Tag Archives: patience

By the way, I love you

21 Feb

Image source:
pickywallpapers.com
I own no rights.

 

So struck, stuck with feelings.

Feelings… Does that word make you quiver a little bit? Because it makes me sometimes.

That’s where I have been the past few weeks; feeling the days away. There’s been a lot going on, good stuff mainly and a bit not so good stuff, all merrily bunched up under an umbrella of overwhelm. I’m aware that ‘stuff’ is not exactly the frontier of articulation. But that is really why I’m writing this! To ask you:

Do you ever turn into a very promising BBC Weatherman or a woman wannabe? You know, when all you want to do is gag out how you feel.

But instead you find it is so much easier to state ‘What a lovely day it is’ to an elderly lady standing next to you on a bus stop.

Why is it so hard to tell someone that they’re precious, important, dear to you? Or that we’re hurt. Or upset. Why do we feel the need to hide our tears when we get emotional in the cinema or under a vast starry sky? 

We use by the ways and anyways and casual dressy phrases to turn our emotions into casualties. To shove them away.

But do we really need to hide?

We all cry, laugh, scream. We all feel. We all quiver. We all lose our bearings and words and freeze to the spot.

But the difference is, getting lost together is much more fun.

That way you have a hand there you can hold onto in the dark. And when the morning comes and you realise all the shadowy sounds were just your imagination, you can be the spark behind their smile. You can be a burst of laughter, a shrugh of relief. 

So now, if you let me take your hand again, I’d like to get lost with you. Lost in words:

 

Swimming by

 

We live by each other
We pass each other by
In silence
Casual by the ways
Seeping from our mouths
Our tongues parched papurys
Mute tombs, torn gardens
The longing spoon's clinking
Against our solitary coffee cups
As we drink black mornings
We stir through them alone
So careful not to twist our ankles
In the craters of perplexion
We scatter behind, ahead
As we live by
Goodbyes never uttered
Words trickling through our fingers
Like sand taken away
By the waves
Salty ocean tears, rocky boats
Duct-taped souls
So clumsily fixed and ripped
Open
By the tempest
The nature pulling us out
Thunderstruck
Our eyelids
Heavy curtains
Thrown up
White phantoms swimming
In the air
Finally
So light to look
So light to see
A flash of simplicity
Lightning bolt scarring the sky
Pain passing so swift
Leaving our hearts to be
In peace
Reaped by the dawn
We reach
Bring our hands forward
Open bold barefaced
We live
We live
We live by love
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A Reckless Fall – Romantic Monday Part II

28 Jan
Image source and rights:dailybitsofbeauty.com

Image source and rights:
dailybitsofbeauty.com

 

Okay, this piece is something a bit different.  I actually wrote it yesterday, in a rush of creativity, but then got a bit scared to share it. Is it too simple, too different from my other pieces?

But then again, isn’t that what love sometimes is? So simple you can’t rationalise it? You can only feel it.

Love is cooking dinner to someone and being able to make their potatoes taste like caviar. Because when that someone tastes those potatoes, what they really taste is their love  for the hands that peeled them. And that makes those humble spuds diamonds in their eyes.

No wonder Gordon Ramsay is always so picky. He should quit the shouting for a bit and try some love.

Here goes, I’m going to brave myself.  Hope you like it!

 

A Reckless Fall

 

Lately

I’ve been locking myself to toilets

So I can smile in peace

Remember again

Your stare rocking my insides

Then lean against the dirty tiles

To gain some balance

But secretly trying to just

Drop through them

Surrender to that rushing sweet fear

A reckless fall of anticipation:

Will you catch me?

Will you smile at my lipstick?

I know, I put on too much

In purpose

So you can keep kissing it away

For a bit longer

 

Peace and love to all of you!

xx

Nature of Happiness

16 Jan

Deep below, under the stubborn ice and mouths frozen shut, the roots of life still linger. Slowly, they string their fine fingers upwards, infiltrate the army of snow flakes besieging us. Those fingers, you can feel them caressing your skin when you fall your cheek pressed to the iron-cold ground; sprigs and sprouts of onion being born, the sweet-tasting sap brewing, the birch babies and oak saplings still playing hide-and-seek, until the day that earth’s anticipation, its certainty of spring stronger than thousand ice ages, breaks all winter’s barriers and blossoms into light leaves of coltsfoot, pansy, primrose and thistle. But not quite yet my dear, not quite yet. First, we have to live through this concerto of whispering winds, nothing but rumours of life budding. That way we can have two summers; one blossoming in our ears and one, in time, blooming up from undeground, inviting us to a flower field dance.  

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Waiting for the spring is a sweet expectation, it is like waiting at the train station for an old friend to arrive. Peace and love, and warmth to melt your winter fingers! Take care.

The great wave of desperation and The Wave by Hokusai

4 Oct

If you think you know it all, you’re blinded.

Because the wisest know that all they know is not much at all.

If you feel that the more you learn, the less you know, you’re on the right path.

Because to be good, you have to first be bad.

These thoughts are the single most important event of my day. I know Sokrates or some other bloke has probably said things alike before, but the little discovery of these thoughts in me gave me the patience needed on a tight spot. That’s why I wanted to share them, to hopefully give someone else the same mundane Heureka!-moment. The realisation that in this goal-orientated, so-very-functional yet sadly violent society you don’t have to be wonderfully brilliant and dazzling. Good is enough. Half-way there is enough. Less is enough.

Both the source of these thoughts and the thing ripping my patience into shreds in the first place, is this, this devil’s fist of a drawing:

It’s still so hopelessly unfinished that it makes me wanna cry. After spending 9 hours on it and grinding the same shades and lights, going in circles and squinting my eyes to see better till they hurt, my teacher had to literally take the pen from my hand to show me what I was doing wrong. And I still wasn’t sure I got it.

At that moment I was scared of all my teacher’s knowledge and passion (and he is not a scary man at all, more like Harry Hill of the art world. Really quite loveable). He is from the great Art Academy of St. Peterburg and thinking about all the amazing works he’d seen, I wanted to crawl back to my childhood drawing subjects, the covers of Disney films. Just any scribbles that couldn’t be taken seriously, so I wouldn’t feel like a failure.

But then my teacher told me that the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai had yelled at 72 years old: “Finally, I feel like I can draw something!”

That made me feel better because I happen to love his art. If I could, I would tell him that it truly is quite something. Something incredible.