boussole.

peu à peu j’arrivais à comprendre quoi au juste m’accablait.

la soudaine absence de repères pouvait être tracée à ton départ.

en guise de protection, mon corps s’alignait à la mémoire du tien.

je dors mieux ainsi. tu reviens quand?

heart-beat-mildly.

i close this weekend with a great deal of overpowering, all-illuminating gratitude for the companions i am surrounded with.

and with borges, again and again.

IN TIMP INVETI

Dupa un anumit timp,
omul invata sa perceapa diferenta
subtila intre a sustine o mana
si a inlantui un suflet,
si invata ca amorul nu inseamna a te culca cu cineva
si ca a avea pe cineva alaturi nu e sinonim cu starea de siguranta,
si asa, omul incepe sa invete…
ca saruturile nu sunt contracte
si cadourile nu sunt promisiuni,
si asa omul incepe sa-si accepte caderile cu capul sus si ochii larg deschisi,
si invata sa-si construiasca toate drumurile
bazate in astazi si acum,
pentru ca terenul lui ‘ maine ‘
este prea nesigur pentru a face planuri …
si viitorul are mai mereu o multime de variante care se opresc insa la jumatatea drumului.

Si dupa un timp, omul invata ca daca e prea mult,
pana si caldura cea datatoare de viata a soarelui, arde si calcineaza.
Asa ca incepe sa-si planteze propria gradina
si-si impodobeste propriul suflet,
in loc sa mai astepte ca altcineva sa-I aduca flori,
si invata ca intradevar poate suporta,
ca intradevar are forta,
ca intradevar e valoros,
si omul invata si invata …
si cu fiecare zi invata.

Cu timpul inveti ca a sta alaturi de
cineva pentru ca iti ofera un viitor bun,
inseamna ca mai devreme sau mai tarziu vei vrea sa te intorci la trecut.

Cu timpul intelegi ca doar cel care e capabil sa te iubeasca cu defectele tale,
fara a pretinde sa te schimbe,
iti poate aduce toata fericirea pe care ti-o doresti.
Iti dai seama cu timpul ca daca esti alaturi de aceasta persoana doar pentru a-ti intovarasi singuratatea,
in mod inexorabil vei ajunge sa nu mai vrei sa o vezi.

Ajungi cu timpul sa intelegi ca adevaratii prieteni sunt numarati,
si ca cel care nu lupta pentru ei,
mai devreme sau mai tarziu se va vedea inconjurat doar de false prietenii.

Cu timpul inveti ca vorbele spuse intr-un moment de manie,
pot continua tot restul vietii sa faca rau celui ranit.

Cu timpul inveti ca a scuza e ceva ce poate face oricine,
dar ca a ierta, asta doar sufletele cu adevarat mari o pot face.

Cu timpul intelegi ca daca ai ranit grav un prieten,
e foarte probabil ca niciodata prietenia lui nu va mai fi la aceeasi intensitate.

Cu timpul iti dai seama ca desi
poti fi fericit cu prietenii tai,
intr-o buna zi vei plange
dupa cei pe care i-ai lasat sa plece.

Cu timpul iti dai seama ca fiecare experienta traita alaturi de fiecare fiinta,
nu se va mai repeta niciodata.

Cu timpul iti dai seama ca cel care umileste sau dispretuieste o fiinta umana,
mai devreme sau mai tarziu va suferi aceleasi
umilinte si dispret, dar multiplicate, ridicate la patrat.

Cu timpul inveti ca grabind sau fortand lucrurile sa se petreaca,
asta va determina ca in final,
ele nu vor mai fi asa cum sperai.

Cu timpul iti dai seama ca in realitate,
cel mai bine nu era viitorul,
ci momentul pe care-l traiai exact in acel moment.

Cu timpul vei vedea ca desi te simti fericit cu cei care-ti sunt imprejur,
iti vor lipsi teribil cei care mai ieri erau cu tine
si acum s-au dus si nu mai sunt…

Cu timpul vei invata ca incercand sa ierti sau sa
ceri iertare,
sa spui ca iubesti, sa spui ca ti-e dor,
sa spui ca ai nevoie,
sa spui ca vrei sa fii prieten,
dinaintea unui mormant,
nu mai are nici un sens.

Dar din pacate,
toate se invata doar cu timpul…

azur skies.

it’s exceptionally warm for this time of year in the land of lux. i sit outside, with the dogs and some flies and some birds. all day i sit and try to work. i manage from time to time. in between, my spirit flies away and wonders what you’re up to. emily dickinson said it beautifully. i don’t know whether this is what i mean, but it goes well with the sky and the breeze and the day.

Love is anterior to life,
  Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
  The exponent of breath.

l.o.v.e.

feeling what i feel makes me think about how some human phenomena may not be about process at all.

not about becoming, not about developing, not about time, not about this world, even. they do not have an end or a beginning. they may be masked at times, but they can bring mortals into the presence of eternity.

they just are. love is one of them.

image rippled from amalia chimera.

longing.

transience.

if we approach people with the greatest possible care and an awareness that we might just travel together for a little while, i think we can leave them enough openness so that our time together will make their spirit grow, not stifle it.

i still find it fascinating that there is nothing you can say about social relationships and how they will go, what turns they will take. i am at a peak of high unpredictability in my life, and it makes me less anxious, strangely enough. sometimes i cannot take people well enough, i think. sometimes i am too absorbed in worries and interiority. but i think that looking at the good in people is a worthy end in itself.

happiness captured dwindles fast, but i am learning to live with shreds of colour. i am still a dark-humoured perfectionist though, don’t worry.

the small sadness?

how do you measure the size of sadness, i thought, fell asleep and ate the flowers. until now i had said, you need to go, in your own interest, but my heart jumped at the possibility of seeing you again. i say one thing, feel another. this is how it is meant to be, i mumble, hang up, and mother asks me why i am talking so much. what am i hiding in the forest of words, i ask you. i look for measure by intellectualising and being deliberatelygrumpy. i know why i have been happy, but it is good you are leaving.

i am facing the night unsettled. small unsettlement? how do you measure significance?

i hope they will play dove-tailed, let me say that much.

this i think is in tune with current interior events (a fragment of Green Red Brown and White by may swenson):

…
in a sunwhite dome a brown bird
sneezed Took the path least likely
and it led me home For

each path leads both out and in
I come while going No to and from
There is only here And here
is as well as there Wherever
I am led I move within the care
of the season
hidden in the creases of her skirts
of green or brown or beaded red

And when they are white
I am not lost I am not lost then
only covered for the night

[picture taken from here, by artist linzie hunter]

postcard from the ferryboat.

right-click picture to read ferry fragment.

i miss you too.

six days.

i felt as if caught in a time warp, boards of canada blaring in my ears a music of anti-emotion and numbness. the feeling of inadequacy, restlessness and fixity resurfaced. i was faced, yet again, with aspects of my research that i do not master or understand and that make me feel as if the whole project is redundant and impossible to finish. they flood my being with anxiety that now leaves its cohabitation with me rarely.

last night, i reconsidered a lot of opinion-matters and realised how much being opinionated can get in the way of true communication/communion. we got to the stage i was so tired i talked freely and was surprised at what i was saying. you astounded me, and i felt grateful to be able to spend time with friends. i wish that i will never get too caught up in professional discourses that are, often, alas, one-sided.

i’m going home in six days, and i cannot wait to leave, to hopefully roam and think quietly and come back and get on with writing. strangely, i feel i have absorbed some of the stories told to me in romania about the waiting for indefinite time to arrive and it never does.

my thoughts stray to the south, again.