longer leave it behind...? Yesterday i must confess something i no longer thought possible happened. Quite often lately nothing has been able to draw me into it as it used to before... but then Eugene Van Itterbeek's "Journal Roumain" did the miracle. As one might as well guess from the title the book is about the impressions and feelings that Romania has aroused in the heart and mind of a foreigner. The pages are quite a lesson some of us have needed for a long time now, it's about the miraculous beauty in simplicity that Romania has. It is quite shocking to see the richness and complexity of Romanians, their simplicity and still depth of spirituality.
There's no room for superficial here, God and nature are all omnipresent in people's minds leaving deep traces in everything they do in their daily lives, carving their character, building their personality.

Besides, the Romanian villages seem like some oasis of the past- full of deep significance, purity and God; their beauty is so mystic and lost in the Western civilisation, and so regretted by Mr. Itterbeek... and so searched and longed for by many who come here to find themselves....

reading his lines made me wonder- why do we sometimes so obstinately think what we don't have is so much better? Why so many of us dream of promised lands, of superficial, material things, when the obvious is we have something valuable, a unique treasure that riscks to be lost or praised by others only, while so derided by us who own it?

pensees...

je crois avoir connu l'amour et malgre ce qu'on en dit generalement , c'est pas tres agreable... ca plutot heurte et donne de la souffrance... est-ce pour ca que les ecrivains en ont ecrit tellement? ca semble a la pomme d'eve et d'adam- la pomme de la connaissance- une fois qu'on en a goute il laisse un gout amere mais sublime. c'est la vie et la mort , la joie supreme, mais aussi les soupirs, les espoirs decus, les reves si proches de la realite qu'on pense les pouvoir saisir dans notre main, comme on pourrait faire a un pomme, par exemple. quand tu connais pas l'amour, il te manque, une fois que t'as ouvert ton ame a l'amour il laisse de traces profondes pour toujours. Et donc alors, on commence a se demander: a quoi ca sert? a quoi bon l'amour si tout ce que ca emmene c'est pas la grande joie et l'exuberance?
a quoi ca sert, sinon, peut-etre, a mieux comprendre ce monde, a mieux se maitriser, a apprendre la patience...

the only poem i remember having studied at school at Spanish... it's quite superb and full of imagery...

ANDALUZAS
CANCIÓN DEL JINETE

Córdoba. Lejana y sola.
Jaca negra, luna grande,
y aceitunas en mi alforja.
Aunque sepa los caminos
yo nunca llegaré a Córdoba.

Por el llano, por el viento,
jaca negra, luna roja.
La muerte me está mirando
desde las torres de Córdoba.

¡Ay qué camino tan largo!
¡Ay mi jaca valerosa!
¡Ay que la muerte me espera,
antes de llegar a Córdoba!

Córdoba. Lejana y sola.