We are different
We’re not like them
They think us strange
But that’s okay
You are not
Alone anymore
You no longer have to
Wish your difference away
You no longer need to
Be what you are not
Like what you do not
As long as you stay with yourself
You will see through smoke
As long as you stay with yourself
You are the fire that lights your way
As long as you stay with yourself
We, too
Are staying us
Continental riff.
Startled by what I find inside.
For a moment there, still —apprehension;
A feeble try to reign you in.
But there is no holding back.
Scorching lava streaming down the mountain slope;
An unstoppable swelling of a golden, dripping heat. Fire.
White light
Silver brilliance
Piercing my all
Bursting this vessel
That is me.
All fear has left her eyes now,
Long gone -
And she knows her strength,
And the vast expanses of the grasslands.
Oh, I would build for you
—A Cathedral of the Heavens;
And you would tear it down, laughing—
Tipping over towers, crumbling the walls.
And although they fear you
Their fear is not mine.
And like all life
Your nature is tidal, too.
And so I will not hold you;
Not in, and not back.
And so you will flow,
In and, out and through me.
Wild Power.
“Is it meaningless to appologise?
Never.”
If I just knew how to say I’m sorry
Without the fuzz and ties;
Without unwittingly following a script
Not of my choosing;
Without inadvertently entering a game
Of guilt, analysis and righteousness;
A simple I’m sorry;
A breath of warmth into the icy air.
A bare token of surrender
To the inadequacy of humankind.
A sorry that floats above all that;
A gesture that reaches beyond.
Not because I think it the solution,
Not because I do not want that too;
But because I don’t know, and I don’t care
And In this very moment
I just want to feel
The space between us to be whole.
I wish I could,
In all my nothingness,
Connect you and me
To the parts in ourselves
That are already so:
Whole, healed, loving, loved.
Floating above all that.
From nobody to nobody:
I am sorry.
Little hedgehog, London 2022
A plant with holes,
Half a fence
In a pitiful attempt of fencing same from same.
(Maybe it’s art?)
A water
Flowing, close to me, but I don’t hear it.
I don’t know whether it’s standing or gushing;
Whether it wants to speak to me of peace or of chaos.
A purple flower of mystical scent
The imagination of which tickles my nose
- Mediterranean glory.
Leavy arms leaning against the brushes of the wind
Freedom - in fact - :
A firm, gentle hold.
A moment of peace, the absence of all the rest
Then, lingering, a sense of threat
In front of me, in the future, somewhat unreal.
Now, a pinch of sadness
For finding myself in Moloch’s grip;
Lost
In a maze of words and no purpose,
And I wonder why I’m here, or when I chose to go there - if at all.
Maybe those hyperbolic songs,
Were not so hyperbolic after all,
Just normal sampling.
Sad pitiful paradoxical human existence;
Or mere storytelling?
And then I dive back into peace
- plant, water, flower, tree -
A song of freedom and revolution.
It’s time to take the inevitable step;
Toward the dreading next scene,
Toward where the rhythm of the song takes me.
Now with peace by my side
And the absence of all the rest.
Wish me luck,
Since luck I will need.
It’s because your empty
And because you’re not;
Because the rustling and crackling
Announces around your corner,
Noone
Who wants a thing from me.
The meeting of glances
In that other space
Two different beings of endless forms
And yet united in shared puzzlement
At the oddity of our mutual singular existence.
And I wonder what you wonder about my wondering.
Becoming whole
Is decidedly not about solving anything;
Is about playing the strings of experience -
A violin in the middle of an oceanic orchestra;
The melody of existence.
All that is, all that was, all that ever will be.
I’ve come to listen to your song, dear friend
Geneva, 2019
On certain days,
When I'm the right amount of tired and awake,
Time is generous with me.
It flows
With the weighty, sticky velocity
Of golden-brown forest honey.
It stands
Nearly still
Like sultry middle eastern air on a hot day.
The ticking of the clock,
Slowed and muffled,
Its needles slightly too heavy to move in sync.
The sun paints rainbows on my lashes,
Obstructing my sight,
Directing it towards the ephemeral.
The music takes my body,
Decides to dance with it,
Carrying me from one life to the next.
When time is generous with me,
It inserts between two moments
Another one.
So small it could close go overlooked
And yet clearly there;
If only I tilt my head in just the right sort of way.
Waiting
For nothing at all.
Never do I feel more blessed
Never richer
Then on those days; when time is generous with me.
A long time ago, Czechia
I am thinking about change now - change in humans, changing humans
Changes that occur in silence
Changes that happen slowly, dimly
Changes sourced in mere witness
Of the outer world, the self, and the reactivity between them
Changes that creep up on you, unnoticed
Until they confront you in their full-bodied inescapability
Small changes that, gradually, become one big change
Changes that, once occurred, leave nothing unchanged
And as the gears of change grind along, slowly
As the tension builds, irrevocably
You will know, somewhere in the dark corners of your body and mind
That what is isn't right anymore
There will be fog at first - and fear
But once the feather sprung, once the drop spilled
All you remember will be
That it did
That everything assumed the place it was always meant to assume
That there is no going back, not even the thought of it
That you have become different, changed
That you have become
And while the silence that bore the change
Is what gives it its power
Silent change takes the world by surprise
And surprise will - at first - be met with resistance
And when the world finally does catch up,
Nothing remains intact
Everything is renegotiated
A new world is born
Secret moutain lakes - Summer 2021
You feel small and angry.
In a world that's big and cruel.
- A lake, dark and rough. Growling, resentful
At the imperfection
- no! Less ambitious than that -
at the sheer inadequacies of this world.
Bad design, useless design, mindless design,
- my suspicion: among us, creatures, camouflaged as humans, less the brains.
Blank faced.
Absurdity, absurdity.
A play of shadow puppets, but the play is no good.
And you wonder which one to choose:
Boredom
The essence of dis-engagement from the world,
A turning away, pessimistic nihilism.
Sadness
The retreat inward, a turning down,
Silent despair.
Anger
Hot and flaring fury,
A despair, loud and raging.
Threatening to swallow the world.
Your heart, pounding hard against your chest: “Wake up! Come alive! Breath, think!
Be alive with me, you idiot! Do not leave me to face this alone. “
Open eyes need courageous hearts.
And I need you.
Aletsch Glacier
I burn for your love
But I may not let the fire consume me
I crave your recognition
But need to find ways to satisfy my heart elsewhere
I desire that you may lay your eyes on my body and soul
And yet I need to make myself be seen
What is love but elusive touch
Leaving not but occasional waves of memories
Pressing my hands onto soft, moist moss,
Filling my lungs with earthy forest air,
The sight of the dense canopy and the dancing lights
Bring a surprising sort of clarity.
Not what I expected, not what I used to long for
Not what I believed my existence - my permission thereof - depended on
Moving closer to find less - less form, more freedom
An absence of the jarring, rattling, neon-lighted questions.
Like coming home,
Tired but whole, dirt on hands and cheeks,
Not a hero, and yet cloaked in the golden light of the parting sun,
My eyes resting on the horizon.
Just a forest walk - Fall 2018
Can you show me how to do it
Guide my searching hand
Until in all my blindness
I sight an incandescent strand
Can you show me how to do it
Without taking me from myself
Can you know this feeble heart
And yet revere my mighty self
Can you show me how to do it
A life well-lived, and death
To walk this world with vigour
As well as silence in my breath
El Medano, 2021
What is wrong with me, dear lover,
Speak, what is the thing?
I am running -
But I think you wanted me to sing.
Creation is the Good
That much I understood.
It's what fills the world with meaning, what sprinkles it with joy.
It's what helps hold high this honour, it is what guides the way.
I am grasping, grabbing, trying -
damn, I so wanted you to stay
That day, was a creation,
That day, we came so close.
In the end, we never made it,
In the end, it just slipped by.
Look at me - still here, still trying,
And failing, every time.
On the way back to the madina, Summer 2019
My heart wants to cry
And my eyes are bleeding.
I'm leaving you behind.
I’m turning the page.
Cutting loose from your filthy streets
Town without much heart.
You have been good to me
Yet been my home for much too long.
You broke me
You built me up.
All in just one breath.
I am grateful
For the purpose you gave
This young and drifting soul.
I am grateful
For the lessons you taught
And the tools you gave,
For I'm walking straighter, calmer these days.
For my questions have become sharper.
And my maps contain more flags.
I am grateful
For the friction, the pushback, the critique,
Coming from places of deep affection and care,
For they have fortified my soul.
The only answers
That ever withstood
The stare of doubt.
I am grateful
You returned to me the painter's palette.
The Colour. The Expression.
At the cost of making me weirder. Crazier. More different.
At the cost of exposing ways I’m below the web, and above it.
Today, I care less.
And. So Much More.
I am grateful
For returning the words.
Words are windows, and they are walls.
Words that I lost, years ago.
Lost them without knowing.
Like the knight
Who leads his stallion by the hand
Instead of riding it.
For knights are meant
To conquer the world.
They are meant to do so
From the top of a horse back.
They are meant to ride,
Ride fast, and far, and graciously.
For I'm not meant to be without words.
On to new worlds,
Faster, further, more graciously.
You broke me
You built me up.
One breath.
You fortified my soul.
The only answers
That ever withstood
The stare of doubt.
Today, I care less.
And. So Much More.
You have been good to me
Yet been my home for much too long.
Ride fast, and far, and graciously
Young Soul.
— November, 2019
Memories of Nights in Deserts. Sand. Sun. Sky.
I’m frightened of the thing that I’ve become; of the distance, the iron-cold that I’ve forged between us. What have I done, or have I done nothing?
And as we stand here, under the sun, my breath fogs up the wall of glass that has grown there between my heart and yours.
Through it, my gaze strokes your skin - just barely so -, and I remember the warmth that your arms once extended towards me. So readily, so abundantly.
Have I lost you? Are you there?
We do not understand each other. Words form the chasm arising between us. Worlsd moving apart, like tectonic plates shifting, over the course of aeons.
Or is it just the gushing waters pressing past us, furiously. The river of life, drowning our words in noise, before they even had a chance to be heard.
Our faces mirrored on the watery surface, light falling into our eyes. And we turn our heads, mere intuition, away from the reflection. Away from each other.
Human, that we are.
Maybe, we’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe, tomorrow is when we will meet.
Aare Valley - Summer 2020