in the fog at night: diary notes of a tomcat

i admit that there is expanding waste land inside, a vague sadness which could drown everything in its vastness just as the fog does now. it could drown myself and all initiative. i feel that i have been homeless all my life since my father died when i was a boy. i had realized it just at that time so long ago, and this image has joined me ever since. often i have been like a stranger in this world. i tend to sit next to myself and wonder what is happening.

it is not so bad, it just is like that.

but i can go out of this desert and cross borders, and i can take my own light and fire of being inside and stay alive, aware and as kind as i can. i actually can bring this to shine and warm outside as well.
otherwise i couldn't do my work as a doctor at all.

as a private person, nearly without friends, this means "real" friends, this is quite different.

in my twenties already i saw myself as an old tiger, irritable, constant toothache; the best thing was to feel my soft paws on the green moss of tropical forests.

now i do feel more like an ageing tomcat put at the side of the road, neglected, flea-infested, hungry and on my own. i scratch, i bite, and i purr up to strange ladies without any proper reason. what can they do but smile if there is no food in their handbag? what can i do then but leave and walk along the ditch to find something to eat?

come to think of it, i developed habits of a talking and even meowing to myself, more so when nobody listens. i don't.

i try to reach out with the flow of my life and light to this "you".
i see this "you" has no need of me.

meow.
you.
come out of  the fog.

i do.
slowly.
as all proper tomcats do.

in the forest: beauty, ice and danger

Billy Joel - In The Middle Of The Night (The River of Dreams)

Aziza Mustafa-Zadeh: Dreaming Sheherezadeh

Balmorhea - Remembrance (Official Video)

Lisa Hannigan - Nowhere To Go

The little prince & the fox, ...

It was then that the fox appeared.

"Good morning," said the fox.

"Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.

"I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."

"I am a fox," the fox said.

"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."

"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."

"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.

But, after some thought, he added:

"What does that mean--'tame'?"

"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"

"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"

"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"

"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."

"'To establish ties'?"

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."

"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."

"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."

"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.

The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.

"On another planet?"

"Yes."

"Are there hunters on that planet?"

"No."

"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"

"No."

"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.

But he came back to his idea.

"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.

"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."

"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."

"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.

"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."

"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.

"Yes, that is so," said the fox.

"Then it has done you no good at all!"

"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:

"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret." 

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

Vivaldi - Sonatas for Cello & BC, Bruno Cocset

trapdoors...B.Shaw is often acidly lucid

 

"Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.”
George Bernard Shaw

piercing the veil: salad is an illusion

i am like a salad,
sprouting out of the soil,
green and growing

i need water
i need care
or i will be
tasteless, wasted
and in the end,
like illusion,
not even salad.

i am like an illusion
but i am not an illusion.
i am like salad,
but i am not salad.

i am like a dog
but not as innocent,
i need affection
i need care
or i will not
even be a dog

i am a man
and i am like
the illusion of a man,

but even Buddha said
all is like an illusion.
he didn't say
all is an illusion.
so i am not.

i want you,
not an illusion,
you are
like an illusion.
but you are not
an illusion.

rivers living
will flow
and meet
with other rivers
and reach
the sea,
maybe together.

they have direction,
innate intention,
they melt into the sea
and still they flow.

i am not alive
in the sea of nothingness
though everything
comes out of it.

imagination
and desire
and courage
are the force of creation,
pysical and in the mind.

illusion is but a word.
it tastes of bad memories,
it is about seeing
with different eyes than yesterday.
this is all what it means.
all what is now illusion
was real before anyway.

all experience
can be seen as illusion,
we are travellers,
and we are passing
and passing through
and passing by.


it is a truth,
being travellers,
but it is not an aim,
and passing-by is not an aim.
it happens.


ps:....this is personal&not a poem....
it is about trying to see a future for a relationship
in which love can develop.
kindness and love are not more illusion
than hate , violence, mistrust and indifference.
this view would remind me of the child who burns its finger
and then realizes: hot. no, pain, bad. bad memories remain much
more easily than good impressions. a common problem.


ethymology: ludere (Latin) = to play

first frost today

Morphine - Swing It Low

Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds - Wonderful Life

i read yesterdays thoughts...now on music and water

it is not the one sound of the flute nor the sequence or composition of notes nor the rhythm which makes music music.  it is ones mind listening  to the flow and it is the  life and spirit in what you hear taking you on from now. "good" music is undefinable, it is an entrance to development, change, blossoming out and into inner life and death at the same time. it can be  resonance of  mystery, revelation, inspiration. it is life and it is timeless. each moment in music is now, and one now follows the other: this is life. music can make you discover life as being there now, and it always is.  music takes you out of your day for day experience of time, it contradicts your concept and imagination of time as it is always there only now. when the music stops and if you loved it and you had given your complete awareness to it  owing to the spiritual quality of "good" music, you will always feel a moment of sadness as if  life had stopped for a moment and death would approach. often i feel a vague but intense desire for some place i cannot remember or i do not know, yet.

when i sit next to a river and watch its flow i tend to go into meditation. the flow takes me away, the reflections of light and shadow, the eddies, whirls, curls, the small places of hesitation or restlessness, the back current near the bank, the way of the water around obstructions, dead branches, stones, the leaves dancing on the surface, sinking, coming up again, the gurgling, the sound of the birds and the water, the scent of just this place where i am now.

the deep quality of the river is direction of flow.
even seeing the  whirlpools and the backwaters, the flow is one way.
when the path is narrow it will flow faster, when the river's bed is large it will glide more slowly.
but it is always the same flow.
water will meet water, another river, a lake, the sea. it will always reach the ocean.

one drop of water does not make the river nor the ocean
but it will always be a a part of flow and life.
this can be one spiritual core of  a meditation on water.


"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."
A.Huxley

i read another man's thoughts

i read another human's thoughts today.

it is quite clear to me that there is no relief without pain, no joy without suffering and no other way than to meet the core of one deepest sorrow and go through there if you ever want to see light.

there is no love pouring out if you cannot have real compassion for your own lost inner child.

in my mind this life is not about finding a way how not to be reborn but to live here in kindness and acceptance of uncertainty and with the deep knowledge that our being here is perishable. we are on a journey through the universe, a rich adventure and highly educational in itself. i do not myself believe in simple rebirth here on earth as a frog, a horse or a human being. i do imagine a travel through the gates of life,birth and death into another kind of being and travel and into other galaxies and spheres.

i am a messenger of stars and the distant unknown, a particle and a dance and a song and a wave and a ray of light longing for home wherever this may be. many people call it god, but this is a misused word.

the certain presence of death is a part of life, not the opposite. one makes the other valuable and possible.

all of us are connected, good and bad, soul and non-soul, plant, animal, man. we will all meet  in the sea of nothingness where we will not know each other, and from there we will be sent out again to travel, to meet, to experience and learn.

there is no nirvana in the sense that this is a place where we can live in holy detachedness.

it is not an aim of life to be detached in eternal happiness. life shows us death and death shows us life.

in nature one grows out of the other. we open our eyes walking through a forest, a desert, we open our mind and we see.

analytic thinking and even meditation can do nothing but open our gates of perception and show us a way, outside the thought, inside the meditation.

mind you, there just is no easy way. happiness is a gift, not a goal. 

if it is not a way of the heart it will be wrong, wrong only meaning it will not lead us out of confusion and

we will not listen to music when we stumble.

it is all the same as for oneself and as in the beginning of this text when two people want to learn to sincerely love each other, howsoever they start meeting. they will know  when they can reach each other through the brain, the skin, the heart, the soul, words and touch. they have to see the inner child in each other, feel not only attraction but feel the complete other being as a part of the spirit of our cosmic entity. if then they manage to truly meet each others's deepest wounds and sorrow , undress masks , penetrate shells, share pain and suffering without running away , then they may be able to trust and love. it takes persistence . a precondition for it to last is to be open to astonishment and wonder, to work on non-judgement and non-expectation, to use rather rituals than routines and to see each other as the wonder he or she really is.

and for this it is a pre-condition to see oneself as a wonder of creation , 

not just to go back in analysis, but to give each day a chance for a surprise.

i see no other way.

Maria Joao Pires Scarlatti

Antony and the Johnsons - Swanlights (official video)

3 Stones placed in a Storm. Anthony and the Johnsons.Soft Black Stars.St...

Daylight and the Sun. Antony & the Johnsons. "Crying Light"

i understand but i don't need to cry.
i can have this light inside.
it is there.

Bobby McFerrin & Maria Joao

i like this so much...:-)

David Darling- Celloblue Prayer and word

Otis Redding-Sitting on the dock of the bay

o,  after work, sports and dinner now, how much would i like a walk along the sea

PJ Harvey - Horses In My Dreams

PJ Harvey - Silence - Later with Jools Holland

PJ Harvey - When will i see you again?

PJ Harvey - This Is Mine

Stand By Me, Ben E King, 1961

Richard Burton reads 'Fern Hill' by Dylan Thomas

Hanging on a Star Nick Drake

Adyton

whatever the fog hides,
the wind will tell me.
the veil in your eyes
hints at secret places.

but the smile and joy
show light and spirit.
though there is
so much broken,
inside, us,

shards, sharp splinters,
glittering glass, thorns,
lost love , dark ,
mould, grey moss,

old wounds and pain, scars,
frozen blood, clots in the heart,
death and decay,
unfinished business

a bad smell of memories
sticking to us,
in the wrinkles inside,
the sagging deep of soul

pieces of pieces of pieces
which will never find
to each other again,
no need to explore,
no need for glue.

NOW can be
a holy garden
protected by walls
which we  create
to stay in peace


we will
meet there,
now
or 
maybe

Johann Sebastian BACH Adagio, BWV 974 - La vie passante, Christian Bobin...

Lévon Minassian & Armand Amar - Hovern' engan (The Winds Have Dropped) 3...

Lost time, R.Tagore: but i am a fool, sometimes

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. 
But it is never lost, my lord. 
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands. 

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, 
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness. 

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed 
and imagined all work had ceased. 
In the morning I woke up 
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.

John Martyn - Please Fall In Love With Me

Alexander Veljanov - Fragile little thing

Vashti Bunyan - Love Song

Vashti Bunyan - Hidden

paths toward light

near Heroldstatt, Sontheim

no words associated

"There is  fine vibration that encompasses everything within Being, and it provokes an investigation that does not have any words associated with it,.."

"If a blind man wants to grope his way forward through the darkness that belongs to him, it is certain that he will use his hearing, but as things grow closer, nothing will substitute for the sense of touch, for that subtle vibration of contact and that direct intimacy that comes from the closest possible encounter with the environment."


from: http://zenyogagurdjieff.blogspot.de/

close to the edge

i am like the sea

i follow a rhythm

much older than me

i reach out,

i shrink away,

i have my tides

i touch the land,

retire in me,

come again

swelling, then

breaking in waves

the wind wrinkles my face,

the sun steals my water,
i am the ocean,

i give

but i cannot die

rains fill me,

rivers,

i am so deep,

i feel too vast,

i am in all parts
and i live as a part.
i must be

so very small.

sometimes i think

i drown

in myself

i live so close

to the edge.

i want to touch,

and often

i think

i will never

reach your shore

November: to open the sky

when you think,
all is relative.
when you feel,
all flows.

when you walk,
step for step
is a surprise.

when you run,
you don't see
what is near.

i want to rip
through the clouds,
open the sky,
i cannot

i sit
and
breathe.
i doesn't change
anything.
but i change.

and instead,
i open my eyes,
i see.

you.

you,
light,
meander through
these dark places
in my life.

me,
dying a little,
day for day,
tired

me,
spirit, clear,
transcends
passion,
bitter, sweet

you,
still growing inside,
green under snow,
hidden,
present

me,
stronger
hour for hour,
lonely,
i kiss the night

you
a river,
flowing now,
and
me,
thirsty

wake,
i am calling.
wake...

i am not a white coat doctor

no. i am not a white coat doctor. i never was. i never wanted to be.
i am always who i am.
a human, a man, as honest as i  can be, listening, in opposition, with compassion,
i take the piss out of you or i  take you in my arms, i am there. nobody has to like me.
it will be easy for me to stop being a doctor because i will remain just the same man.
i never took on another face but my true one. i don't shut up though i may repent what i said. then i will say:sorry. what i feel now to be true may not be true tomorrow: and i know it. and if you are intelligent: you know it. all is change, everything flows. i will die, now i live. science knows this today and that tomorrow. i don't trust in it anymore: this is wisdom of experience.
i don't need to advertise. i am too busy. i don't want to be that much busy, obviously.
you can stay away from my office. you can stay away from me. you cannot stay away from truth forever.
ja, i am horrible but kind. face me and i will see you.
make me listen, and i will ask. ask me, and i will answer.
but i don't know.i know what i don't know.this is a lot to know. i am an authority without trying or needing to be. i am a shaman, and i want to be. but i may not be good and i may not be good being a shaman.
i am as crazy as i am, as i was and i will remain this way: freeing myself of yesterday's opinions day for day.
good night.

Chet Baker - I Talk To The Trees

Balanescu Quartet - Empty Space Dance

o i am falling in love with this

Balanescu Quartet - Lullaby dream

CYMINOLOGY - As Maa

Dhafer Youssef - Tarannoum

....O you with bloodshot eyes and bloody hands, Night is short-lived, The detention room lasts not for ever, Nor yet the links of chains....

Yusuf Bilge & Sufi Music Ensemble - Whirling

Maybe the dancing leaves

maybe the dancing leaves

want to talk,

i listen, 

a rustle , the wind

is strong, but i hear

maybe they are happy,

free whirling for 

a little time,

telling me goodbye

i turn around,

there is the night,

filled with mist and

a sweet scent of decay

a dog barks

and i walk

away,

never too far,

never too near

the dancing leaves,

maybe they called me

to follow.

Sarah Fimm Great Wide Open HQ

Joe Cocker - When The Night Comes (Live-HQ)

Dhafer Youssef - Langue muette

...like it very much

Alice in Wonderland....

"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on.
"I do, " Alice hastily replied; "at least I mean what I say, that's the same thing, you know."
"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you might just as well say that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see!" 
Alice in Wonderland.

Emily Wells - Waltz of the dearly beloved

LUMIERE DU SILENCE.wmv - ANOUAR BRAHEM

Jethro Tull - Dun Ringill

smiling with relief

Heraklit

panta rhei

πάντα ῥε

" Πάντα χωρεῖ καὶ οὐδὲν μένει („Pánta chorei kaì oudèn ménei“)

Dhafer Youssef - Digital Prophecy - Holy Breath

wonderful, Zen-like...

Tu risa, Pablo Neruda

TU RISA

Quítame el pan si quieres,

quítame el aire, pero

no me quites tu risa.

No me quites la rosa,

la lanza que desgranas,

el agua que de pronto

estalla en tu alegría,

la repentina ola

de planta que te nace.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo

con los ojos cansados

a veces de haber visto

la tierra que no cambia,

pero al entrar tu risa

sube al cielo buscándome

y abre para mí

todas las puertas de la vida.

Amor mío, en la hora

más oscura desgrana

tu risa, y si de pronto

ves que mi sangre mancha

las piedras de la calle,

ríe, porque tu risa

será para mis manos

como una espada fresca.

Junto al mar en otoño,

tu risa debe alzar

su cascada de espuma,

y en primavera, amor,

quiero tu risa como

la flor que yo esperaba,

la flor azul, la rosa

de mi patria sonora.

Ríete de la noche,

del día, de la luna,

ríete de las calles

torcidas de la isla,

ríete de este torpe

muchacho que te quiere,

pero cuando yo abro

los ojos y los cierro,

cuando mis pasos van,

cuando vuelven mis pasos,

niégame el pan, el aire,

la luz, la primavera,

pero tu risa nunca

porque me moriría.

El viaje. Erik Satie y Michael Nyman.

obrigado..

Sarah Fimm - Fragile

all is inside, the forest, the sea, ...

all is inside,

the forest, the sea, the evening call of the crows, you, me.

we are made of empty space and a few sparkles of stardust.

but this space is not empty, it is space and filled with magic.

how can we walk and dance, so heavy, weighed down

with water and gravity. and this wonder, so much space inside to meet.

we are all a part and one and cannot be apart.

only thought makes all relative,

thought is centered on comparison and yesterday.  

thinking separates from experience,

it goes with words and therefore does create confusion.
thinking is an act of rebellion,  a way of being a warrior.

it makes us fall out of heaven.

we are not living in relativity,

we are not special and not ordinary,

we are who we are.

and here is the forest:

magic autumn forest near my home

Sarah Fimm - Be What You Wanna Be

she is really good...new discovery

Sarah Fimm - Fly

Paradise - Sarah Fimm

Sarah Fimm - White Birds

so lovely..
see also:
Morning Time, Sarah Fimm

http://www.sarahfimm.com/

L'Arpeggiata - Ah! Vita Bella

 "It's midnight, on a very, very dark night, It's midnight, the moon is asleep, It's midnight, but it was broad daylight, Suddenly the light went away, It's midnight and I know not why ! You used to like sausages, but now you don't eat them. You used to like cherries, but now you don't eat them. You used to like making love at any time of the day. Ah, the good life ! Why don't you return ?

You used to like warm bread, You used to like pasta and beans. You used to love your family, You used to love your children, You used to like fun and dance, You used to like riding on horseback. Ah, the good life ! Why don't you return ? You used to like the scent of flowers, now you dont't even sniff them... You used to like the countryside, now you don't even notice it... You used to like watching the sun, as it set over the sea."

The Guest House, Rumi

The Guest House 

This being human is a guest house. 
Every morning a new arrival. 

A joy, a depression, a meanness, 
some momentary awareness comes 
as an unexpected visitor. 

Welcome and entertain them all! 
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, 
who violently sweep your house 
empty of its furniture, 
still, treat each guest honorably. 
He may be clearing you out 
for some new delight. 

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, 
meet them at the door laughing, 
and invite them in. 

Be grateful for whoever comes, 
because each has been sent 
as a guide from beyond.


~ Rumi ~

Riomaggiore, more memories now