Barclay James Harvest , Life is for Living

You and me, our life is driftin' along
Watchin' the world as it's singin' its song
High above, someone is callin' to me
Life is for livin' and livin' is free

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home?

Turn around and see the circles we spin
And we're takin' our chances on where we begin
Up above, the rain is fallin' on me
Life is for livin' and livin' is free

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home?

Takin' up time tryin' to write a line till the break of day
Given a sign, can you make it rhyme, tell me what to say?
Makin' it fine, can you ease my mind, help me drift away?

Turn around and see the circles we spin
Takin' our chances on where we begin
Up above, the rain is fallin' on me
Life is for livin' and livin' is free

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home

ALONE WITH THE MOON - TIGER LILLIES CIRCUS - By Sebastiano Toma

don't really feel like this now..but often did

Antony and the Johnsons, Dust and water.

"I love the way you're waiting
I love your kind patience

I told you this day would come
Did you think I'd leave you here
Forever ?"

no...thoughts

all thought begins with the word NO.
It is the first word a child learns to claim borders
and identity.

so , no, attitude means nothing, education means nothing
in meeting another one when one is in love.

what happens in being in love is, when the feeling for the other
one is strong and clear enough, what happens is self-recognition,
finding oneself in infantility and emotional blindness and then seeing oneself
painfully exposed on a stage in one's own mind.
not to fall in these traps and holes is not a matter of attitude, attitude is artificial, but of
a un-pre-meditated readiness to see the other one and oneself in a new light.
and this is a surprise.
i heard we are too old to surprise each other:
for me, this is totally untrue.
each molecule in me says no to these words.
when i give up the ability for surprise, wonder, astonishment
in another one and in myself  i give up myself so much that i cannot be and give
anymore out of me: i would be spiritually dead.
all i call love would not even have ever existed.

Coragem, Paulo Coelho, quote

"A primeira qualidade do caminho espiritual é a coragem”, dizia Gandhi.

E, segundo o monge tibetano Chögyam Trungpa, a primeira qualidade do homem valente é lutar por aquilo que possa ser útil a toda a humanidade.

O mundo sempre parece ameaçador e perigoso para os covardes. Estes procuram a segurança mentirosa de uma vida sem grandes desafios, e se armam até os dentes para defender aquilo que julgam possuir. Os covardes são vítimas do próprio egoísmo, e terminam construindo as grades da própria prisão.

Mas os homens e mulheres valentes projetam seu pensamento muito além das paredes do quarto. Sabem que, se não fizerem nada pelo mundo, ninguém mais o fará.

Então tomam parte do bom combate da vida, mesmo sem entender direito porquê.

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/2016/05/20/coragem/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+PauloCoelhosBlog+%28Paulo+Coelho%27s+Blog%29

Antony and the Johnsons. Find the rythm of yor love

Die innere Musik der Dinge, Byung-Chul Han, Agonie des Eros

"Die innere Musik der Dinge erklingt erst beim Augenschließen,
das das Verweilen von ihnen einleitet."

Alice, when can we shut up and close our eyes?

Renaud Garcia-Fons - Djâni

Once, I knew a fine song,
—It is true, believe me,—
It was all of birds,
And I held them in a basket;
When I opened the wicket,
Heavens! They all flew away.
I cried, “Come back, little thoughts!”
But they only laughed.
They flew on
Until they were as sand
Thrown between me and the sky.

on happiness: for Alice

on happiness

happiness happens,

i wish you 

to be happy,

wish it for me

sadness is 

happiness lost

and pain

is nothing but loss

courage

is to live

accepting

what happens

humour

is to know

one's fragility

and smile

kindness

is to give

a smile

out of pain

happiness

is to give

a smile

with joy

love is

to meet

confusion

with embrace

laughter

is recognition

and release,

the same as tears

but true,

words are words,

there is no truth:

only this we do

to slay the dragon

to slay the dragon is bullshit.
we have to make them friends,
but when we want to do this
it is a task of love and requires more
courage than we usually have.
we have to go down, down in deep
dark places, we have to stumble
with watery eyes through the stench
and we have to stay fearless
when we see our dragon,
we cannot really talk to him or her,
dragons don't understand our language,
he or she cannot translate, he or she can perceive our voice
and our way of walking and smell our
essence, we can go and embrace him or her,
we cannot tame dragons, but we can make them feel
well with us.

maybe we can catch a ride, they are there anyway, dragons,
in all of us. we ride better with a friend.
for me, the myth means to live with the maze
of emotions in the light of consciousness
and human kindness.

no, love is not a toy sailing boat.

help me to break the circle

help me to break the circle

to untie the knots

my fingers are clumsy

and i slip on the ground

help me, Alice

or we will all

be lost and free

in nowhere

which is somewhere

where we don't belong

help me to be here

Alice, I cannot thank

you for your help 

in words and presence

but it is our knot

and task, i know 

help me, Alice,

i don't want to

cut it with a sword

i am so clumsy

i will just cut my finger

and my heart.

the truth of beauty, perishable but it grows out of itself

expected

'All love stories are frustration stories… To fall in love is to be reminded of a frustration that you didn’t know you had (of one’s formative frustrations, and of one’s attempted self-cures for them); you wanted someone, you felt deprived of something, and then it seems to be there. And what is renewed in that experience is an intensity of frustration, and an intensity of satisfaction. It is as if, oddly, you were waiting for someone but you didn’t know who they were until they arrived. Whether or not you were aware that there was something missing in your life, you will be when you meet the person you want. What psychoanalysis will add to this love story is that the person you fall in love with really is the man or woman of your dreams; that you have dreamed them up before you met them; not out of nothing — nothing comes of nothing — but out of prior experience, both real and wished for. You recognize them with such certainty because you already, in a certain sense, know them; and because you have quite literally been expecting them, you feel as though you have known them for ever, and yet, at the same time, they are quite foreign to you. They are familiar foreign bodies.'

https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/10/05/adam-phillips-missing-out-frustration-love/?mc_cid=5e19106c81&mc_eid=d4633eff0a

Something else

One day i asked Alice:

what would you do if you missed me so much that it hurts?

Something else, she said.

This is why i write...Alice~

flying cages and Alice

    don't know these flying cages

but have a lot of imagination on flying    cages, deep wells, dark cellars with onions and potatoes stored in slowly rotting wooden shelves and insects crawling in the crevices of the floor, dungeons and Alice and me in all of them being caught in mirrors. Who the fc is Alice?

I lost her on the road, i asked the Mad Hatter, and i am still looking for her.

also i have loads of imagination on apples, orchards, strawberries, cherries, sunflowers, roses, trees, rivers, lakes and cornfields and green meadows and thunderstorms and in all of them Alice and me walking hand in hand, making love, sleeping, waking, greeting birds and foxes and the far hills.

where is Alice?

Lost?

i asked the moon, the stars, the sun, horoscopes, peddlers, beggars,fishes and otters and card players, i asked in all places i've been. most i got were whispered hints from a snake, lisping and hissing so much that i didn't understand.

now i ask you: where are you now, Alice?

whooosh

listening i cannot hear
deaf from the sound
of blood and water
sprayed into wind

looking i cannot see
blinded by hurt and sun
but now these Jacaranda
trees, stirring memory

wake me to feel
the cold evening
and the endless sky
here i am

born into waste land
and so i understood:
to stay.
i say: no.

i ask the wind:
take me.
i asked you.
now i ask myself.

beauty can be present

come to a desert in consciousness with beauty's
barbarian detachment
and see it as it is,
when all is relative
i walk away means something
only in relation to another thing
or person

Sintra

dis-illusion-ment

   disillusionment

   is not what i meant,

   dying on the vine

   is not the best place

   One can so easily

   destroy the charm

   of life, and free

   of delusion

   there is not much

   left to do but to sit

   and wait for better

   times or to go out

   and see what is

   there, around, now.

   i feel detached from

   even me as i ask:

   who sits here,

   is he present?

   he watches himself,

   lost in questions.

   i think i better

   give him a push,

   another name,

   drive him as mad

   as everybody is:

   insane, exquisitely

   in pain. when

   we read we laugh.

   so i write

   to read

   to laugh

   to forget

   what i wrote

   

bearded enthusiasts

one found refuge

it must be a sectarian way of life, maybe students, bearded,dark eyes shining and pupils dilated, a bit drunk, in hormonal enthusiasm, discussing ardently hypersexuality, the girls and women between boredom and fascination, one slim young man silently texting in his mobile, a broad and more obese one wordlessly blowing smoke rings and changing from supporting his chin to crossing his arms in front. he looks like the one who would be predestined to kill the other ones quietly outside, the slim one may be texting this to him in the chain of command.
but no fear, all this is democracy,
you can say what you want and nobody cares.

ps:
but one of them really looks a bit
like a young Trotsky: it's legal.

philosophically not speaking

philosophy must reach

the end of words

and a silence

deeper than a well

we keep on to talk

because when we go

deep inside we would

have to listen to echo

before we reach peace,

there in this depth

we find ourself

struggling

fighting

to be quiet and calm.

until nobody is there

everybody is too much.

even when the birds

will all be dead

we have to find

the sound inside

and lose it

to stillness.

now, philosophically

speaking:

is stillness peace?

yes

    yes i am alive

lost identity

lost identity

o i found it

radiating

from the deep

so often lost

in days and numbers

and blown away in 

longing for you

i touched your hand

and this cruel confusion,

imprisoning you,

you had to stay inside

to find you

and protect you,

to be alive

in the joy of you

i walk in riddles,

when i left

i left a part of me

now i am limping

remembering

your presence

as if you were

still here.

o i found you

i leave you

o i found it

radiating

from the deep

i met a man

it must be me

i met somebody

she said
she is nowhere
and everywhere
such as i thought

God was watching
over me when i
was a small child.
Her presence, she said

is the highest form
of love.
then what could mine
ever be?

she could say
all what she didn't want,
but not wanting
was her only way.

so who am i
to disturb these
calm circles
on the water?

me, i am a simple man
and i cannot grasp
detachment,
i need wood to burn

in my home
when it is cold
and a kiss
when i am ill.

it is not words
driving me away
but the lack of warmth
and my frozen skin.

God may allow her
to be as she is,
i will remember
her essence

which i tasted
as honey and vinegar
biting sweetly
in my soul

and nobody holds me,

so.

lost tenderness

wheresoever
now
these fragile colors
this pastel sky

only touches
lost softness
deep inside
hidden from teeth


a love
not reaching
me in touch but
lost in translation

not in my arms
but in outer space,
the air is thin
and the stars are cold

i cannot breathe
this presence
nor can i drink
this bitter tea

in the end
all there is are bubbles
glittering in the sun
one moment there
then gone

maybe
they don't wish
to be alone:
when they touch
they burst

i stay aground
my feet are there
to walk
until,
because.


Von meinem iPhone gesendet

Alef ,Wim Mertens

Cat in an empty apartment

Wisława Szymborska


Die—you can’t do that to a cat.
Since what can a cat do
in an empty apartment?
Climb the walls?
Rub up against the furniture?
Nothing seems different here
but nothing is the same.
Nothing’s been moved
but there’s more space.
And at nighttime no lamps are lit.

Footsteps on the staircase,
but they’re new ones.
The hand that puts fish on the saucer
has changed, too.

Something doesn’t start 
at its usual time.
Something doesn’t happen
as it should.
Someone was always, always here,
then suddenly disappeared
and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Every closet’s been examined.
Every shelf has been explored.
Excavations under the carpet turned up nothing.
A commandment was even broken:
papers scattered everywhere.
What remains to be done.
Just sleep and wait.

Just wait till he turns up,

just let him show his face.
Will he ever get a lesson
on what not to do to a cat.

Sidle toward him
as if unwilling
and ever so slow
on visibly offended paws,
and no leaps or squeals at least to start.

sleep and morning

this night was short

from two to half past five

i heard them half asleep

now i am out

in the morning breeze

the pink and blue light

and these songs of birds

i see i am alive

and i feel there will be

all these mornings

i will meet, me,

cat, horse, flowers

i am so much awake

and will not see you

next to me 

and the vanishing moon

to greet you in the smile

of your eye or mine

nor in the warmth

of my arm or yours

and sometimes

i will think of you

being so far away

as you have always been

then i will walk

into my day

wishing you well:

we all must fly

Wound to wound , Wim Mertens

Ólafur Arnalds ,The Apple of My Eye

Ogro&freedom

Maurice Andre ,Tartini Trumpet Concerto

on y va

The Corries,The Rose of Allendale

sweet & thorns

Leonard Cohen,In My Secret Life

do i have a secret life?

Basso Profundo Trio ,Song of the Volga Boatmen

Rainer Maria Rilke, Vielleicht sind alle Drachen

Vielleicht sind alle Drachen unseres Lebens Prinzessinnen, die nur darauf warten uns einmal schön und mutig zu sehen. Vielleicht ist alles Schreckliche im Grunde das Hilflose, das von uns Hilfe will

Rainer Maria Rilke, Alle Gefühle sind...

Alle Gefühle sind rein, die dir helfen, dich zu sammeln und zu erheben; unrein ist das Gefühl, das nur eine Seite deines Wesens ergreift und dich dadurch verzerrt.

Crosby, Stills & Nash , Lady Of The Island

just nice..
and i wonder when one is in love how even the word
fucking must come up and how a sentence like
"fucking is boring" will come to the mind.
it can only mean either not to be in love
or to have gone into estrangement too far out.

Derek Gripper: Salama / Jarabi - Fanta Sacko / Toumani Diabaté

Peine perdue / Vain effort ( André Gagnon )

Rachmaninoff Prelude Op. 3 No. 2 in C# Minor (Rachmaninoff)

garden

    wild beauty

processing tiredness

what happens when you sit in a restaurant and you wait too long

for food coming to your table?

you are not hungry anymore

and you get bored.

life is so rich around and inside

and we waste it with waiting,

hoping, going against our instincts.

we discuss morals, ethics, religion,

sociology, our past, feminism, psychology, our behaviour, our facial expression, the meaning of life:

definitely we talk too much in situations

when we should just cook our own food

and eat it gracefully without having come to a place where we must feel annoyed

by the lack of what we need.

now i feel so detached...i must go for

a walk and see...all so far, nobody is near,

maybe not even me.

show me ..call me and i can be here. i am thirsty, give me water.

not words. 

my words are only mine, 

i have another world to give,

my life.

do i still want to?

in the end maybe all was only

a poem and when it is written

it is gone, once read forgotten.

this is up to life.

moon , may 21st, 2016

in such hard times,
The poetry of Wei Ying-wu

visiting the ferry in the western suburbs again

Where the river winds i reflect on my travels
a traveller lost in remniscence again
the moon last night was so lovely
I've come back to see it in the waves
birds won't roost where they feel afraid
or a fragrance spread where it's cold
when will i hold someone's hand again
the flowers overhead look like sleet

Schubert violin sonata no. 3 in G minor D408

The Corries, Gartan Mother's Lullaby

The Gartan Mother’s Lullaby

by: Joseph Campbell
(Seosamh MacCathmhaoil)

Sleep, O babe, for the red bee hums
The silent twilight’s fall:
Aibheall from the Grey Rock comes
To wrap the world in thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,
My love and heart’s desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.

Dusk is drawn, and the Green Man’s Thorn
Is wreathed in rings of fog:
Siabhra sails his boat till morn
Upon the Starry Bog.
A leanbhan O, the pale half moon
Hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune
I sing, O love, to you.

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Faintly sweet doth the chapel bell
Ring o’er the valley dim:
Tearmann’s peasant-voices swell
In fragrant evening hymn.
A leanbhan O, the low bell rings
My little lamb to rest
And angel-dreams, till morning sings
Its music in your breast.

Sleep, O babe, for the red bee hums
The silent twilight’s fall:
Aibheall from the Grey Rock comes
To wrap the world in thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,
My love and heart’s desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.

just another day

and my cat wanted to show off and scratched my visitors,
now looking like a mix of guilty
school boy and frustrated tiger..