Which version do you prefer?
Or this which is corrected?
Come, choose to laze
Under my protective lee
Part of the mass or dispersed
My shadow will always follow thee
Which version do you prefer?
Or this which is corrected?
Come, choose to laze
Under my protective lee
Part of the mass or dispersed
My shadow will always follow thee
The clarity of the second photo is not that good as it was taken in a passing by second.
Of the mind.
Has no authority
Health a guaranty
As a fruit
Traces of a
A day of our lives
Last night I felt like waiving it all. Does it happen to you too?
Ironically, the arguments I want to run away from are the very reason I will not give up.
Even if the scales prove otherwise, working my character defects is now the reason for me to stay on.
So, I am hanging on a thread, as a spider, slowly weaving my way, consolidating my web.
My thread is my connection to my élan vital. To what is home now. It keeps me linked to my sparkle. That is why I hold on, toil my way through. Anneal the base.
My thoughts shout. Build a wider faction, extensions!
Outreach calls are of paramount importance yet, I have been shying away from that assignment.
We tend to build protective walls around us, which need to be broken down at some point.
Some build fortresses throughout their lives, staking up watchmen to mark their borders that stretch out further and further away from their former territories and lose themselves in it. Opportunities for light and life shrinking away from their grasp as the ebbing of a tide, leaving its emblem to be stamped on by the carefree, merry vacationer.
Others stay jammed between the doors of desperation, forlorn in an ocean of slavery to some addiction or another, plaguing them constantly with thoughts and acting upon them in a half-slumber, as if it is their destiny, as if they had no choice in the matter.
They live in a no-man’s land. In the crepuscule. Passengers erring between countries restlessly, looking for comfort and finding none.
Solace, evading their days and nights. Their soul giving them no rest. Until they are bestowed with the gift of sagacity and composure.
The skills for living in the right sense. Fully, truly, joyfully and peacefully.
Those miracles can happen. It is only up to us to create the vessel to receive them.
All there is to do is hope to be awarded with the volition to shape, mold it, as a sturdy thick, impermeable, hermetically sealed receptacle that will enable us to treasure those gifts never letting them out of our sight,
Whatever the cost.
This essay was coming out of the low moments as a result of doing what I have most pleasure in doing. Writing and painting and sharing it on the blog. Music and photography will have to wait until I start feeling more comfortable with those .
Does it occur to us that sometimes our writings have a tremendous amount of despair or self-abuse described?
Writing is for everyone liberating. It is the first thing that comes to our mind when hurt gnaws at us. At the end of the page we feel cleansed.
But could we focus for once on the times rays of rationality beam through? The days we tuck in fourteen hours of work, feel tired but so alive?
Get so absorbed in our task that we forget about food and eat solely for the physical energy. What a blessing, what a truce! So much easier than the fight.
What about the enthusiasm, the love and joy we spread around, the closeness to our cherished ones and the protective wings we encircle them with, the peace felt, by doing small and seemingly insignificant tasks that feel grand to us?
Small is sometimes big.
Is that not a far brighter subject?
The saying goes “without obscurity we would not see the light“
Appreciation comes from the lack of… Had we not gone without in the past, how could we know what is here now?
This essay is dedicated to all those in recovery. To a world of people who have the courage and audacity to face and work on their imperfections, which everyone has.
To them I bow and wish to give an apercu, a glimmer of what can be, with a bit of tenacity.
Be strong, do not bend to what you would call our darker moments yet, be flexible and undulate with the current, it will lead you to quiet sparkles, to serene bliss and undetected Nirvana.
Can we believe? I do.
That is the journey I took many years ago. Every year I believe I have found all the truth that exists and every year I am proved wrong. There is always some more…
There are many ways that lead to Rome. To a few, it will be wisdom, others, knowledge or experience, which is the best teacher of all, it will lead you to the light brought by comprehension… To that instant of clarity, the split second where it all fits…
The doors open and you walk in a state of…
Life is worth living for, the past trials were all worth it, for this inner-discovery. No loud trumpets, no explosive fireworks, just, THIS… NOW…
And that is all that matters.
A journey in the past, present and future
As I sit on the bench of a cold and sunny December morning, In my Chiropractor’s small village, known for its preserved nature-spot, I absorb the peace and calm that descends upon me.
I chose this bench for its full view on the square. The vividly green grass contrasts with the brown and red bricks of the small houses surrounding it.
A pavilion right in front of me, completes the scenery.
The sky is unusually blue for this time of the year. Birds are chirping and passing from one bare tree to another.
The wind softly ruffles the pages of my notebook as my hair blows into my eyes simultaneously, blurring for a second, this picture of perfection.
The air is sharp and invites you to take a brisk walk. At a distance a couple is walking their dog, head bent, sharing some anecdote. The world seems to have slowed down. I’m back to my childhood, in England.
At my grandma’s home.
Mind, body and soul, fly back to the distant, yet vivid, coziness of her kitchen, her love, the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, it’s rhythmic sound, soothing, lulling me, into a peaceful daydream.
The smell of wood and grass after a rainy day. Her small cellar door intriguing us, daring us, to have it opened and climb down the narrow staircase in anticipation of the mysterious, the unknown.
Older men throwing, on a warm summer day, their black,glistening, heavy bowls on the cool grass of the park opposite.
A car passes and I find myself back on the bench. The same couple passes with their dog again.
I find myself sucked up in a vortex. Pulled back and forth between my childhood and this peaceful moment.
I can smell the bark of the trees after a storm. I find a narrow staircase spiraling down. Time, places and houses mingling haphazardly in a flow, of mind-flashes dancing an elf dance. Convincing, teasing,inviting me into a world of make beliefs.
Where am I?
Two enchanting places, where warm memories inhabit my heart with lovingly entangled roots, chaining me, to the beauty of experience, to the wonder of memory.
The young and the older, wiser, merging together in beautiful synchronized choreography. In a flow of light, travelling into the space of time. Leaving sparks on its way, as a guide to the lost, the seeking, the hurting. Inviting them to the wonder of miracle, of hope, of change, of rebirth, to the creation of choices. To the novelty and first steps into happiness.
A mind trail. A magnet. Bursting forth and growing so fast, darkness disappears on its passage, leaving place to color, serenity, awareness of a world growing, changing,moving toward diversity and uniqueness, acceptance and forgiveness.
Forgiveness of a past, fading into the distant horizons.
– – – – – – –
The dog barks and I’m thrown back to the place where time stands still.
Nothing has changed.
My hands are still clutching the notebook. But my mind has landed in a confused, muddled heap, as a ball of wool mishandled by the claws of an eager and energetic kitten.
Slowly, my heart comes to rest after a frantic pace and I imbue the quality and stillness of this small, yet very big place.
I hear my name being called and I realize it’s time for my chiropractor’s appointment.
As I get up and walk to the door, I enter the distant past and profound serene moment catching on the side of a wooden table, the glistening of two black heavy bowls, nearly smiling at me. Winking at me, creating a rainbow of all the precious moments of my life and offering me the gift of two places,
I can call HOME.
This was a very special encounter with nature’s perfection, which I called…
It is consumed and depleted that I take my car and drive the highway to reach the most exquisite ” nature spot “.
I avow. It’s not what you have in mind, when I call it by that name, but to me, it’s been the paradise I seek, when my body and soul need some healing. When it’s battered and drained from a festivity, a birth or just plain life.
It’s been twenty five years, I’ve been cradled, cushioned and protected by it’s relaxed surroundings.
I take the first exit. It slows my pace and introduces me to the quality, the heartbeat of earth. It is, by now, a ritual.The roads become narrower, cows graze the fields on either sides, houses get smaller…
I ride at my leisure passing a huge forest, the road darkening under the shadow of the tall, strong and sturdy trees. A minutes rest for my eyes against the glare of daylight and I’ve arrived at my destination.
I am greeted by a big splash of, light and dark grey ( the clouds! ) surrounded by different tones of green but, for the exception of a short straight line of dark crimson in the distance.
The lake is still. As in wait.Dark clouds loom low. Thunder rumbles in the distances.
We are, Sunday the ninth of May two thousand and ten.
The weather is perfect for me. I know I’ll have the park all to myself. People shy away from rain, whereas sunshine, makes me look for more isolated spaces. Armed with my umbrella, I take a purposeful stride and go on my usual itinerary. Which is,walking around the lake, starting on the right side.
Calmness, descends upon my soul, and joy fills up to the brim. I take a deep breath and glance appreciatively at the willow trees, bowing down gracefully to natures caprice.
The surroundings invite me to loosen every nerve and muscle in my body. Tensions gradually dissipates.
I go on and find, a high and wide bush of dark pink Rhododendrons in full bloom, wishing I was a skillful painter to capture on a canvas those vivid colors. But instead, I ” fish ” out of my pocket a digital camera and seize natures imprints.
Every corner of this park is embedded with memories. Some very old and some fairly recent. Just a few feet away, I see myself twenty years ago on my due date, resting on the grass, dozing off, anticipation buried deep, in the upcoming birth of our son. Further on, I climb up, a trickle of a path and find myself perched on a man-made ridge and admire the full view of the lake and forest, remembering summer days when the weather is warm and the park “buzzed” with people as bees in a hive, and enjoying this setting being as remote as one could wish for. The ones staying long enough were those looking for what I’d come for and respected the veil of peace protecting it.
I could nearly call it my own.
I absorb this special moment of tranquility and go rushing down the other side of the slope, welcomed by the scents of, Pine trees, shrubs of Yew, Laurel, Thuja, Spruce and berberry in bloom dangling as orange bells or tear drops. Every color blending, one in another. Apple green to yellow, vivid and dark green…A small bush of white Rhododendrons lying low at the back, surprises the wondering gaze.
My eyes skip from one to the other, afraid of missing out a tint. A hue.
I feel like a child in a sweet shop. Wanting to take everything in sight, stuff it in my pockets or, treasure it in the folds of a precious well used book. But again, what I do is fill my digital, feed my ” chip ” with every shape imaginable, a delicate nerve on a leaf, a tone, a glow, a bark, and if it were possible, the passion felt for so much splendor, trapped within the chambers of my heart, now released and free to take whichever path it chooses.
I saunter along, feeling blessed as I see the dark clouds, gaping and letting escape from it’s grip, a strong beam of sunlight, flooding at my feet. I close my eyes in delight at the unexpected warmth crossing my eyelids, my face. This game of hide and seek, keeps recurring throughout the day.
Knowing this place as the palm of my hand, I realize, it’s the first time, I’ve ever seen it through this angle.
Every season has it’s moment. It comes, goes. We capture it and are the sole witnesses of this living magnificence.
The breathing pattern of nature is diverse. Dependable on many factors. One of them, man’s respect towards it.
As I walk on, I gaze at a big, sturdy red beech tree, the rusty tinge on it’s leaves catch the light, branches hang protectively over two wooden tables and benches, for people to find shade and enjoy a picnic between friends or family. I observe the narrow path, leading to the forest, not daring to venture, just in case I might miss out on something more exiting. The lake maybe, and its reflection, the ducks swimming, indifferent to life’s constant changes, the breeze ruffling the landscape, the rare passer-by, nodding in acknowledgement…
So, I go back to the paved foot-way and go on my designed route.
As I amble, a stream of trees pass-by my eyes as in a parade. Straight, tall and ready to the order. Birch trees with it’s characteristic white bark, Oak and Beech trees, Hornbeam and plane trees… I feel happy and dizzy. I have no doubt. Nature is where we belong.
A little bit further is the football terrain and Lilac ” laces ” daintily the contour. A few meters on, a Holly bush, gives a Christmas touch even though months have long gone by. An Elder plant, Viburnum and Cornus all present, a wilder aspect of nature. They’re rough looking shrubs. Whereas the pink blooming of Weigelia, is a palette of sophistication and delicacy. Every step taken, is the discovery of yet, another marvel. There is never a moment of boredom. It’s a sheer delight to the contemplator.
I finally find ” our ” ghost tree which is a weeping Nootkacypress, looking like a pine tree with needles literally ” dripping ” to the ground in a haunted way. It has it’s place of honor. Right in the middle of the mini-golf. A popular national pass-time.
Being here feels like being part of a big painting project. Which unravels along the path, bit by bit, piece by piece of composed beauty, which I collect and stick together at the end, when I go back to reality. Being given the opportunity and privilege to create my (inner) masterpiece. The one I’ll pull out from my secret draw and indulge into, for a fleeting moment.
I shake myself from my reverie and cross the narrow railway designed for the small steam train, ( taking children who tire easily on the way ) and recognize bamboo on the corner and Wisteria climbing up a shack.
The air is fresh and crisp. Nature unfolds itself to me. Ribes, Horse chestnut, False Holly… My lungs take in a maximum of pure oxygen then, on my right, I step unto the magical and airy sight of a field of Dandelions ready to blow away by it’s first gust of wind.
I notice on my left, a young lonesome, fragile Cherry tree, bending under the pressures of the elements. Further, a carpet of daisies greet me as the confirmation to a harsh winters closure.
I finally pass those red Beech trees with it’s crimson leaves I had noticed at the entrance and became aware of a dream coming to it’s end. I was lucky to have come at a very special time of the year. The moment, nature opens up his palette to the few and the privileged.
I give one last glance, before tearing myself away from a scenery I felt complete with the time, of what seemed, like the trajectory of a shooting star, promising myself to replenish my soul whenever I feel the need, and not wait for my mind and body to scream in desperation.
I find, gladly, the warmth and coziness of my car and drive back to my loved ones, a new person. Refreshed, vibrant and energized. Ready to embrace life in all it’s facets.
Yet… In wait for the next, interlude.