irisha

There is a sunset brewing
In the distilleries by the vinyards of the sky 
A diffused cloud of haphazard sediment
Refusing, but surely settling to a pulpy purple..

I rest here but for a moment, 
Until I find my bearings to get going

Our hands reach towards one another
Like streams in early spring

We, both of us, are still, hold our ground
Yet trickle, flow, rush
To cross that barren stretch
Of grey, late-winter snow.

The uncertain terrain
Preaches the benefits of the hearth

The wild beasts
Feast at the bones of better men

But we, both of us,
Keep watch for that herald of the great thaw
The tiny prism, containing all the spring
The dew drop that announces to the world –
     Those who have kept their frozen vigils are not lost!

But all the grey-frostbitten days
I wander and wail and weep:

Oh lover, when the snow melts away your tracks
How will you ever find your way back
To me?

1. Luggage lost - who needs clothes in this heat?
2. Drive from Ben Gurion to Jefferson Airplane
3. Waving to Greece. Or the Greece my personal compass points to :-P
4. Remembering all the things i never knew, reliving places i've never been...
5. i feel at home. i'm happy. i'm here.

didn't have that beer in vienna, but there's always another chance ;-)))

holy shit there are so many people i miss!!
i'm sending you all mental postcards :-)

July, July...
Look up at the sky.
Look up
again. So sore,
Don't cry
Anymore.

July, stay focused...
You have to make it
to August.

The days go by quietly, cautiously, as if I'm waiting for something to hit me, something big, scary and elusive.
I see it hiding behind every corner. It used to panic me, throw me into hysterics, drown me under waves of emotion. Now I seem to have found my line with it, a path that allows me to watch unscathed, without dipping too low and breaking all the thermometers at once.
Now, the problem is focus. It takes so much just to stay afloat, to keep my cool, that I seem to be watching everything in my life. I can't seem to take a stand because I can't seem to take an interest. An interest requires investment, and all I have to invest right now is a cautious wading. I wade just deep enough to get people to think I'm swimming. Then I step out of the picture. Check - hysterics averted. Check - nothing has been pointlessly shattered. No sound has been wasted on an unhearing forest.
Some people suggest meditation for focus. Funny thing is, meditation is what got me here in the first place. What helps me to keep my world from crashing is what keeps me from walking into my own front door.
I look around and appreciate every single minute. But I no longer want to do anything with any of them. Occasionally I slip into the old me, letting passion drive, taking gasping guilty breaths of a life in which I am the center, the drive and the power. Those are days in which I laugh, cry and write. But passion isn't focus, it's just the other side of the coin.
Yoga helps because it allows me to feel my power from the inside. Feel everything fit into place, understand where to draw from and how to ground myself when I'm setting off sparks. But there is no connection to my "real" life, only a deeper understanding of a more powerful longing.

...maybe what I really need is just someone to talk to. Simple, silly, but exactly that which no amount of meditation or money can buy.

Your words were never many,
but they made all the difference.

As the hours after the broken glass
has been swept up,
the cuts treated,
the babes silenced -

It stings of emptiness
and false betrayal,

when really,
all it is

..is silence.

She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do do do ooh yeah
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors on his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix 'cause I'm going down

Mother Superior jump the gun, Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun, Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun, Mother Superior jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun mama

When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun mama
Happiness is a warm gun yes it is
Happiness is a warm yes it is gun
But don't you know that happiness is a warm gun mama

Slet byl iz razryada Spring 2004 kogda kryshu uzhe sneslo, a dognat' i vruchit' obratno - nekomu :-)
Fell in love at least three times - uzhe teper' trudno skazat' kogda i s kem, no s oduvanchikami tozhe, bylo delo :-) 2 dnya podryad tancevala. Pod solncem, pod dozhdem, pod tarpom... Kruzhitsya golova ot togo kak mimoletno schast'e i kak legko ego uderzhat' v rukah, liubovatsya, tancevat', pet', obsuzhdat', prosto zaglyadyvat' v glaza i vmeste molitsya...

And then, and then...

Leonard Cohen. I never even dreamed of seeing him in concert. Hard to pick the words, except that there were people standing in front of the sold out show doors with tears in their eyes, begging for tickets. There were also Palestinian demonstrations outside, but that added spice :-) Anyway, the man sang for 4 hours - they had no chance ;-)))

And now, every day just keeps making it clearer that life will never be the same again. That I'm not just chilling on my vacation, that things just won't fall back into place. that I won't just be satisfied. That I can, maybe I even should, but... I won't. Things just won't just fall into place.

And why should they??? Who said they should? Who can possibly look me in the eyes and say: it's better to be good than to be happy...

more. more...moremoremore... an ocean of more with the time to absorb it all and the power to create a universal hug so strong that no one will ever again curse the rain...

Here's perception:
The world is a bitter place. Cold, lonely, uncaring. Unrelenting. Unnerving. Cruel.

And then, there's perspective:
Step out of yourself and acknowledge that very soon, maybe even tomorrow, this will all pass...

And a voice of reason:
And when it does, pass, that is? It will be beautiful and warm... But that will also be an illusion. Just a station on the way.

And the bitterness of wanting a day-long hug:
Might as well not even take the time to get out of the train. Just pull the dirty curtains, shut out the rain, the sunshine, the hopeful dusk and the harsh sunrise and sleep...

And a toast to the self:
Sleep is overrated. Who has time for sleep when there's so much self-destruction yet to be done??

Wouldn't it be neat if life was just a huge house, with many many rooms.. Different rooms, filled with the people and things that make that particular atmosphere bloom.. Picture this: you wake up in the morning, in your peaceful bedroom, full of pillows, down blankets, someone warm nearby, you throw open the heavy drapes for a few drops of summer sun, you stretch, yaawn...and walk out to your kitchen, bright, sunny, breezy, savoring your morning solitude you take a sip of coffee, pull on a cigarette and... walk into the park, filled with your favorite smells, children, a lake, a soft blanket, a good friend takes out a bottle of wine and you wrestle over who gets the first sip...
      ...  anyway, i'm sure you have your own rooms. but wouldn't it be nice just to travel between them, stop by, spend the night, kiss, fight, make up... rooms that you don't have to hammer at day and night, rooms that are yours, have been yours and will be yours for as long as you want to stop by...

Why is it that everything in life, including ourselves, always has to be "worked on"?? What happened to every moment being perfect, just the way it is...