Tales of autumn

Blog: Beautiful world

2013-05-18T20:55:00.002+02:00

“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisoned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!” ― J.R.R. Tolkien

For about a month now I've had this strange feeling when I wake up, even if I just take a nap, I wake up feeling that someone close is gonna die, or maybe even me. Everything will pass, so I should remember this day and make something out of it. And I'll lose a lot. And in the glow that afternoon sun rays have, I find eternity. That is also the feeling behind the last poem I uploaded, To be human.

I hope there's nothing more to this feeling; it's just very painful and draining to wake up and feel like that. It fills you with a weird combination of gratitude, love and fear. And the reason behind this is probably all the insecurity. For once in my life my future is very, very uncertain. Before I knew how the next year is gonna go. Now I have no idea where I'm gonna be a year from today or tomorrow. And my head fills up with »what if« scenarios. Everyone says »you'll find something«... But what if I don't? I'm grateful that I was given a chance to work as a midwife for a year. And at the same time I'm full of anger and sadness, that I'm forced to give up this career, because there are no jobs out there. Especially when I see how incompetent one can be, but is untouched if he has a permanent contract. Our healthcare system is in crisis (like everywhere else probably), and I thought that we already reached the lowest point, but it seems things will get worse before they'll get better. And if ever...

It's absurd that Slovenian way out of crisis is to conserve at every corner. Like that's gonna help anyone. More and more people without jobs, with no money, gonna spend less, apply for social help,... instead we should make more jobs, increase the local economy. It makes no sense to export milk to Italy and import it from Hungary. Or export our wood and import it from elsewhere. Or to have so much crude land, when it could be used to produce vegetables and fruits instead we buy carrots from Italy, garlic from China... and so on. There is an Association of unemployed people in the making, whose idea is to take these lands and work them to produce »eco« vegetables and fruits, and also help farmers in the forests. In exchange they would get a little money and goods. But the tax Administration already announced they’ll have to pay 25% taxes from what they will produce, so they won’t be able to sell these goods at social prices, as they wanted. It’s about time to start again and make things better.

David Bryan – It’s a long road

It’s easy to get in somewhat depressive mood thinking about the future. I don’t trust Slovenia anymore. I don’t trust this system. I appreciate those people who have strength and share it with others in times like these. I appreciate any help I receive, though it might be just a talk. I appreciate that people show their real faces, it’s easier to know where you stand. My dreams had changed, my goals will have to be reset. I do have a plan, but I’ve learned that it might not get me where I think it might. And in life, always have a back-up plan. I was thinking of becoming a masseuse, maybe focus on pregnant women, maybe start my own business, make homemade soaps, lotions, herbs...(I'd probably make more money if I went in astrology business or wrote erotic novels, maybe vampires). But as I’ve said the future holds a veil, and as long I have my “best persons” at my side, I’ll be okay. I am quick to regret my past decisions and blame the circumstances that held me away from becoming what I felt was the best path for me, and although I was just six years old, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, a paediatrician.

The best anti-depressive drug for me is Bon Jovi, I’ve been listening to the new album a lot. Song “Beautiful world” describes my feelings especially well:

"There's glory in the saddest story
Look at it, just sticks and bricks
Makes you wonder how the pieces fit
Where we're going, where we've been
This ain't paradise we're living in
It's a diamond, it's a dirty plastic pearl
Ah, but ain't it a beautiful world"

Richie Sambora – Every road leads home to you (click for the song)

"I got your picture on my phone
Your voice in my head
I´m lying here alone
Restless in some faraway bed
The stars will falling down
And I´m half a world away
I´m just trying to close the distance
To feel each breath you take"

I was going through my gallery on dA. It made me wonder where it all went. I remember I had tons of ideas few years ago. And I couldn’t believe the things I’d come up with back then. Now my ideas are more sophisticated ;) Is it always so that when we look back, we laugh at how naive we now seem to have been?

Poem: To be human

2013-05-10T23:06:00.004+02:00

I wake up half in gratitude, half in regret

feeling the end is near

forgetting how to breathe in the sky

gratitude grows into euphoria, regret turns into fear

for my heart is aware that this life is final

a passing visitor is all I am to this world

and I try to make it matter

to justify my being here, breathing in

I focus on the light in the night that never goes out

round and round it spins, counting down the days

we illuminate the roads to see where we're treading

- as if they are able to reveal the future the roads are holding

- as if knowing the future would make us better decision-makers

these days will matter more to us when we'll be looking back on them

I fear losing future

or is this fear a fear of detachment?

when the world forgets us

we'll learn to disappear completely and not matter

nothing lasts forever but dust

all our children will judge our decisions

and what if this ache never disappears?

what if this hunger never settles?

only one thing is required

....to be human

to reach the light and leave a piece of it for those behind

but most important roads are never highlighted

messy hearts always driving home and never waking up

Poem: Birds of the same feather

2013-05-07T15:49:00.001+02:00

it starts in a cornfield, where we ran away from each other

screaming out each other’s names, but the field was bigger than us

consumed the voices of our scared throats; thought we lost one another

but we had something to hold onto

for we are birds of the same feather

and we raced over the land catching glimpses of today

to carry into the future – for they warm our hearts

knowing we have something to give, but the past erased us

consumed by fire; who will it take to search

for little drops of our lives we caught?

ripples of conversations never exchanged resonate between us

your hands are like the ocean and my boat has been standing still

that's how I started, that's why it feels safe

to jump off a cliff and flow like a waterfall

the moment you live is an everlasting travel

and at some time or another, a memory of me will cross your mind,

be I living or not, we shared a tiny fragment of the time past

and though we be strangers for the rest of our lives

we can reach inside and find each other again

for no one truly dies, if they leave behind ripples

Poem: Warm the skies

2013-05-07T08:36:00.002+02:00

years have streamed down this hourglass

my heart quiet, as I wait

in sorrow we row our boats

through stages of life

on this journey through darkness

putting identification notes of what we are

and of what we will never allow ourselves to become

so many stories we could have drawn down

it’s the strangers at the bus stop, anxious to leave that place

curious as to where the last stop is

we always think there is going to be more time

it’s all connected somehow

instead of moving forward,

we’re chasing ghosts in the back room

let’s leave behind what identified our past

for future holds new notes for us to write on

it’s the things that we’ve never done

which lay heavy as rocks in our minds

and the sin we are guilty of is to never try

never try to warm the skies

- instead we make it rain

Photo: Bohinj

2013-05-04T18:15:00.002+02:00

Bohinj is a 20 km long and 5 km wide basin within the Julian Alps, in the Upper Carniola region of north-western Slovenia. It is traversed by the Sava Bohinjka river. Its main feature is the periglacial Lake Bohinj.

The church of St. John the Baptist, framed by the bridge and the famous view of Lake Bohinj, is no doubt the most famous image of Bohinj. The church, incorporating in the elements of Romanesque to Baroque periods, is one of the most diverse architectural monuments in Bohinj, and features among the most attractive examples of Slovenian medieval architecture and wall paintings.

Lake Bohinj, covering 317 hectares, is the largest permanent lake in Slovenia. The largest of the streams that flow into the lake, the Savica (»little sava«), is fed from Black Lake, the largest lake in the Triglav Lakes Valley. The outflow at the eastern end is the Jezernica creek which merges with the Mostnica to form the Sava Bohinjka, which in turn becomes the larger Sava River at the confluence with the Sava Dolinka.

The Sava Bohinjka (which merges with the Sava Dolinka into the Sava) begins when two rivers, the Jezernica and the Mostnica, merge. The Mostnica comes from the Voje Valley, whereas the Jezernica is a very short river that flows from Lake Bohinj. Many smaller streams flow into the lake. The largest of them, the Savica, emerges in Komarča as a large waterfall. Savica Falls gets most of its water from Black Lake, which is the largest in the Triglav Lakes Valley.

Devil's Bridge was according to the legend created by the Devil. He made a deal with the people that were unable to build the bridge by themselves because it always collapsed. The deal was that, if the built the bridge for them, the first soul to cross it would be his. The people agreed, but couldn't decide whom to send when it was finished. But one farmer sent a dog across. The Devil went mad when he realised that they had tricked him.

Bohinjska Bistrica lies in the valley between the Sava Bohinjka River, the Dobrava and Ajdovski Gradec hills, and Bistrica and Belica creeks. The main road leading to the railway station divides the settlement into the upper and lower hamlets of Zgornja Vas and Spodnja Vas.

Bohinjska Bistrica is the location of three archaeological sites. The Giant's Castle archaeological site is a 5th Century BC fortification east of the settlement. It served as a refuge in the late Roman era, and features terracing, the remains of a defensive wall, and a fortified gate. It is associated with two prehistoric burial sites. The Selo archaeological site near Giant's Castle is a late Iron Age and Roman era site. The terraced slope shows traces of building layouts and various artifacts have been found at the site. The Telečnica archaeological site was inhabited in prehistoric times.

"Še dan današnji vidiš razvalino,
ki Ajdovski se gradec imenuje,
v nji gledaš Črtomírovo lastnino.

Narveč sveta otrokam sliši Slave,
tje bomo najdli pot, kjer nje sinovi
si prosti vóljo vero in postave."

The Baptism at the Savica – France Prešeren

The Zois Manor with Tower Clock was built in the neo Romanic style in the second half of the 18th century. Above the entrance doors we can see the famous arms. The manor was the residence and administrative building for iron entrepreneurs. In the Lord's garden, which is across the road in the southern side of the castle, is the Zois clock. Baron Ziga Zois built it that ironworkers would come in right time to the work. Ziga Zois was the ironworker, botanist, mineralogist, regenerator and the patron of the Slovenian literature. The castle and other buildings are today reorganized to the restaurant in the medieval style.

Rebro – Military cemetery of the First world war (1915-1917)

During the First world war, Bohinj was an important base behind Austro-Hungarian lines in the period from 1915-1917. The Bohinj railway was the most important supply route for the northern positions of the Austro-Hungarian 5^th Army in the Tolmin bridge area; that is, in the part of the front between Mrzli vrh above Tolmin and Lom in Banjščice. Bohinjska Bistrica railway station was initially connected with Ukanc by a tow railway, which was later replaced with an electric narrow-gauge railway for the transport of military equipment to the high mountains of the Krn front. Two military hospitals operated in Bohinjska Bistrica from May 1915 until the end of 1917. Zois Castle housed Field Hospital No. 1506 (Feldspittal No. 1506), where the wounded were treated. Patients suffering from contagious diseases were treated in the Balassa Szarmat Reserve Hospital (Reserve Spittal Balassa Szarmat), popularly called Špital pod Rrebrom (Hospital below Rebro). Wounded soldiers and patients were conveyed by rail from the Tolmin bridge area, while some were also brought from the battlefield in the Krn range. The dead were buried here in the late 1917. At that time, both military hospitals moved closer to the battlefield on the Piava river. The cemetery comprises 285 marked graves where soldiers of all nations of the monarchy were put to rest: 202 of these were from the infantry ranks, 55 were from technical units and various services, 19 were from the artillery and 9 were Russian prisoners of war.

The First world war in Ukanc (1915-1917)

After Italy declared war on Austria-Hungary, Bohinj became the immediate rear of the battlefield in the Krn mountain range. The main supply route of the 15^th Austro-Hungarian Mountain Brigade, which was defending military positions on the eastern Krn sector, ran through Bohinj. The final station of the military aerial cableway leading to Komna Mountain was in Ukanc. There were several warehouses of military material. Many prisoners of war, mostly Russians, worked there. The troops left Bohinj in November 1917 after the Italians retreated to the Piave River. From June 1915 to November 1917, the cemetery in Ukanc was mostly used for burying Austro-Hungarian soldiers killed in the fierce battles that took place in the summer and autumn of 1915 in the Krn mountain range. The majority of these soldiers served in infantry regiments from the Hungarian part of the country. From the evidence of surnames and the centres of recruitment recorded, the majority of soldiers buried were Hungarians, Poles and Ukrainians. Civilians and soldiers from other nations of the monarchy were also among those buried: Slovaks, Czechs, Germans, Romanians, Serbs and Slovenes. There are also 17 Russians, two Romanian and one Italian prisoners of war buried at the cemetery. Prisoners of war in Bohinj, lacking food, built military roads, a railway, cut wood, carried military supplies, etc. A total of 282 graves are marked, including 221 with names. There are 64 graves of unknown soldiers and prisoners of war. As many as 14 graves have been lost or are the burial place of two soldiers.

Vogel

"Everyday I wake

I tell myself a little harmless lie

The whole wide world is mine"

- Angels & Airwaves

Photo: Autumn I.

2013-05-04T14:38:00.000+02:00

"I cannot be awake, for nothing looks to me as it did before,

or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep."

- Walt Whitman

"Were I called on to define very briefly the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction

of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul'. The mere imitation,

however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of Artist."

- Edgar A. Poe

"But then fall comes, kicking summer out on it treacherous ass as it always does

one day after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend

that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favourite chair

and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places

he has been and things he has done since the last he saw you."

- Stephen King

"Autumn carries more gold in its pocket

than all the other seasons."

- Jim Bishop

"L'automne est un deuxième ressort où chaque feuille est une fleur."

- Albert Camus

"Autumn is the mellower season,

and what we lose in flowers

we more than gain in fruits."

- Samuel Butler

"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development,

invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears."

- Edgar A. Poe

"The wind makes you ache in some place that is deeper than your bones.

It may be that is touches something old in the human soul,

a chord of race memory that says Migrate or die -

migrate or die."

- Stephen King

Poem: When we are ourselves

2013-04-21T20:29:00.000+02:00

In an endless blue, I hold up a red balloon;

waiting for things to happen.

We lost something familiar in the connection,

as the nervous river of thought feeds our bodies,

in cloaks of invisibility we wish to hide.

Hands that used to wipe away our tears,

when there were monsters under our beds,

have grown away from us.

So we learnt to be unmoved and untouched.

We hide our vulnerability under our cloaks.

How can we ignite a life into a new heart

and call it an accident?

Then we are tragedies,

crashing one over another.

We are not a definition of life.

We collect pieces and dots of eternal summer rays

and flickering shadows of raindrops.

How those insignificant stains

make a much more meaningful picture.

A single drop can colour a glass full of water;

before it melts away;

– that’s what happens when we are ourselves.

Poem: Of skin dreams

2013-04-20T16:49:00.000+02:00

He asked her why she carries the moon upon her shoulders;

but her answer gave him more questions than answers.

»So that the ghosts I know become faceless.«

He knew the balance between intruding and letting things develop.

»May I give you stars, so people might confuse you for a night sky?«

She smiled apologetically: »I didn't ask for the stars,

but for someone to lay down with and watch them.«

It starts with a few gentle piano keys.

Between tiny neon bulbs we spread our hearts on these sheets,

wishing our hands would grow roots

into each other skin.

“My eyes are burning and my eyelids feel heavy,” she said.

“But I’m afraid to even blink,

‘cause all of this could be gone when I open them.

My mind keeps reaching for you.”

He put his palms against her cheek and said:

“Your skin and nerves developed from the same group of cells.

They were of a familiar mind; lovers like you and I;

they were separated, but made something beautiful out of it.

Now the nerve cells keep grasping towards the skin.

They never give in. Carefully listening to every stroke, brush, tingle...

So don’t be afraid to rest your eyes,

I’ll draw dreams on your skin.”

---- so many ways to touch someone

electricity of our fingers leave us breathless

refilling our lungs, restarting our hearts

until there is no fear left inside.

It's kind of weird how this poem and drawing accidentally fit together. Neither one influenced the other.

Blog: Things just...happen, one after another

2013-04-13T23:49:00.000+02:00

It's been a month since I started following a new diet, the one that should help the stomach to heal itself. Basically more frequent meals, less food and easy-digestible meals. Which left me with no pants that would fit, and with more energy and an overall better feeling. It’s been proven on animals, such as rats and mice that a lower caloric intake gives them more energy and they live longer and have less signs of ageing. I’ve been reading forums on how people helped themselves when facing high stomach acid. And what I’ve learnt from that? Nothing. Everyone has their own theory on what works and what doesn’t. Some of them, I think, would do even more harm. Like having just three meals a day?! It surprised me how many vegetarians have problems with supposed high acid of the stomach (acid should be low if you don’t eat animal protein). These are people who like eating healthy and why do they end up with these kinds of problems? Well, to be honest, I was one of them. Last week I felt very nauseous for two days straight and then I started craving Sauerkraut and sour milk. Cabbage helped for few hours, but sour milk seems to have a very beneficial effect on this poor stomach of mine. So...? You really shouldn’t follow any rules, any diet, any advice... Just listen to what your body wants. I rest my case.

And since rain is for reading...

I’m reading Terry Pratchetts’ The amazing Maurice and his educated rodents, which is categorised as children’s fantasy book. But I think anyone can enjoy it. It’s a classic Pratchett - witty and wise. Maurice is an amazing cat, who never meant to be amazing, it had just happened. Here are some parts, which I loved:

“Ah, yes, but the trouble is, see, that he things everyone else is like him. People like that are bad news, kid. And our lady friend, she thinks life works like a fairytale.”

“Well, that’s harmless, isn’t it?” said Keith.

“Yeah, but in fairy tales when someone dies...it’s just a word.”

“Look cat, there’s two types of peoples in the world. There are those who have got the plot and those who haven’t.”
“The world hasn’t got a plot,” said Maurice. “Things just...happen, one after another.”

“Well, I’ll tell you something,” she said. “If you don’t turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else’s story.”
“And what if your story doesn’t work?”
“You keep changing it until you find one that does.”

Humans, eh? Think they’re lords of creation. Not like us cats. We know we are. Ever see a cat feed a human? Case proven.

And then most of them go back to their own towns and set their traps and put down their poisons, because some minds you couldn't change with a hatchet. But a few see the world as a different place. It's not perfect, but it works. The thing about stories is that you have to pick the ones that last.

Because some stories end, but old stories go on, and you gotta dance to the music if you want to stay ahead.

As a kid I loved watching cartoons and it would drive my parents crazy, when I woke up very early every Sunday and go and watch TV in the living room. And I’d stay there ‘til lunch. I also enjoyed reading Mickey Mouse comic books. I’ve recently found this blog about Calvin and Hobbes and their pearls of wisdom:

»Calvin: Everybody seeks happiness! Not me, though! That’s the difference between me and the rest of the world. Happiness isn’t good enough for me! I demand euphoria!«

»Calvin: As you can see, I have memorised this utterly useless piece of information long enough to pass a test question. I now intend to forget it forever. You’ve taught me nothing except how to cynically manipulate the system. Congratulations.«

»Calvin: Trick or treat!

Adult: Where’s your costume? What are you supposed to be?

Calvin: I’m yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Madison Avenue and Hollywood, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you’re old and weak. Am I scary, or what?«

Too bad I hadn’t had the chance to read this as a kid. But better to read it now than never. I love old cartoons, and thanks to YouTube, I can watch some that I’ve never seen before. It’s strange to think that cartoons in the beginning were meant for adults. These days there are so many cartoons for children, but are they really any good? ‘Cause some seem so dumb (like teletubbies, not actually a cartoon, but still). I think every good cartoon can be educational. And even when we’re older we enjoy looking back on those characters that made our days...or we get to enjoy the ones’ we haven’t yet seen, like Fantasia, which I saw for the first time few years ago, loved it.

Here’s a few old cartoons I found on YouTube:

Walt Disney La Danza Macabra (The Skeleton Dance) – 1929

Goofy - how to dance, 1953

I adore Goofy :)

Tex Avery - Doggone Tired

Droopy - Dumb Hounded

Droopy is so cool :)

I’m not really good at writing these blogs, am I? I jump from one thing to another... Well, that’s how my mind works. As for poetry...I did write a few pages, nothing that would make one poem whole, so instead I'm currently writing on... like 8 at the same time. But there are two songs that seem to evoke creative side of my brain these days, and it’s far from what I’d expect them to do:

Maybe it's the piano.

Poem: Shadow of our lives

2013-04-07T21:14:00.000+02:00

the stones we gathered have disappeared

crystal air-bubbles invading through the hourglass

escaping through the oceans with no memories

of our precious minutes

in the room where clocks keep on ticking

I see it clearly now –

our lives are plays displayed on our dashboards

if I write a story, would you play a role for me?

- touch me deeper than myself, for I am not a fragile bird

or would that be totally inappropriate?

among twenty-seven versions of us,

we write down the one designed by time and space

I searched for a definition of myself in your words

as if your eyes have a better understanding of myself

now we don't seem to care if the other lives of dies

we painted on the walls of our parents house

writing down stories of the faces we found on the ceiling

- not giving much care to the one we were living

we carelessly ran away from things – not knowing they always ran after us

we knew that when we grow tall our feet will fit in the grown-ups' shoes

and we'll take longer and more important steps

little did we know our faces will change their colour

and we'll abandon the games we used to play

but the manner with which we'll do things, will stay the same

we had today, but today turned into yesterday

and yesterday clings in the back of our minds

like a faded memory and now we're questioning its existence

for everything has an expiration date

we were never kids first,

always trying to put ourselves in the roles only adults were allowed to play

from primary school, to a college, to a job, to a house, to a home...

years later we forget how to keep wonder

where is the force that glued our hearts together?

words of freedom hang on the wire through wind and snow

birds whispering their songs at sundown

the winter of our hearts has passed

many people have left the train

many love stories never reached a beginning

or have lost their spark

many new lives have begun while others have lost their writer

remaining ones searching for a sound mind and a place to hide

as the time capsule swallows us into its depths

are we out of our minds?

future us dropping past into the sea

the dead town stealing away tomorrows

slaves refusing revolution for comfort and injustice

who's driving this train anyway?

there's a promise of a treasure on a map

we're running like mad men to the hills

so we can fight for the little we managed to hide as our own

in a seemingly small playground we are building future

not out of rocks and stones, but with hearts and bones

and we wonder what kind of shadow our lives will cast behind

Blog: Quote notes

2013-04-06T21:41:00.002+02:00

I've had some time off work and I think I spent it very productively. Also, I think my desk is shrinking:

Yes, life is messy sometimes. Due to this long winter I'm fighting one virus after the other, and I'm frustrated because it takes longer to fight it off as it used to. I did enjoy the snow, but lately it's a nuisance. It's been raining/snowing the whole week and there seem to be endless amounts of fog around. And as I was looking outside from the window, listening to the birds singing... It felt a bit like spring, but will it ever come? Or will we be left only with winter and summer and no "in between" seasons? Also, I want to try out if my knees are indeed better off as they were. It's five months since I had knee arthroscopy, and it took me this long to gain back the muscle mass I lost. Never thought it normally takes six months to fully recover, I thought they were just kidding me when they told me. And that it might take even longer since cartilage was damaged. Oh well, I wish I could run already, but at least the weather isn't running-friendly, so it's easier.

I've been reading Richard Dawkins books and from one of them a little note with a quote fell out. And this was on a page 222, which doesn't seem like random number to me.

And I was all like "oh, my God, this is brilliant. Who the hell wrote this?", until I discovered it's a quote from the movie American Psycho. But I was tempted to leave a quote behind as well. I like finding these kind of small notes in unusual places. Wouldn't it be nice, if you left a thought behind in a book for the next reader to find it, and maybe the next one would also add something to it... I'd really like for someone to leave me behind notes, in the house for example, and then in a daily routine I'd find it. It would make my day. As did the tea I've been drinking. I've been drinking it for a while now, and it's the only tea that really soothes the stomach, but it wasn't until recently that I discovered there are quotes on the back of the tab (the papery part of a teabag):

Job hunting hasn't been fruitful. There is a position open, which I'm totally qualified for, actually I'd be doing what I'm doing now... But they requite from a person to have ten years of work experience. I'd use a very inappropriate word here... but seriously, are they deliberately mocking us? So I have a new plan:

You have to keep a sense of humour. And to end on a more gentle note. I love Bruce Springsteen, and I was listening to his unreleased songs and I found a lovely video for Dream Baby Dream. The movie in the background is called Sunrise from 1927 and it all fits perfectly together:

Poem: Growing

2013-04-02T13:14:00.002+02:00

cells are not the greatest of liars

they document everything,

conscious or unconscious,

things we'd call waste

this body has been caged by my thoughts

beaten by words,

judged by penetrating eyes,

scorn by social media,

reshaped by depression,

extinguished.

fallen,

a back that got strong from all the rising up's

there is a strong taste of desire

to bloom

eager to pull all the weeds

so our gardens would over shine

the mess we've made

there's something growing inside

I felt it move today

the gentle sound of a seed bursting

and small roots caressing

jumping through the shadows of the mind

I do not know what it feeds on

and if it's been here all this time

waiting for a perfect moment

to change the strings of my voice

blossom needs a spine to stand

mine has been long time in the making

leaves are pushing on the stitch

from the inside

oh, wait, I think I'm gonna sneeze!

Poem: Two lovers lost at war

2013-04-01T20:49:00.000+02:00

Feather fell down in a dusky lighted room,

with enough sound to be noticed,

but not enough to draw attention.

The same manner in which I’ve been

opening and closing doors.

Dreams we make up as kids,

'cause later we forget how to dream.

Even if they are taken away from us,

it is important to create them.

Otherwise today has no more tomorrow.

All that we know, we can capture in a glimpse.

Our expectations are greater,

but they blindfold us.

The flowers on the window

and candles at the door.

A ballet dancer as a dandelion puff,

bending the arms as if to speak;

in a storm that comes and goes

as if with the waves.

Standing on a floating feather,

with an angel weeping at the shoulder.

We haven't been running,

yet we have always been racing,

since the day we were born.

We shed our skins and call it dust.

Fear finds the smallest of cracks

and it permeates through.

Growing bigger in an anxious mind.

There is still place to leave a trace.

Curiosity takes you a step further

and awards you with undiscovered lands.

Remember the feeling when your heart

just can’t take it anymore?

Chasing eternity through the golden summer fields;

there is quite enough light to hope,

for two lovers lost at war.

Poem: Belong

2013-03-31T22:09:00.000+02:00

Belong

this ribcage is a door behind which hides an ocean
sounds of the waves escape the mouth
I moved around the kitchen as carelessly as I used to
my body independent from the wanting
these egoistic creatures upon which I stand
never made enough use of their strong fibre
rocks and water have left marks on my skin
earth fighting a battle on the surface of our bodies
like bubbles - when you poke it, the air gets out

I belong to you, a bit wearied and bent
diving through each dark coloured leaf
I push my palms against the starlit sky
space between the earth and the moon is mine
I wish you'd make a constellation out of the marks on my skin
and fall in love with each one of them
I wrote it in capital letters so you would know
the adjective that was missing; like your voice
that used to remind me of who I really am

a tree extends across my back as wings would
there is a place on the back of my neck
where you can kiss me and make the branches shiver
so I can feel the eternity rushing through the veins
but »never« is a word unknown to this suit
the future doesn't look so infinite
growing old with the dread of ending
let the body not be aware of its mortality
moon is the heart, stardust is the blood

Blog: Gut feeling and universe

2013-03-30T11:17:00.001+01:00

Lately I've been thinking more and more about how our feelings influence our bodies, especially the gastrointestinal tract, which seems to be in close coloration to our emotions. A lot of traditional sayings connect the gut and feelings, and even before we could understand why we made a certain decision, we felt it in our guts. Sometimes the decision you know that is wrong makes your stomach hurt. And of love and butterflies in the stomach... And it is true, that gut feeling is mostly correct. But is the gut the most talkative out of all the organs? They have compared the gut with the brain for having so many neurons.

»A gut feeling is a visceral emotional reaction to something; it may be negative or positive. Gut feelings are generally regarded as not modulated by conscious thought, and as a reflection of intuition, rather than rationality. The phrase may also be used as a shorthand term for an individual's »common sense«, perception of what is considered »the right thing to do«.

Body always tells us what is good for us and what isn't. And if you ignore it for too long, it will bite you in the ass, so to speak. It seems to me such a long time ago, when they diagnosed me with irritable bowel syndrome or IBS. It makes me giggle now, that I have a very cranky bowel, but back then I was frustrated. And that frustration and anxiety further improved the symptoms. Come to think of it I've had problems since I was a kid, but when I was in a situation in my life, that I knew wasn't right for me and made me very uncomfortable, the problems got much worse. And now, when I've changed that, it's much easier to live. But now the stomach is complaining.

I've made a few photographs and drawings to try to bring awareness about IBS/IBD and I get to hear from other fellow-sufferers here and there. I'm surprised how young these people usually are and what kind of problems they are dealing with and also, how much it affects their lives... And the hard part is, I want to help, I can give advice, but what will actually help them IS themselves. They.. We have to find out what works for our bodies. After all, every body is unique. But the important part is not to personify oneself with the diagnosis. You are not your health problems.

Body works every day and how we treat it will have an effect on it. And some things start off small and grow into bigger things before we stop ourselves. And are we sometimes spoiled, for treating it badly and then complaining when it feels bad, when we get sick and when it hurts?! As if it’s a machine.

There was a study done in 1942, but I think it's still relevant today, about emotions and gastro duodenal function, in particular on patients with gastritis, duodenitis and peptic ulcer. They found that emotions such as anger, anxiety, guilt and frustration increase acidity in the stomach.

»Tension, anxiety, resentment, anger, guilt, obsequiousness and desperation, already present, accentuated or induced, were almost always accompanied by an increase in hydrochloric acid, mucous and pepsin secretions. Peristaltic activity became continuous, and contractions increased in magnitude. Respiration became more rapid and shallow, with frequent sighs. There was usually a drop in finger temperature. Often in patients with ulcer, pain of a burning and gnawing quality was precipitated and unusual amounts of bile and moderate amounts of fresh, unclotted blood appeared in the extractions. Similar changes occurred in a few instances during sleep following a period of affective stress. During and after interviews which engendered emotional security, functional over-activity decreased and approached the normal. A comparison of the individual physiological and emotional changes in normal subjects with those of patients with ulcer, gastritis and duodenitis, revealed similar patterns, but the changes in the pathological group were greater in magnitude and duration.«

»Behind the facade of independence and self-sufficiency was a background of long standing and severe anxiety, of feelings of helplessness or of being caught, frustration and desperation. Resentment and manifestations of aggression and hostility stood out. Such resentment sometimes was associated with an attempt at resolution through action but more commonly it was not overtly expressed, nor was there a plan for its resolution. The subject was not necessarily aware of its existence. In brief, despite the seeming heterogeneity of characteristics, these persons commonly showed assertive independence and self-sufficiency, covering underlying anxiety and insecurity, and accompanied by feelings of resentment and hostility. Indeed, remorse, guilt and self-denunciation were almost universally associated with anxiety and resentment, and were the basis of much conflict and personal stress.«

PS: I've been reading about health benefits of colostrum on GI system, here is the link. Might be another thing to try.

The reasons behind this post are my recent abdominal pains. Having gastrointestinal problems you'll be faced with plenty different sensations in the abdomen. And if you worry about it, don't they seem to get worse? I don't always do this, but I've found it to be helpful: I try to tell myself why it hurts, why I feel that certain ache. Neurons inform the brain that they've encountered a problem. Essentially the pain is just information in the brain. And if you have a »sensitive gut« even normal function may be interpreted as an ache.

Years of anxiety are probably the main reasons behind my problems today. And it seems that I’m not alone in this. And behind that anxiety is a conviction that I don’t belong here. As if, I never felt rooted anywhere. But lately I’ve come to realize something...which made me feel better. Some have religion, I have science:

And I as I lay down to sleep after a long day, with abdominal aches and a burning throat I thought... how long it took, how vast my/our history is... billions of years ago something happened...

»We started off on this planet – this fragment of dust spinning around the sun – and in 4 billion years we gradually changed from bacteria into us. This is a spellbinding story.« - Richard Dawkins

And then through thousand of generations our genes were transferred. Two cells met and grew into me. Into this body that I'm aware off. And out of thousand possible versions it could develop into, it chose to be this one. Our atoms, the parts that make up our human body, came from the stars. And that thought doesn't make me feel small, but relevant, because we are all connected. Universe is in us. It's the ingredient of life. And you belong here. And don't our daily worries seem silly and unimportant all of a sudden? And how with the help of scientific discoveries we get to live longer lives? If it weren't for vaccines and antibiotics (things we have for granted now), many of us wouldn't be here now. I know I wouldn't.

»From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it’s different. Consider again that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every ‘superstar,’ every ‘supreme leader,’ every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity — in all this vastness — there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. The Earth is the only world known, so far, to harbour life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.« - Carl Sagan

Video: Charlie Chaplin - The Great Dictator

2013-03-27T19:35:00.000+01:00

"We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost."

The Great Dictator (1940): "During the last days of the First World War, a clumsy soldier saves the life of devoted military pilot Schultz. Unfortunately, their flight from the advancing enemy ends in a severe crash with the clumsy soldier losing his memories. After quite some years in the hospital, the amnesia patient gets released and reopens his old barber shop in the Jewish ghetto. But times have changed in the country of Tomania: Dictator Adenoid Hynkel, who accidentally looks very similar to the barber, has laid his merciless grip on the country, and the Jewish people are discriminated against. One day, the barber gets in trouble and is brought before a commanding officer, who turns out to be his old comrade Schultz. So, the ghetto enjoys protection from then on. Meanwhile, Dictator Hynkel develops big plans, he wants to become Dictator of the whole world and needs a scapegoat for the public. Soon, Schultz is being arrested for being too Jewish-friendly, and all Jews except those who managed to flee are transported into Concentration Camps. Hynkel is planning to march into Osterlich to show off against Napaloni, Dictator of Bacteria, who already has deployed his troops along the other border of the small country. Meanwhile, Schultz and the barber manage to escape, guised in military uniforms. As luck would have it, Schultz and the barber are picked up by Tomanian forces and the barber is mixed up with Hynkel himself. The small barber now gets the once-in-a-lifetime chance to speak to the people of Osterlich and all of Tomania, who listen eagerly on the radio."

"I'm sorry but I don't want to be an emperor. That's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible; Jew, Gentile, black men, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each others' happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men's souls; has barricaded the world with hate; has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge as made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost. The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in man; cries out for universal brotherhood; for the unity of us all.

Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say "Do not despair." The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers! Don't give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you and enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder! Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men---machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have a love of humanity in your hearts! You don't hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural. Soldiers! Don't fight for slavery! Fight for liberty! In the seventeenth chapter of St. Luke, it’s written “the kingdom of God is within man”, not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people, have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then in the name of democracy, let us use that power.

Let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfill their promise. They never will! Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfill that promise! Let us fight to free the world! To do away with national barriers! To do away with greed, with hate and intolerance! Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.

Soldiers, in the name of democracy, let us all unite!"

(text from: here)

Poem: Branches of a human heart

2013-03-23T16:14:00.002+01:00

two crows are pecking for seeds

as the snow melts away our fears

dreams we swallow

making them shine inside of us

let our voices find the strength

for those who lost the sun

our hallways are built narrow

yet they fail to keep us close

will the bridges stand strong

under the enraged river of our white lies?

we bruise each other

and admire our scar tissue

babies sleep in their coffins

while the chosen wish for a different fate

what makes you want to

burst the bubble of your home?

'cause there you are the truest

you will ever be

except when the tragedy strikes

and among all the monitor beeps

of hearts in distress

you will observe only one

because you'll know this life is final

then you'll appreciate the branches of a human heart

the vastness of it, spreading

through these hearts of ours

Poem: If only you would love the rain

2013-03-19T20:43:00.006+01:00

She cut out her heart and buried it in the depths of autumn,

left with a heart shaped box of leaves.

She said: »It's a long way back into dust.«

and in between the words you could hear the trees whisper.

She looked at herself in the mirror,

felt like the reflection echoed into infinity,

through glass and camera she admired her shadow;

until someone with a heart of snow touched her skin.

Her body shivered under the cold and stumbled down at his feet.

She saw a glimpse of a boy she chased down the streets when they were kids.

Clenched her thighs and bit her lower lip,

for all the mistakes and bad decisions she has made.

His presence was exhilarating, chilling to the bone,

with a touch he brought snow and frost to her heart shaped box.

She was spell-bound; the cold was her first weakness.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find a reflection of his.

She asked: »How can someone be and not leave an echo in infinity?«

The next hand that touched her, had a heart of flowers.

Sweet scent of life expanded from his chest.

Although he could satisfy her pleasures like a long forgotten dream,

she kept yearning for the cold.

The last hand to touch her, had a heart of sunshine;

such a cliché to melt under the softness of a touch,

admiring the flickering lights his rays left behind.

He painted on her skin and in between her collarbones

he placed a locket of a secret garden and said:

»Use your little key to open it, whenever you wish to escape.«

One night her curious mind pushed her to open the locket,

in there she found a glass with glittering light.

All the burning reflections ignited a fire to the leaves in her heart shaped box.

He said: »Now you are finally closer to dust, just like you wanted.«

Looking back into his eyes she whispered with regret:

»If only you would love the rain.«

If only she knew, the next heart to touch her would love the rain.

Journey in dreams

2013-03-16T20:42:00.000+01:00

Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness is a place where I like to hide and gather new ideas. In-between being awake and being asleep is a place where you can live without hurting anyone, everything is allowed, everything your brain makes up and sometimes it tries to trick you into believing it is actually real. Lucid dreaming would be the most appropriate term for it.

“A lucid dream is any dream in which one is aware that one is dreaming. The dreamer can exert some degree of control over their participation within the dream or be able to manipulate their imaginary experiences in the dream environment.”

In a dream I can be aware that I am dreaming, but if I take control of the dream, I wake up soon after. It happened once, that I was aware of my sleeping body, of my breathing and moving, and at the same time I was aware that I was also dreaming and it felt like remembering a very old memory, hidden somewhere far away.

“A hallucination is a perception in the absence of a stimulus which has qualities of real perception. Hallucinations are vivid, substantial, and located in external objective space. They are distinguished from the related phenomena of dreaming, which does not involve wakefulness.”

It happened twice, that I suddenly woke up during the night, lifted my upper body in surprise to see someone in the room. Not a person, something more like a ghost. The first time I only saw a face. The second time a silhouette. In both cases, when they realized that I saw them, they looked me in the eyes and I literally fell back into bed and slept the rest of the night. Now, that was quite a long time ago, and I kind of wish it would happen again. I like to travel in my own brain, I guess.

Few years ago, I started writing down the experience which I remembered from dreams. I kind of stopped in the middle of it all, and devoted myself more to poetry and another story that I’m working on. But here are some parts of that Journey in dreams:

Part I.

Found myself sitting on the road, in the middle of the darkness, breathless. I knew I had someplace else to be, and things that had to be done, but nothing could've pulled me back from where I was at that particular moment. Road-side turned into orange burning candles, tall and graceful, like they owned the night. Fog crawled from the stream, covering the sight into a grainy tunnel of lights. Then the night breeze glided through the flames while the stream by the road murmured in stillness of the sleeping land.

There were times that I wanted to die, and start a life all over again. Rewind the tape and start recording some other story. Reasons came out from despair, hopelessness and mainly shame. Seems as the weight on my shoulders was too heavy to carry; my back bent. I certainly didn’t like the thought of carrying it forever. As I sat there in the cold breezy night, I wanted to die, just to carry that feeling inside me, forever. Take that night with me. No will to go back or forth, only a wish to breathe that moment for as long as I would appreciate it.

Part III.

The birthing was prolonged; everyone in the room was anticipating the end of it. The head was showing, it kept getting bigger and bigger. Baby started to push down the birth canal, head seconds away from crowning. My arm had no strength anymore, and in a glimpse the creature flew out, hit the wall, bumped his head and walked. Now, how could a baby do that? Well, this wasn’t an ordinary baby; its legs and arms were long and strong, the body was the height of a first grade schoolboy. Should be send to the school immediately.

Some children get robbed of their childhood too soon.

Part IV.

There are just a few lives that I’ve lived and remember.

The world war made everything turn grey. The fog got everywhere and you couldn’t outrun the smell of death. I was walking on somewhat empty street in early evening. My serious expression turned pleasant when I recognized a face that was coming from the right. Soon I got confused by the hateful manner I was being looked at. Within seconds he pulled out his gun and shot without hesitation. Bullet pierced through my neck; and as I was falling down backwards I kept thinking “Why?” Then it all went black. My throat was never the same again. Just like that we’re forced to leave, unwanted guests.

My eyes were closed; felt the heat and dry land, but there was something fresh about it, in the evening time. Chanting was heard, I recognized the words but they have no meaning to me now. I opened my eyelids slowly, the landscape of the desert appeared. I was standing on a cliff; the crowd of people below, all turned the same way, all bowing to the sun. Was I the leader of those people or not, doesn’t matter. We praised the sun for its good deeds. Now the image which we praise has changed a bit; the same image praised over and over by differently named religions. In truth; the only church is under the wide open sky.

Part VI.

I stood where it felt like familiar ground, a safe house on this mad ship. I stood there watching the waterscape, millions of small islands on the surface, like a long back of a dragon, just peaking out. The earth below my heart moved, but my eyes didn't produce a tear. But the feeling of wrong-doing washed me over. The innocence and purity of the view killed the very thought of pride in what I did. It's true that the winners will write down the lines of history. Some will seek theories of conspiracy. But the truth lies in the last breath of the dead ones. Honestly, it probably isn't what we make it out to be, but in its core, it's the beauty itself.

The children, whom I hide in myself, are running around this ship, restlessly. It's as if finally stepping beyond the known land. But I'd never let them see the world with my own, grown up pair of eyes.

Never has the beat been so strong and steady, as I pushed the sails forward.

Part VII.

It’s not until the fire-fighters drove past, that I saw two girls caught on fire. It happened in the dead of the night. They looked like two witches burning. Not that I’d know them to be witches.

Investigator of the incident was a middle aged man, whom I had fond memories of. I may have loved him. I helped in any way I could, despite not seeing much of how the fire started. And it turned out I was helpful.

As the investigation was leading to an end, the investigator came closer to me, but an elderly woman dragged my attention to her. Clearly in distress she asked for a favour. In return she wrapped a coat around me and looked sadly at me, as if to say goodbye to a loved one.

Finally free to return to my loved one, I smiled in relief, asked him, if he wants to go. As he walked pass me, I screamed gently, yet heard no reply. As I looked at myself, with agony I realized…

I became a ghost.

Waking up from the last one was a bit painful, for those few seconds, when you have to pinch yourself to see what actually is real. And not knowing if you became a ghost... well, it’s scary.

Queensryche - Silent lucidity

Blog: "To this day"

2013-03-09T22:48:00.000+01:00

I watched Shane Koyczan give a speech on TED; and his poem "To this day" touched me, especially because I was also one of the kids who was bullied in school.

Once I set my foot into school, life was never the same.
Left alone; parents and teachers were't capable of helping.
Not knowing who you are.
If it were a movie, I'd have deleted those scenes, but in the long run, they defined me.
You're not the same person you were, but the childhood goes with us, we carry it in our pockets.
Those days are my haunting ghosts, they keep revisiting until I learn.
A child may be a reflection of its parents, and growing up is a long and painful process.
It takes time.
Alone, you will learn to face the world, in time.
Alone, you will have to stand up, just to be shot down again.
Those wounds we carry, they rise up from time to time like the tide.
But grudges, they sink you in and drown you.
Self-worth we don't learn as kids.
Self-confidence and stubbornness we will teach ourselves.
Keep going.
Truth is... to this day, it affects me.
But it is a source of motivation, inspiration and leaning.

I also love this love poem of his, "More often than sometimes". Powerful and inspiring.

And I wanted to end this blog with a heartful song:

Greg Holden - Lost boy

PS: 've been selecting poems for a poetry project and I've found a poem which I've written on the basis of those "bullied days", so here it is:

Ain't scary anymore

left behind a comfortable bed
to be mocked by creatures with no shape
those halls narrowed with every hour
no place to ponder, no place to question
counting down the days
then we'll go our separate ways
and when we meet again
we'll be strangers to one another

walked down that road so many times
you know it as the back of your hand
but you never left a footprint on it
learnt to listen and to nod
just another ghost to the society
paper just waiting for the final signature
to be handed down as manna
so we can run faster towards the end

not many people will push you in the right direction
not all people will welcome you on the road of your choosing
some might even try to talk you out of it
in ways you'll find most disagreeable
once when you'll take a look back
you'll see, it ain't so scary anymore
you were scared and full of fear
but there was nothing that you couldn't handle

Poems: new beginning

2013-02-27T21:45:00.000+01:00

Ever since I published my first poetry collection, I've been on a publishing or sharing lockdown. It's unfair to say, but I'd do things differently now. Last year hasn't been as productive as the years before, poetry-wise, and it all went in another way. Well, poems went another way, can't really say which, but I don't feel about them as I once did. Now I have expectations, I measure them, judge them... Really, it's a wonder that some still get written. I mean it's not like I didn't judge them before, I did, I just didn't let my judgment influence them... at least not as much as now. It's hard being critical of your own writing, on some level I want to make sense, and be clear, but on another I don't want to give too much away, and keep some sort of mystery and let the reader find, whatever he/she will find. And when rereading a poem, sometimes I'd feel, like it's really simple, and clear and a month later I wouldn't even know what I wanted to say. So...

This past weekend I wanted to write again. I put the song Death is the road to awe (soundtrack from one of my favourite movies, the Fountain) on the repeat, and my mind went into a zombie-like state after two days, yet I couldn't sqeeze a poem out of me. I did write some bits and pieces, like usually, some I have no idea what they wanted to say. But it's a really great song to get you in the mood...for writing and thinking. (And Oh, my God, I miss dancing!).

Slowly I'm starting to focus on my next poetry collection. I have an idea in my head. It'll be a bit different. And to get forward from this lockdown, I wanted to share some new poems, bits and pieces, with you:

Stars have kept me safe:

Paper birds:

Young hearts:

Live on:

For love:

Poet: Walt Whitman

2013-02-24T09:50:00.001+01:00

When recieving a nobel prize in literature William Faulkner said something like:

»The young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.

I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.«

And my thoughts immediately go to Walt Whitman's poetry.

»This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.«

Walt Whitman is America’s world poet—a latter-day successor to Homer, Virgil, Dante, and Shakespeare. In Leaves of Grass (1855), he celebrated democracy, nature, love, and friendship. This monumental work chanted praises to the body as well as to the soul, and found beauty and reassurance even in death. His occupations during his lifetime included printer, schoolteacher, reporter, and editor. Whitman published his own enthusiastic review of Leaves of Grass. Critics and readers alike, however, found both Whitman’s style and subject matter unnerving. According to The Longman Anthology of Poetry, “Whitman received little public acclaim for his poems during his lifetime for several reasons: this openness regarding sex, his self-presentation as a rough working man, and his stylistic innovations.” A poet who “abandoned the regular meter and rhyme patterns” of his contemporaries, Whitman was “influenced by the long cadences and rhetorical strategies of Biblical poetry.” Upon publishing Leaves of Grass, Whitman was subsequently fired from his job with the Department of the Interior. Despite his mixed critical reception in the U.S., he was favorably received in England, with Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Algernon Charles Swinburne among the British writers who celebrated his work. During the Civil War, Whitman worked as a clerk in Washington, DC. For three years, he visited soldiers during his spare time, dressing wounds and giving solace to the injured.

Whitman's major work, Leaves of Grass, was first published in 1855 with his own money. The work was an attempt at reaching out to the common person with an American epic. The book received its strongest praise from Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote a flattering five page letter to Whitman and spoke highly of the book to friends. The first edition of Leaves of Grass was widely distributed and stirred up significant interest, in part due to Emerson's approval, but was occasionally criticized for the seemingly "obscene" nature of the poetry. Geologist John Peter Lesley wrote to Emerson, calling the book "trashy, profane & obscene" and the author "a pretentious ass".

Leaves of Grass is one of my favourite poetry books, especially the poems Song of the open road and Song of myself.

From Song of the open road:

»Here is the test of wisdom,

Wisdom is not finally tested in schools,
Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it,
Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof,
Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content,
Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things;
Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul.
Now I re-examine philosophies and religions,
They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents.

Here is realization,

Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him,
The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them.«

From Song of myself:

»The smoke of my own breath,

Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.«

»I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,

Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine,
One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same,«

»I think I could turn and live with animals, they're so placid and self-contained,

I stand and look at them and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition.
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins.
They do not make me sick discussiong their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the earth.«

»What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.«

»I believe in the flesh and the appetites,

Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from,
The scent of these armpits aroma finer than prayer,
This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.«

»I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.«

Blog: Running out of time

2013-02-22T22:04:00.000+01:00

»Time never really cares just what we do...«

I've always judged a day by how many things I got done and how successful I was at it. I have a guilty conscience if I feel like I did absolutely nothing whole day. It feels like a wasted chance. Even though I've wasted probably a lot more chances than I realize now, but at least if I make something out of the day, I can live with myself easier. There is also a scale of importance. My most valued days are those where I learned something new and it fascinated me, when I created something which made me feel like I really got my thoughts out and I actually liked what I made (be it very few though), and days where I felt like I helped somebody, in a small, yet important way. And in the morning when I wake up, that's it, there's no more going back to sleep, it's a new day and I have to start it, I may be more or less happy about it but still, it's a go. But then sometimes life stops you.

»Human compassion is a natural instinct, but it's limited.«

And there is never enough time. I know we all feel the same. I may be expecting too much from myself and it seems there isn't enough time. Because I don't know how much time I have left. No one does. But something keeps pushing me forward in my mind. We're running out of time. And there are certain things I want from what's left. I demand them, though most of the time, I have no clue how to make them happen.

I've always been attracted to topics of psychology, death, birth and curious of how our brains and minds works. My views on it greatly changed through time. But it's not time that I needed, but experience and information. And who gets to say what is normal and what is not? If you're pushed to the extremes, you might go insane. But when faced with a psychiatric patient, I feel frozen, I have no idea how to start, to lead... I like to listen to their stories though.

»A person may appear a fool and yet not be one. He may only be guarding his wisdom carefully.«

And we're all getting a bit insane. Drowning in our problems. Past four months have been very challenging for me, but I'm grateful for them, I've changed. I'll be facing unemployment in a few months, like most of young people through-out Europe. I long for independence, yet I have no idea when I'll be able to reach it. I wish to have a child to teach and take care of, but I won't have him at the cost of everything. In spite of high rates of unemployment, there seem to be more pregnant women than ever, half of them without a job. I could never afford that. I don't want my life and the life of my child to be dependent on life of others. I can’t solve these problems at the moment, and what the future holds, I have no idea, no plan, not even a pl. I've been thinking of creating my own business, but the idea holds so many IF’s. And those friends that still stick by my side are in the same situation. I believed if one’s educated, hard working and helpful, one may have a regular job, but then I saw that you don’t need to be good at what you do to have a job.

Times of depression can be productive. All the things I’ve been through in the past months have made me a better midwife, I have a different relationship with patients, and a different attitude towards job, life, friends... So hopefully, what we’ve stumbled onto, will turn into something better than before. It seems as if we hold no control over what the future will be, but we can control what we do daily and how we interact with each other.

And to quote what I wanted to say in words of some who are wiser than me:

“In life you can never be too kind or too fair; everyone you meet is carrying a heavy load. When you go through your day expressing kindness and courtesy to all you meet, you leave behind a feeling of warmth and good cheer, and you help alleviate the burdens everyone is struggling with.“ - Brian Tracy

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.“ - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Blog: Why you didn't die at birth?

2013-02-19T20:46:00.001+01:00

Stellastarr* - Love and longing

"You're different
And all the rest are the same
Stay the same"

That's how my day starts anyway, with this song as an alarm. It's a bit unfair to the song, cause through the months you get annoyed by the thing that wakes you from your peaceful slumber. Well, I'll go for any coffee substitute I can find.

The second part of winter has been surprisingly generous with snow. Ever since the accident few years ago, I've been afraid of driving in the snow, but this winter has given me the chance to learn how to drive and get more experience...now? I love it. Finally!

I've been watching how ice is making a web outside my window, it looks awesome:

These past few days I've enjoyed listening to celtic/medieval songs while reading the first book of The Kingkiller Chronicle - The name of the wind by Patrick Rothfuss:

The title itself grabs attention. It's one of those books that is really well-written, you can see how much time he spent on it. Also, some parts are unbelievably funny, or maybe it's just my sense of humour. Anyway, for those who enjoy fantasy books, I highly recommend it.

Speaking of celtic music...A song by Mark Knopfler has a certain celtic feel to it:

Mark Knopfler - Before gas & tv

I'm so excited I'm getting to hear him live in May (fingers crossed the concert won't get canceled).

And I can't resist not sharing (I know, again):

Dire Straits - Brothers in arms

Have you ever asked yourself Why you didn't die at birth? Well, here's the answer in short:

But more importantly, I wanted to share with you this Ted Talk:

When I first listened to this talk, I had no idea where he was going with it, and I was really surprised when I realized. We were taught in school of importance of "optimal cord clamping", and I think we always did that at birth of a baby...to my surprise not every baby gets this chance. It's kind of funny how the quality of our life can depend on the fact who delivers you at birth and what that person was taught. And also what your parents were taught was good for you, or what they were made to believe. But that doesn't matter now...what was. Only what is and will be. Another morning..... So, goodnight.

Photo: After the Fall

2013-02-16T09:11:00.001+01:00

Trans-Siberian Orchestra - After the fall

"time
only time
could never take me away from you

and why
should it try
time never cares just what we do"

"it just sits on a star
and gazes down
dropping its moments all around
and if i could wish upon that star
i would find what you dream
and then ask god to grant it"

"i wanted
to say this
long before this dark would fall
at night i
would pray this
then wonder if god heard at all
for the chances i've had are now long gone
and that star is no longer wished upon
for on this night it seems too far away"

"try
i have tried
to pretend that i don't care
but then
sleep arrives
and in every dream i find you there"

"but i don't want the past to be my life
and i don't want to live inside this night
but i don't want to see your shadow fade
so i sleep and i dream
though i don't understand it"

" you can live your life in a thousand ways
but it all comes down to that single day
when you realize what you regret
what you can't reclaim but you can't forget
if i could just fall back into my life
and find you there inside this night
and let eternity just drift away"