context, that’s what I love about… in everything.
So just doing something for the seemingly obvious pleasure doesn’t give me joy. I need more. It should happen in some context… maybe that is why I can’t stay in the system… I need waves, sudden summer showers, thunders, lightnings, rainbow, many rainbows, sounds, colors, sky, holding breath, wonder, ponder, surrender, dive in… the story that I can tell to myself again and again, finding a little tremor in some part in me.
dreams, fantasy… an upside down turtle… step back a little…
let time sit and ponder… until the turtle turns over its body and move forward… groping the ground with its sturdy four legs… slow but trustworthy when it moves, as if it is so sure that his step lands on the ground… trusting the earth… the next step… from this one…
“call me by your name,
I’ll call you by mine.”
secrecy… forbidden… what colors the things… brighter… seductive… makes the one to desire… to… touch… hold… indulge… more… and more… and more… then… pay the price… with bitterness… broken… inside… when the world goes on… around… round and round… what can you say… the sweetness lies in the unspeakable… unsharable…. with others… you already knew from the beginning… it was the choice… after all… swallow the sorrow… in silence.
Something springs from her ribs.
A tiny wish budding… the depart from the incredible lonely corner of the silenced;
… buidling a safe house of her own, the words will bloom in bright pink there, in bright bright pink.
I think this will be okay. I feel some sense of safety, stability. Even when the things seem alien and the ground feels crumbling, there are these things I can hold on to. Small joys of human connections and sharings, cannot be counted by the materialistic measure, contributing to the oneness of being or beings. I know this feeling is temporary, but it also can be eternal by repetition. So en + joy.
People are people, will be; changing, judging, competing, complaining, disgracing… but momentarily, they can be understanding, caring, attentive, loving, and warm. Just take it, don’t doubt, and move on… one joyful moment, then another. And trust… the goodness… surely it exists, buidling the collective sum of moments… heartfelt moments…. it’s there… and saver the delight.
sweet surrender to
the layers of its soft depth
wrapped me in thousands of thin threads,
almost touchable, almost melting
I look at her again.
She looks like she has lost her footing on the solid concreate floor,
hugging an empty blue sky in her chest.
I booked many trips in my past years. Short, long, so many places… countless trips and itineraries. I mostly booked the trips with family or for family… a few for my past job.
Now I want to book a trip of my own. No specific purpose or reason for the trip. Just the urge to experience some familiar freshness that travel brings to the soul. A companion would be nice. Someone I can share thoughts and feelings, or just for physical comfort for being together. But if there is no one who can satisfy my requirements for my companion, just going by myself would be fine.
I want to walk an aimless walk. Roaming around the cobblestons on the narrow windy back streets in some European country. Duomo in Firenze. No camera necessary, no phone calls, no texts. Wandering around life; hearing the stories of the dead who lived before, who walked there some years before or a few thousands ago. I will add the rings of my footsteps to those for the future wanderers to listen. Ah, human dies and is born again. Again and again. In that continuous flow, I stand, or float like a little leaf on the water. Existence, sometimes feels too small, trivial, even though the weight is too heavy for each individual to carry on one’s own back.
Sunshine… bright with no reason. Rain, sweeps the road and wets my feet without any animosity. But I swear. Damn! Rain! And the gray sky! The grayness so dull, so close. And snow covers everything in its white magic. The cold blanket of the earth disguising coziness. The deception. Go inside… lady. You will get a cold… an old man will say to me in Dublin in a winter storm. Snow will whirl like a mad woman’s long silver hair in the wind. I will stand there, shivering. Shivering with all my existence; alive.
Destination? Doesn’t matter. What I need is a place that I can book for myself and lay my feet to join the troops of the people, who are restless, who lost their place in the system, in their own home.
<February 7th, 2018>