nobody will steal your controls

in dreamland there was a house, a spring  near, trees, a lake, a small river.

in dreamland sky knew all.

Mother knew not to speak words and father knew only two sounds.

Mother wanted to tell her son: cry if you need to cry, laugh when you laugh. if you wish to fly, fly. you must leave all you possess and walk out of the house, you must climb a mountain and take off your clothes, then unfold your wings and jump. and a tear run down her old cheek, she was afraid he could die.

and she wanted to tell her daughter: when you go to your love, leave your rings and bangles in another room, your clothes,your mirror, your past, your controls, your habits, your mask, your opinions,comparisons, 

your fears,your expectations,all,leave all there,

nobody will steal them. go naked. do not jump, flow, do not embrace, be embrace, do not love, be love.

you will be always free. find your ways.

and another tear collected in her eye.

her children were in her heart.

and she knew all, all on  giving love, all on being alone, all on being a woman.

Father understood, and when he hummed ‚mmmm‘,the apple tree moved, 

and golden leaves fell to the ground like tears, 

and when he whispered ‚ffff‘ , they were blown across the lake.

and the sun laughed in the water.

flow

i love rivers, many do. inter-personal stuff is often so tough as chewing gum, even sticky,

often like a rubber band snapping, and many days appear the same and same allover:

rivers show that flow is not an illusion.

morituri te salutant

sometimes here, there,
hands moving water, wind,
to touch, to let go,
i hold hands with infinity,
for a moment, without hands,
not knowing where i go

the summer day, Mary Oliver

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
this grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?