trailblazing.

धैर्य लक्ष्मी

The swift had been on her way for years, noticing time creep up only in the bitter hours before dawn. The thirst for learning was not the sole source of her being’s joy. She admitted this only on occasion, when in a safe place, and when her being was not terraced by her racing breath. She had been blessed with abundance and a love of learning, but had gotten so used to the grind that it took her a long while to tell the effects of wear and at times obstinate toil from this new radiance that had come about so unexpectedly.

The force of the impact even from this distance amazed her, as the blaze touched her spirit and made it all worthwhile.

 

walls/membranes.

Faith pours from your walls, drowning your calls
I’ve tried to hear, you’re not near
Remembering when I saw your face
Shining my way, pure timing
Now I’ve fallen in deep, slow silent sleep
It’s killing me, I’m dying

To put a little bit of sunshine in your life

Soleil all over you, warm sun pours over me
Soleil all over you
Warm sun

Now this slick fallen rift came like a gift
Your body moves ever nearer
And you will dry this tear
Now that we’re here, and grieve for me, not history
But now I’m dry of thoughts, wait for the rain
Then it’s replaced, sun setting

And suddenly you’re in love with everything

Soleil all over you, warm sun pours over me
Soleil all over you
Warm sun

(by badly drawn boy, listen to it here)

presence.

i was thinking about human presence, and how everything you put into a conversation with someone you know never stands alone, except, perhaps the first time (and i am not even sure of that). you are always coiled up into the Werdegang of the entire relationship from time immemorial. you weigh words, intonations, gestures, traces, absences, you even weigh presence.

so intangible, yet so material. it is in looking back briefly at skype conversations that i realise that an ontology of human life based on energetic flow, as silly as it may sound at first reading, is pretty plausible. for how else can you possibly describe the kinds of threads that connect us? those magnetic fields that we navigate and that we find pretty constant with people, even though they may be disregarded in case of behaviours etc – how do we account for the stuff we feel?

i still circle the old, unanswerable questions. the moth and the light? the bird which knows its south (ma boussole)? i do it perhaps out of habit, perhaps out of lingering curiosity, perhaps in the vain glory of glimpsing at the answer in the midst of the fog for a second – unexpected, it would shake me for a fortnight! i do it perhaps because i am still trying to cope with the shattering co-existence of presence and absence. and untimeliness. not lucid eternity, but zähflüssige untimeliness.

and this is not just a first to third person incommensurability problem.

is anger a gift?

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone.

You are the one who gets burned.

Gautama Buddha

image rippled from here

threshing-floor.

if someone mentions character building, i might uncharacteristically turn violent, and get one of my mafia connections to deal with them. that is called sarcasm in the dead of the night (this is written between the hours of 3 and 4am).

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

in silence, i long for company.

in company, i get restless and leave.

in love, i trust very much i will get it right one day.

clarity of feelings is probably not prioritary at the moment.

thanks to you who comfort and soothe and care.

comic rippled from here.

dawn is just around the corner.

it seems that i cannot sleep tonight. full moon. moonstruck. it is after 5am. only a few birds are out to sing in the starry icy night. dawn must be just around the corner even in this northern place. i remembered this at around 3am:

Encounter by Czeslaw Milosz

We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

aberdeen at night.

single piece of advice: learn to spell ‘fuel’ before starting the revolution. thanks ever so much.

this informative piece of graffiti got ripped off a few nights later from this supermarket advertisement panel.

l’île aux trésors.

Je découvre que le portugais est une langue pleine de surprises et beaucoup plus attirante que l’espagnol. Bizarres et effrayantes parallèles entre une île atlantique volcanique et la Roumanie. Ses gorges et ravines m’ont accueillie et j’ai découvert des cascades de nuages rêveurs et d’eaux limpides. J’ai trouvé un fragile équilibre et j’ai rétabli mes ressources créatives. J’ai vu de nouvelles choses et mon corps a retrouvé la mer après plus de deux ans. J’ai chanté et j’ai retrouvé le plaisir de vivre. Merci à vous qui m’avez accueillie dans votre foyer.
Je retourne en Ecosse un peu timide, mais heureuse et le cœur plein de soleil. Cela vaut le coup de partir de temps en temps. Je ne dis rien de nouveau, les anciens maîtres en étaient conscients du temps de partir et de retourner!

Mais surtout: vous n’êtes pas oublié(e)s…
Peut-être je n’aurai plus rien à écrire sur ces pages, mais vous resterez présent(e)s dans mes pensées.

Photos à suivre, inch’allah! (ou: si Mac veut bien…)

speck of colour.

new suns [not nuisance] at the end of june.

today the tiniest breath swayed me and i wandered off.

the phrase ‘i haven’t stopped missing you yet’ comes to me again and again.

i smile at this more than anything else.

fever.

One

A black and white arrow with a red beak landed next to my head and started whispering into my ear. In line with my custom of general restraint, I let it happen, and did not react instantly, even though I may have been startled. I do not recall now. My companion turned to me in mild disbelief, his eyes and mouth widened and he took a step back. He may have forgotten to breathe for just a moment, but found his bearings back fast. The oystercatcher told me everything I needed to know for the present. As my being became clear, I realised I had not been at my best all my life. I learn to read all over, letters dancing without connection in front of my sliding-halting fingers.

Two

As I swung with the rhythms of conversations in human intricacy and noisy leather, I never managed to leave the thought of you behind entirely. As a ripple in an ever-expanding circle, you unknowingly proved all laws of thermodynamics strangely outdated. Heather honey brought us from one continent to the next as your voice travelled over from the other room. I missed you suddenly even though we have never been close. Our avoidance rituals were telling me to let go of the thought of mutuality. Still you turn my head in silence.

Three

The linen was rare green, but it felt and smelled like that week could last forever. Of course it did not, but for a moment it felt comforting to be caught in arrest. I touched the linen and it tore my skin. We spent the afternoon busying ourselves with asking the wrong questions and making conversation. We never took the turn to get off anxiety pills and expose make-believe contentment as fear. You waved and disappeared from view. I longed for the oystercatcher song. I ran across wet tarmac and thought I was stepping on many tombs and shards of glass. I laugh it off.