past midnight, diary, on miracles

my life is just my life.
i have a stale taste in my mouth
on words and feelings of love.
that had been different,
each word carried meaning and presence,
dreams, magic and future.
i have a very bad scent in my nose on the split
between body and soul, it has
infected me, it is like an ulcer now, not healing,
and a dressing will not be enough.

you feel different, i know,
and i feel like a lemon, all emotions squeezed out,
a peel, without sense and without an energy you could use.

when one cannot talk, one must be silent,

love is nothing to talk on.
i am nothing to talk on.
i move. you move.
different directions.

you loved my absence.
you loved me because of my absence.
you kept loving me through your absence,

in your absence i could not breathe,
and i have not been there.
your absence has been a wound
and a vacuum.

will you have to stay now in your absence,
in your sadness,
in your own holiness
and me in mine?

in prison and in prison,
and as we could not breathe
in our presence
maybe we can fly out of the cages.

all holiness, paradise and healing
have always been right here,
on the road.

maybe you should look for another.
and let me go free.
oblivion could be our spring...
when no miracle happens.
i am not expecting miracles,
i carry our ghosts.

each line and each silence
have shown me day for day
distance and walls behind,
closures, rejections,
concepts, judgements,
opinions, a lack of response,
the death of synchronicity,

and each step and opening
has been a stillbirth,
ending in conflict and reaction,
only created opportunity for staying
in the patterns of past,
walking backwards
and out and inside alone.

you created with me a dead volcano,
i am colder day for day,
i freeze,
i have longed so much for you to open
your heart for me, to welcome me,
to be a home with me,

no flower is in the garden,
when i‘d say flower
you‘d say nothing,
maybe out of fear
there could be a flower
and it would die
the moment of being called

so it is only my flowers,
yours are yours.
please when you cannot come fly away,
bring cherries when i die.
but you‘ll be late,
i know.

i do not know

i cannot say what i want.

i see all,  i go around , slowly, i look from the other side.

i grow still like a lake can be still , i look from inside, then i reflect.

i don‘t know if i can love again.

but is love a choice, is it not a river flowing and

taking us, is it not at the same time a river flowing in us

and through us and the  very ground of our soul and body,

the vehicle of our innermost essence?

is it a choice?

to fall in love marks whom we love, to be in love keeps our awareness there,

to love is hard. 

when we love we have to give up self so often, because when we do we grow out of us and see the other. here is the meeting point, and here we learn how to be humble and simple, we are the red hot iron being hammered.or we give up.

love is no way out of pain but through pain and through and with the pain of the other.

there is no easy path.

all good  advice, all manuals are for the burning.

nobody can teach you to be you and at the same time go beyond yourself.

nobody can teach you how to stand up when all falls apart.

when i think and let reason speak, i do not want to love.

i don‘t want to be involved in a process which may lead me to disaster.,

which will destruct and deconstruct the person i am now.

i don‘t want to catch bitterness like a  flue , i don‘t want to lose once more immediacy and spontaneous flow to another‘s hesitation, doubt and fear.

i don‘t want to be kept in a circle of reactions without balance and humour.

i wish i had a partner whom i could allow to make me laugh about me even,

not a relationship tickling out my failures and temperament.

and i don‘t want any relationship in which we talk only on you and me and mainly on me.

i‘d refuse, love or not love.

i listen, i hear just romantic, humans are an accident of nature, life is punishment,

all is boring, all is the same, words like couple shit, analytic processes being applied to what happens between two humans will create an unsurmountable wall of opinions, defences and attacks. i do no wish to participate. it is continuously going backwards.  but i want to live, love and die forwards and in all directions and spaces. when i love i love, when i am bad i am bad.

i don‘t want discussions on love. we all know deep down what love means to us ourselves.

i wish to do  fully and with full presence what i do , and i need silences which are not heavy and not spiced with thunderstorms brewing but set us free in  companionship and when separate.

i have nothing more to say.

now not.

i don‘t know what i want, with whom.

i admit i don‘t know.

i don‘t want more chaos anymore than happens anyway, i want not so much an exciting as 

a simple life, calm and filled with warmth. i had my many exciting years in various countries and places.

maybe i had been for a few years an addict for desaster and despair.

this i left. i live on a green meadow, an island where i can be me, near the sea.

diary note: walk, fly, fall

learning to walk means learning to fall, means learning to get up.
on flying it is all the same-only that you fall harder.

diary note

i don't believe anymore that persons will change habits, at least not basic patterns.
also nothing will influence to whom they are attracted, this has roots in childhood and ,yes, in
karmic past and presence.
people are alive, so they react all the time, reaction is the chemistry of life.
only in meditation and un-selfing they can come out: for a while..
they learn but they do not change much.They may imagine they made choices:
mostly not, they survived by reaction, a lot of choices was only
what had been remaining to survive.
but of course we narrate this to our self another way..


yes, i miss touching my soul and embrace, i miss the un-selfing in intimacy,  silent trust, a companion in joy and sadness sharing openly, a warm heart next to mine,

-but after all there is solitude which fills me with music
and my relative, nature, to always receive me.

giving is flow and i fear to reach  limits -when i think.

i am robbed of all faith in others to join me in love, may this can change
because it is not part of my patterns.

for some time now there is only wind blowing, and it blows all dust away.

well, that's it. i only talk to this wind.

diary note, stormy night

love..is a four letter word and it is a river.
it creates valleys, waterfalls, strong currents, soft lakes,
it joins us into the sea. and beyond, into the clouds, the rain, in all
and all is in all-in love.

giving freely in love , from one's heart is joy.

to be in a trap, bound to obligation, is not to give freely-
only when obligations and bonds are taken on by both, when there is a flow and communication,
when clearness can permit silence and allow free talking on problems.

yesterday i saw a film on the rivers of the Nile, the blue, the white, the ancient  yellow one.
i remember the many hours i spent on Lake Victoria, on the Nile in an inflatable between Uganda and Sudan with thunderstorms and so many snakes, fishing around the Murchison Falls-and the sadness of dead animals along The Nile,killed in the civil war, thousands of maggots dripping into the water from dead Hippos.

Also i remember a narrow escape from hippos on Lake Edward, blown across with the sunset wind,  engine finished, fishermen pulled us out with a traditional wooden boat, a tree trunk hollowed and formed with fire and much labour.

i also remember my older son's Malaria after and a hard drive along dangerous roads to a small hospital. I remember my good friends .

i didn't work much as  a doctor, only the first two years, then i had to coordinate and manage a rural development project for loads of West Nile. This was a project drawn up with the people there,
and it was indeed about development. This meant you do not expect to see so many results in 3 years...it is a slow process. and it is politics...
i had learned much patience there and it came as the only way.

I also learned easily that each decision which appears right also contains wrong, good contains bad.

And now i cannot decide. all appears wrong. some decisions are not really a choice, and some can be the repeating of errors and mistakes. some just feel good and some don't and some..are so difficult that one is tempted to hide one's head in the sand.

Wild is the wind, David Bowie

                   
                     to be here...it is enough for now. i have only now.
         
                      i read that Rebecca Solnit wrote in  in Hope in the Dark that
                    “despair demands  less of us, it’s more predictable, 
                     and, in a sad way, it’s safer.” 

                    and i give you a link:
                    Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the dark, full text
                    
                     well, i am not an 'activist' nor do i follow -'ists' or '-isms'.
                     it is a very good text though.
                     only: i never read anything without questioning it, context, author, background,
                     definitions, intentions.

                     i am by now far from despair. all i want is clearness, and i do
                     all for that on my way to serenity, even if i need to be
                     very honest, naked and maybe malicious.
                   
                     we all live and die, but before i die i wish serenity.
                   
                      i go each day step for step, in my own breath.
                      not in another's.

                      i was born naked, i live naked, i die naked.
                      before i will be dead i am and will be alive,
                      and i want to be treated this way.
                   
                   
                     there is beauty ..everywhere, inside is outside, outside is inside,
                     but you must see as you can. all is music.
                   
                   


and if you don't see, it is your problem too.
it is one part of love between man and woman.
passion and warmth and release of love and through love.


i love this wild beauty here in Kerry...and i love me better by now.

river and me

so.
or maybe so.

i am a river, in me broken stones, gravel, sand,
still  i flow, when i find no bed i flow underground,
there is somebody in me, he feels bitter, regret, cramped up
and closed in, i take him along, he feels lonely, i sweep him into
the eddies, the rocks, the pools and into the sea. let him be.
i know him, his lips have grown thin, his voice fell out of him,
he croaks, he looks as stiff as his mother, he is part of me but not me.

i am a river, nothing else.
i cannot help him.
i flow, i tear down walls, shape valleys, break through damns,
devour what is in my way, carry what falls into me, then drown it.
there is nothing else i can do.
all rivers know the way.

diary note

giving all i wanted all, i gave my hand
and longed for the same.
i didn‘t want one thing, not at all, i wished for all-
and now as so often before -even after the ‚end‘ - all is
distorted in incredible ugliness. i didn‘t know
how to stop it . this i did badly- hurtful- but it was
necessary to stop, for me. and obviously better so.
still sad.

diary note

nobody can be sadder than sad.
my soul has found no space with
another, all is distortion, vexation.
solitude is better, silence is better.
if it needs a fight, well, i can fight
and draw a line. not to conquer but to
be left alone.

on I, diary note

i cannot be bad nor good.
I does not exist.
good or bad, it is just always one I,
not me my self nor important in any way.
I am happy I do not exist, this is not quite so:
Me my self is happy I does not exist.
Me can follow other paths.
and the I with which i walk around today
feels already a little less weight to carry.

diary note, confusion

it may be in order to suspect that a person who knows and talks much about narcissism
could be narcissistic, somebody who met many narcissistic people may have erred in judgement.

it is a difficult and complex view, just possibilities.

narcissism may root in old hurt leading to a need to be superior and closed in.
for another this can be a black hole, a wall, near impossible to go truly near:
fear will result, fear to be hurt more. in the end hurt will come, others can be hurt and reflect the
pain of hitting a wall.

it is more intelligent at times to leave.
nobody who can cut a knot will stay in bonds.

it is can be very sad when another loves, there is nothing to win often for both parts.
it is highly complex when the narcissist loves, this brings terror to him or her.
the other has to prove loving forever.

it is also not very intelligent or mature to despise other humans for their so called normality,
it kills the possibility of singularities meeting. in a way it reminds of teenagers wanting to be special.
and it gets as boring with time as being ..normal. whatever normal means.

it is suspicious when one is told to die and to be ego-less, it means you may be in the way of self-love. of  a way struggling for balance. and it is hard to be with somebody always floating and fighting you to stay on the surface...requesting harmony.
though of course it can be beautiful to float, alone or with another in trust.

to be always right, to say again and again that one is innocent, humble, on a path of
self-perfection ...to see all clear and know all..this sounds at least as egocentric as deluded.

to find a way so much to perfection that one will not be reborn...can only result in
more and more unhappiness and sounds the wrong way. meditation can have no such aim,
no aim at all, Buddha didn‘t  look for Nirvana. when the goal is wrong, the way will be wrong.
but as life works: there are always new openings,  new ends.

anyway, this is not on badness but on helplessness.
nothing bad. all is good and all is bad and all is one.

diary note

how can you know another human deeply without open communication, without
being allowed  and asked to enter.
and how would an unwanted child be happy..? only because.

illusion and thanks

thanks to a very special..person for the continued, repeated and final destruction of
illusion-
and i thank me for the insight that energy cannot be wasted.

i must remind me of the last two weeks....remember when the poison of hope and
the burden of faith should approach me ever again.

please, love, spare me, i cannot stand you.

at least love is not more dangerous than life, life always is.
let us live it.

i thank me for being prepared to die and for being ready to be reborn into each moment.
we are..all.. in one river. we are the river. we are God, so to speak, some say Buddha, i have no name.
no one is, we are together with all alive.

what remains is to breathe.
Conrad, i said today, don't forget to breathe, count, count, breathe, breathe
-and let the shit go...all all passes, we all pass.

i go talk to trees, to wind.
i am absolutely not able nor willing to have another relationship in my life,
this walk through two childhoods, this fighting, i need my integrity.

and my sleep, my forgetting...

breathe, count, be me.

on understanding: a note to me

there are words in English i find bare of  true feeling,
unemotional, puritan or at least poor.

These are for example often words i read in buddhist articles...

kindness....this word does not exist in German, we have "Freundlichkeit " meaning to be nice and pleasant and a bit more to another,. There is "Höflichkeit "which is politeness and doesn't mean much
but socially compatible behavior, both are often behaviours used for an aim or to fill an expectation.

and we have words like "Güte" (originating from to be 'good' maybe)  and more Herzensgüte and "Warmherzigkeit "which means to feel and act out of pure heart towards another, flowing and giving
one self, attention, presence.
It means to care without even one thought of self. one could call it grace of heart.

"Warmherzigkeit" means to embrace another with the warmth of ones heart, to not just accept but welcome the other always first presuming the best in the other.

This stress on acceptance, another word out of buddhist practice articles,  tells me nothing i need, it is not a matter of the heart, rather a philosophy
for navigating between the unavoidable and the possible. It is ok but not enough.
It also means to leave the other freedom to be, but it is a cold word.
We use it in German too, after all the Romans were everywhere.
We can also say :"Sein lassen" which means to let be.
This can also mean to let be alone.
Acceptance without grace, warmth, forgiveness may be a necessary tool but it has no such value as
one often attributes to it. true forgiveness again comes from the heart.
To 'just' accept one needs more awareness, control and first of all reflection than heart , courage, open vulnerability as in embrace. but it is often necessary work and in the end may lead to other qualities.
because: for accepting one has to see ones own shortcomings and imperfection.

compassion is a composite word and means suffering with another, by root of the word.
i cannot see this as a religious or moral requirement. each on suffers..
to truly see and feel another's suffering and to open ones heart belongs to "Herzensgüte" and asks us to help, to act. The co-suffering alone, the feeling itself, appears to me irrelevant and may even be a trap. Christians like suffering too much, it makes them feel special and Jesus-like, no?
In translation we have 'Mitlieid" which is more associated with pity, pity is at its best useless and can be an insult.
mercy is when you don't kill your enemy.
grace and embrace is coming from inside or untrue.

English is often an emotionally poor language though i love its simplicity.
i prefer it in many ways to my own language which is often so bureaucratic, makes violently one word out of three or four in a row, complicates all in headstrong way.
So i am all for simple words-
just, a lot of English words need loads of context and very often only gain proper meaning
in intonation, presence and acts.

this all is not an accusation of languages, buddhism, just shows how complex and  difficult communication can be. very often it is really ...an illusion.

blood, body, guilt

found this note written a few months ago..
so, i share:

as i find it hard to fall asleep, out of rhythm for the last days, a long journey and changes in my life ,
it hit me again.
how deeep must it embed and cut in a child's soul , the rites of the christian church, eating the body of Christ and drinking his blood, being taught that guilt and sin comes with being born, innocence totally distorted by perversion, what a horrible prison this must make , what a confusion, how dirty and helpless one must feel as child. if there was not mercy and grace with the figure of Mary in the catholic church, how cruel.
even it does not go along the New Testament at all, Jesus
is attributed to have clearly said that all old sin is washed away, go and love each other.

i am glad i never believed in this cannibalistic ritual, i shuddered how many of my schoolmates ingested it. i would have liked to experience a symbolic spiritual sharing but could not, turned off by senseless cruelty, and the priest got very angry with me that i could not ‚believe'.
i told him -as a child!-that to stress torture and suffering and sacrifice is a means of domination, and that i may sin but not in this.
sin was, is and remains for me to harm me or another on purpose, to act against better knowledge. there is no other sin. and nobody can stay completely free of this kind of sin: but be aware and try to cause the least possible damage.
more i don't know.

in my protestant church which i left before i ever had seen me as part, each moment you are called for repentance and you hear an endless complaint on the badness of this world where you walk in a dark valley and that real life comes only after death. another kind of continuous punishment for being alive. Again, this view cannot be gained by reading the New Testament, not at all.

fields out of ‘God’

is ‚god‘ the pond,
the stone,
the rings widening:
question of fools. 
all this is presence 
flowing out and in

is ‚God‘ the dance of the bees, the scent of this flower, the birds in the sky?

is ‚God‘ the murmur of a river, the voice of a child, a melody sung?

is ‚God‘ an old man smiling, a child weeping, a woman giving birth?

is ‚God‘ with the dying,
in mourning and wailing,
in the graveyards?

is ‚God‘ in the killing
fields of humans and animals, in agony, in torture?

is ‚God‘ before or after
or in life or is all in ‚God‘?

does ‚God‘ take absences?
do i need to know?

can i know what i do not understand?
the answer is yes.

basic and simple

i found a simple truth.
somebody named it basic.
basic is not primitive,
simple can be difficult,
very very difficult.
how will confused humans stay simple?
how confused must one be to use basic
as a swearword.

salt and water are basic,
how should we live without?
air is basic, my body is basic,
basic is not up for sale to ideas.
special means nothing at all to me.
and different still includes basic
which make us all relatives.

i feel strongly that we must
accept basics, us, our body, breathing,
walking, pain, happiness,
our inter-dependency and our
source which does not belong to us,
the source from which all life and death
and joy and desire and music comes
through us and others to be in each moment.

and for myself i know what i feel as true,
each one has a story, a history, words, this is richness.

what obstructs the experience of presence , so to speak of the presence of 'God' is to have complex images, ideology, scientific models and analytic systems, methods, definitions  and religions , beliefs, opinions, loads of terminology first:
kill your thoughts, destroy your education, let go control, forget your memories as much as you can,
leave father, mother, kill Buddha. Don't aim , just shoot. Follow your own flow.
When you dance dance.When you chop firewood chop firewood. When you cry cry.When you are angry, be angry. This is to be.
Leave all what obstructs you, what disturbs your flow.
You will do this anyway, sooner or later.


This is my basics:

1)
Pain and suffering are not the same.

2)
Nobody else is responsible for my happiness.

This does not mean that sharing happiness
is not important  nor that one must stay alone,
and the other does not mean that we will be free
of suffering.

i do not teach salvation nor freedom of
incarnation.
i do not teach sacrifice.
each one has a right for his or her own way.
Each one can always say no.


and first i teach me what i find to be true.
I am not interested to make my own findings
a measure for other persons as this should look deeply wrong
to me.

i cannot see that i am a monad, no-thing is.

kindness can not be learned,
it is only true when simple.
And humility and wisdom can only grow
when basics are accepted as part of us ourselves.

love is a word., first of all, a word.
i love good food.



good night to me my self.

con-flict

i could play games with words,
i could,
does con-flict make me con-vict?

no enlightenment but soothing music.,,last post.

underneath i am boiling ,
no idea what to do
or rather
i know what i should do
but  ...

to keep talking is sometimes not the best option.
who says i want to stop smoking didn't stop
and maybe never will.

in the end the act stands naked, present,
and then the moment fills with power,
uncontrollable momentums, forces, demons and angels
gain pace, take space,
the past vanishes going into this very act
which will again be another forever memory.

this is how we must live...

skin and walls

life, colour,sound,forms,patterns, breathing, fluidity, vulnerability,permeability of skin and impermanence..moving, continuous transformation and exchange in inter-dependence.
not walls, skin, skin as part of out and in.
the scientist would see a cell and discern the outer border and the inner core.
this is dissection.
it is all one living organism and will be seen as part of all living beings.
not walls...not mere borders...breath and skin and fluidity, all is one.
our soul and our senses and our skin, all one.
and now i go to 'work'.

diary note, alone

i don't know why i had to be so alone for the last years.
again and again i was told that i am not.
but: i was.
it is not about words. not at all.
presence is presence...
and today i feel it. the wound is still sore.