Memories of my future soul

Cake or Death?

2011-10-24T02:51:00.002+03:00

Hatred driven people - do us, the people who choose love over hate, peace over war - do we deserve to breathe the same air as you? Do we deserve to live on the same planet as you? Do we have the right to see the beauty in others? Do we have the right to cry when we see the innocents suffering (which you detest because of your irrational and abstract hatred)? Where you see abstractions, we see faces and names! Where you see monsters we see children and parents! Think that you are also ruining the world we long for!

Longing

2011-09-07T02:01:00.000+03:00

Where are you? Are you still with me? Do you know how much I miss you? How much I need you? How much I long for you?

You gave me happiness, you showed me beauty - can you possibly even begin to understand the changes you brought in me?

You are my strength, my miracle. My hope when everything seems hopeless.

Why have you abandoned me?

Today on Love - Tatar Love Song, from Oi Va Voi

2011-09-05T10:44:00.000+03:00

Today on Love - 100 Love Sonnets, Pablo Neruda

2011-09-05T10:38:00.000+03:00

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."
- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets -

Fortunate poor people II

2011-08-25T11:53:00.000+03:00

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
- J.R.R. Tolkien - The Fellowship of the Ring

Fortunate poor people

2011-08-23T23:42:00.003+03:00

There are some people in this world for whom things can't come just like that. Some people in this world have it rough in their lives, find many obstacles in their path - but I don't think this is necessarily a bad thing. On the contrary - these difficulties bring out what is best, what is kind, what is beautiful inside them.

Sometimes it gets difficult - no matter how wise one is, still it's rough to see around you people who have it easy and yet you have to struggle so much for every little achievement in your life. But this is how one learns to truly appreciate the valuable things in life - people are there for you when you are doing good - but those who stick around when you are doing not so good - those are the truly valuable people one should have around. So the first and most important thing is that you get to have valuable people around you. Second, one learns to appreciate the really valuable things in life - a shelter, food, clothes, even if you don't have the most expensive brands. Then very important - one learns to appreciate the beauty in others - the shell is ephemeral, the outer beauty fades away. But a beautiful soul and a beautiful mind remain forever.

I don't think such people are cursed or punished for something. I think such people are actually blessed - they gain a certain knowledge about the world which is not accessible to most people. They become wise. And God never lets such people down - if we look superficially they may have it hard on them; but on a closer look, the knowledge they gain from such a destiny is actually the most precious treasure one can have in life.

For you...

2011-08-03T03:11:00.000+03:00

Most of my adult life I have asked God one thing - why and when is it going to stop? Then I understood something - everything happens for a reason. God wanted me to go through all my experiences so that I can learn. So that I can become a better person. OK, but why? I have asked as well so many times. Why is it worth trying to be a good, kind human being if I'm only going to get my ass kicked again and again? Then I learned one more thing - to pay attention to the course of events. Nothing was actually random - after one lesson came another lesson and another.
First I learned how to let go of my ego. Then I learned how to give freedom. Then I learned how to love without being selfish.
You know why? To be where I am right now. To have you in my life and show you in one thousands ways just how precious and incredibly amazing you are. How wonderful you are. So that I can see your beauty.
I am never alone, for I can sense your presence every moment. It is like you are permanently connected to me. And also you are not alone anymore, for I am there with and for you no matter what.

This one goes out to the one I love

2011-08-02T01:45:00.001+03:00

The last two days were a hell before leaving. I wasn't sure about anything and I only felt that I still needed some more time. Time to make you understand. But that hell ended the moment I heard you saying "You love me, I love you". From that moment I have stopped crying and peace of mind came instead.
What more can I ask God for now? You gave me your love - and my life is complete. I would be greedy if wanting anything else. You are part of me now and I can't think of my life otherwise. Part of my being, part of my soul. It feels that I'm settled now. There is nothing more I desire. All material things look so futile right now. I have risen in love and for this I have you to thank.
I drove around today and it was like you were there with me. I could only think about when you will be here with me, planning to show you the life I'm willing to leave behind.
Everything I wanted from someone is there, with you. I can only love you. And the love I feel for you makes me feel like a better human being - because I love the most beautiful man on the face of the Earth.

A tale of two...

2011-07-24T13:56:00.002+03:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. (C. Dickens, A tale of two cities)

Today on Peace - Deep Peace, by Donovan

2011-03-21T11:23:00.001+02:00

Deep Peace

Deep peace of the running wave to you
Deep peace of the flowing air to you
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you
Deep peace deep peace
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you
Deep peace of the wandering wind to you
Deep peace of the flock of stars to you
Deep peace deep peace
Deep peace of the eastern wind to you
Deep peace of the westeren wind to you
Deep peace of the northern wind to you
Blue wind of the south to you
Pure red of the whirling flame to you
Pure white of the silver moon to you
Pure green of the emerald grass to you
Deep peace deep peace

Today on Peace - St. Francis of Assisi

2011-03-09T14:01:00.000+02:00

Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace

- St. Francis of Assisi-

Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me show love,

Where there is injury, pardon

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much

seek to be consoled as to console,

not so much to be understood as to understand,

not so much to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

it is in dying that we awake to eternal life.

Imagine a world... (Tasavor Kon, by Sivash Ghomayshi)

2011-03-09T12:52:00.000+02:00

Tasavor kon age hata tasavor kardanesh sakhte

Imagine, even if it is hard to imagine

jahani ke har ensani tu un khoshbakhte khoshbakhte

A world in which everyone is blessed with prosperity.

jahani ke tu un pul o nejad o ghodrat arzesh nist

Imagine a world in which money, race and power are meaningless.

javabe ham sedaii ha police zede shooresh nist

The answer to agreements is not the headbanging of riot police

na bombe hasteii dare na bomb afkan na khompare

There is no longer war, there are no more bombs,

dige hich bacheii pasho roye min ja nemizare

No child would leave their feet on a mine

hame azade azdan hame bi darde bi dardan

Everyone is free, everybody is healthy and wealthy.

tu roozname nemikhooni nahanga khodkoshi kardan

The mass suicide of whales is no longer in the newspaper.

jahani ro tasavor kon bedoone nefrat o gharoot

Imagine a world without hate

bedoon zolme khodkame bedoone vahshat o taghoot

without cruelty, without fright

jahani ro tasavor kon por az labkhand o azadi

Imagine a world full of laughter, full of freedom 
labalab az gol o boose por az tekrar e abadi

Full of flowers, full of kisses in continious flourish

Tasavor kon age hata tasavor kardanesh jorme

Imagine it even if it is illegal to Imagine

age ba bordane esmesh galoo por mishe az sorme

Even just by speaking it your mouth becomes dusty

tasavor kon jahani ro ke toosh zendan ye afsan ast

Imagine a world in which prison is a myth

tamame jangaye donya shodan mashmoole atash bas

Every war in the world is sentenced to stop.

kasi aghaye alam nist barabar ba haman mardom

There is no man controlling the world, all people are equal

dige sahme har ensan e tane har doone ye gandom

Everyone has a fair share, even of wheat

bedoon e marz o mahdoode vatan yani hame donya

Without boundary and border , country means all over the world.

Tasavor kon to mitooni beshi tabire in roya

Imagine that you can be the interpretation of this dream

Courtasy of my friend Aram

The role of prayers

2011-03-07T15:48:00.000+02:00

We Christians too often substitute prayer for playing the game. Prayer is good; but when used as a substitute for obedience, it is nothing but a blatant hypocrisy, a despicable Pharisaism...To your knees, man! and to your Bible! Decide at once! Don't hedge! Time flies! Cease your insults to God, quit consulting flesh and blood. Stop your lame, lying, and cowardly excuses. Enlist!

C.T. Studd

http://www.beliefnet.com

Today on Peace - Anne Bronte

2011-03-06T11:31:00.000+02:00

Monday Night May 11th 1846 / Domestic Peace

- by Anne Bronte -

Why should such gloomy silence reign;

And why is all the house so drear,

When neither danger, sickness, pain,

Nor death, nor want have entered here?

We are as many as we were

That other night, when all were gay,

And full of hope, and free from care;

Yet, is there something gone away.

The moon without as pure and calm

Is shining as that night she shone;

but now, to us she brings no balm,

For something from our hearts is gone.

Something whose absence leaves a void,

A cheerless want in every heart.

Each feels the bliss of all destroyed

And mourns the change - but each apart.

The fire is burning in the grate

As redly as it used to burn,

But still the hearth is desolate

Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.

'Twas Peace that flowed from heart to heart

With looks and smiles that spoke of Heaven,

And gave us language to impart

The blissful thoughts itself had given.

Sweet child of Heaven, and joy of earth!

O, when will Man thy value learn?

We rudely drove thee from our hearth,

And vainly sigh for thy return.

Today on Peace - Chain of Love and Peace

2011-03-04T12:20:00.000+02:00

Chain of love and peace

- by Lino Jones -

One moment of love and peace,

Several moments of love and peace, it can make.

Several moments of love and peace,

One minute of love and peace, it can make.

One minute of love and peace,

Several minutes of love and peace, it can make.

Several minutes of love and peace,

One hour of love and peace, it can make.

One hour of love and peace,

Several hours of love and peace, it can make.

One hour of love and peace,

Several hours of love and peace, it can make.

Several hours of love and peace,

One day of love and peace, it can make.

One day of love and peace,

Several days of love and peace, it can make.

Several days of love and peace,

One week of love and peace, it can make.

One week of love and peace,

Several weeks of love and peace, it can make.

Several weeks of love and peace,

One month of love and peace, it can make.

One month of love and peace,

Several months of love and peace, it can make.

Several months of love and peace,

One year of love and peace, it can make

One year of love and peace,

Several years of love and peace, it can make

Several years of love and peace,

One life of love and peace, it can make

One life of love and peace,

Several lives of love and peace, it can make

Several lives of love and peace,

One family of love and peace, it can make

One family of love and peace,

Several families of love and peace, it can make

Several families of love and peace,

One village of love and peace, it can make

One village of love and peace,

Several villages of love and peace, it can make

Several villages of love and peace,

One community of love and peace, it can make

One community of love and peace,

Several communities of love and peace, it can make

Several communities of love and peace,

One country of love and peace, it can make

One country of love and peace,

Several countries of love and peace, it can make

Several countries of love and peace,

One world of love and peace, it can make

One world of love and peace,

One eternity of love and peace, it can make

One moment of love and peace,

One eternity of love and peace, it can make

So, why doesn’t it?

Because this is same for hate and war…

Gandhi's Prayer for Peace

2010-05-01T01:13:00.000+03:00

I offer you peace.
I offer you love.
I offer you friendship.
I see your beauty.
I hear your need.
I feel your feelings.
My wisdom flows from the Highest Source.
I salute the Source in you.
Let us work together for unity and love.

How fortunate the man with none, by Bertolt Brecht

2010-04-29T23:28:00.000+03:00

You saw sagacious Solomon
You know what came of him,
To him complexities seemed plain.
He cursed the hour that gave birth to him
And saw that everything was vain.
How great and wise was Solomon.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's wisdom that had brought him to this state.
How fortunate the man with none.

You saw courageous Caesar next
You know what he became.
They deified him in his life
Then had him murdered just the same.
And as they raised the fatal knife
How loud he cried: you too my son!
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's courage that had brought him to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.

You heard of honest Socrates
The man who never lied:
They weren't so grateful as you'd think
Instead the rulers fixed to have him tried
And handed him the poisoned drink.
How honest was the people's noble son.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's honesty that brought him to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.

Here you can see respectable folk
Keeping to God's own laws.
So far he hasn't taken heed.
You who sit safe and warm indoors
Help to relieve our bitter need.
How virtuously we had begun.
The world however did not wait
But soon observed what followed on.
It's fear of god that brought us to that state.
How fortunate the man with none.

Unde sunt cei ce nu mai sunt?, de Nechifor Crainic

2010-04-29T23:26:00.000+03:00

Intrebat-am vantul, zburatorul
Bidiviu pe care-alearga norul
Catre-albastre margini de pământ:
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a vantul: Aripile lor
Mă doboara nevazute-n zbor.

Intrebat-am luminata ciocarlie,
Candela ce legana-n tarie
Untdelemnul cantecului sfant:
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a ciocarlia: S-au ascuns
In lumina celui nepatruns.

Intrebat-am bufnita cu ochiul sferic,
Oarba care vede-n intuneric
Tainele necuprinse de cuvant:
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?
Unde sunt cei care nu mai sunt?

Zis-a bufnita: Când va cadea
Marele-ntuneric, vei vedea

Freedom, by George William Russell

2010-04-29T23:24:00.002+03:00

I will not follow you, my bird,
I will not follow you.
I would not breathe a word, my bird,
To bring thee here anew.

I love the free in thee, my bird,
The lure of freedom drew;
The light you fly toward, my bird,
I fly with thee unto.

And there we yet will meet, my bird,
Though far I go from you
Where in the light outpoured, my bird,
Are love and freedom too.

Smoke, by Pat Ingoldsby

2010-04-29T23:22:00.002+03:00

I don't know where
smoke goes to when
it dissapears
but I would love
to go there
right now to see
what it is like.
I think that it
must be O.K.
because the smoke
never comes back.

The bells, by Leonard Cohen

2010-04-29T00:44:00.002+03:00

The birds they sang at break of day
Start again, I heard them say
Nor dwell on what has passed away
Or what is yet to be.

The wars they will be fought again
The holy dove be caught again
Bought and sold and bought again
Until we set them free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
The light behind to see.

Add up the parts, not yours the sum
Strike up the march, there is no drum
Every heart to love must come
Like a refugee

Despre iubiri

2010-02-19T22:45:00.002+02:00

Buna seara, iubito!..pot sa-ti spun prin cuvinte ca putine mai sunt pe pamant lucruri sfinte, Ca intra iubiri prematur in morminte...

Ik Onkar

2010-01-26T00:46:00.001+02:00

ik onkaar sat naam kartaa purakh nirbh-a-o nirvair akaal moorat ajoonee saibhn gur parsaad

There is but one God. True is His Name, creative His personality and immortal His form. He is without fear sans enmity, unborn and self-illumined. By the Guru's grace He is obtained.

Exista dar un singur Dumnezeu. Adevarat este Numele Sau, creativa personalitatea sa si nemuritoare forma Sa. El este cel fara teama fara dusmanie, nenascut si auto-iluminat. El este dobandit prin voia/gratia Guru-lui.

jap.

Embrace His meditation.

Imbratisati meditatia sa.

aad sach jugaad sach.

True in the prime, True in the beginning of ages,

Adevar inainte de toate, Adevar la inceputul vremurilor,

hai bhee sach naanak hosee bhee sach.

True He is even now and True He verily, shall be, O Nanak!

Adevarat este chiar acum si Adevarat va fi, oh, Nanak!

sochai soch naa hov-a-ee jay sochee lakh vaar.

By pondering on God, man cannot have a conception of Him, even though he may ponder over lacs of times.

Gandind la Dumnezeu, omul nu il poate concepe pe El, chiar daca se gandeste de-a lungul veacurilor.

chupai chup naa hov-a-ee jay laa-i rahaa liv taar.

Even though one be silent and remains absorbed in Lord's constant love he obtains not mind's silence.

Chiar daca omul ramane tacut si ramane absorbit de iubirea constanta a lui Dumnezeu, el nu obtine linistea (Pacea) mintii.

bhukhi-aa bhukh naa utree jay bannaa puree-aa bhaar.

The hunger of the hungry departs not, even though they may pile up loads of the world's valuables.

Foamea infometatilor nu trece, chiar daca acestia isi fac stive cu valorile lumii.

sehas si-aanpaa lakh hoh taa ik naa chalai naal.

Man may possess thousands and lacs of wits, but not even one (goes with him) avails him in the Lord's court.

Omul poate poseda bogatii nemasurate, dar nici macar una nu il insoteste la curtea Domnului

kiv sachi-aaraa ho-ee-ai kiv koorhai tutai paal.

How can we be true and how can the screen of untruth be rent?

Cum putem avea dreptate si cum poate imaginea neadevarului sa fie sfasiata?

hukam rajaa-ee chalnaa naanak likhi-aa naal.

O Nanak! By obeying, the pre-ordained order of the Lord's will.

O, Nanak! Supunandu-ne, la ordinea predestinata a vointei Domnului.

India Arie - Video

2010-01-06T17:52:00.000+02:00

By God's will I came across a song that I think was created for me! It is the song I will always listen when I'm confused, when I feel the world being against me. It's a song about colors, about love, about love for the self and therefore, for others.

Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don't
Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won't
Depend on how the wind blows I might even paint my toes
It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

When I look in the mirror and the only one there is me
Every freckle on my face is where it's supposed to be
And I know our creator didn't make no mistakes on me
My feet, my thighs, my lips, my eyes; I'm lovin' what I see

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the
india arie

Am I less of a lady if I don't wear pantyhose?
My mama said a lady ain't what she wears but, what she knows
But, I've drawn a conclusion, it's all an illusion, confusion's the name of the
game
A misconception, a vast deception
Something's gotta change
but,Don't be offended this is all my opinion
ain't nothing that I'm sayin law
This is a true confession of a life learned lesson I was sent here to share with
y'all
So get in where you fit in go on and shine
Clear your mind, now's the time
Put your salt on the shelf
Go on and love yourself
'Cuz everything's gonna be all right

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I Learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be the india arie

Keep your fancy drinks and your expensive minks
I don't need that to have a good time
Keep your expensive car and your caviar
All I need is my guitar
Keep your Kristal and your pistol
I'd rather have a pretty piece of crystal
Don't need your silicone I prefer my own
What God gave me is just fine

I'm not the average girl from your video
and I ain't built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I'm not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I'm wearing I will always be india arie

Faith, Love, Hope, by Gurdjieff

2010-01-06T12:43:00.000+02:00

Faith of consciousness is freedom
Faith of feeling is weakness
Faith of body is stupidity.

Love of consciousness evokes the same in response
Love of feeling evokes the opposite
Love of body depends on type and polarity.

Hope of consciousness is strength
Hope of feeling is slavery
Hope of body is disease.

Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson, p. 361 (found in: An approach to the teaching left by Gurdjieff, Toward Awakening, Jean Vaysse, p. 1)

Ode to a twin soul

2009-12-09T03:34:00.000+02:00

For two weeks I was a zombie. An anti-social creature that talked nothing but non-sense on those only two occasions when I had human contact. Insomnia, depression...

After some absence, I almost forgot that basically nothing changed. That my friend is still my friend whom I can tell anything... and when I say anything, I mean anything, even those things that I don't admit to myself even.
And that made me realize how NOT ALONE I am.

Yes, I do miss him. I miss him holding me after talking with my mother and getting depressed over it. I miss to hear his laughter and see his smile. I miss the sound of his voice, the way he is pronouncing the "r". I miss the possibility of many things that were yet to happened.

To say "best friend" is an understatement. He is my twin soul, my alter ego. He's the one who can be so honest with me that I break, and then to be there to catch me so that I won't fall. He's the one in whose arms I can cry for one hour and still he won't be bored. And still be there with me.

And now I want nothing less from life. Nothing less than this. I cannot live with anything less. I shared moments of pure happiness.

My pain is not smaller now, after almost three weeks . Nor I want it to be. Just that I have learned to carry it with me all the time and not to mend under its burden all the time.

I still cry. Everyday. Sometimes when I'm on the street even. Sometimes I'm in the subway and I feel like wanting to take your hand. I don't know why, we didn't do that when we were together... And then i feel the emptiness around me, how lonely I am, although I'm surrounded by all those people. It's like a part of me is missing. You are the part of me that is missing.

Can anyone understand that this is not a woman in-love talking? But a friend? The happiest and saddest friend on the face of the earth?

And you were happy... And I was also happy. I need to understand why. Why you had to leave. I need our snow fight and me cooking for you and I need so many other things with you. But for that I also need you here, with me.

"we met, we were at a distance for a while, we came close, we came real close, we r inseperable. this is how i can summerise" You've done it perfect. I love you

2009-12-07T01:54:00.000+02:00

To feel your body part of mine, now I know how I want to spend my life. I don't want to live like before anymore, now I know what life is for. I want to live for pleasure, in peace beside you, somewhere

You go, go. And you don't come back

2009-11-23T04:53:00.000+02:00

I need my sadness because I need to keep on feeling human.

Psapp - Leaving in coffins

I have loved you with all my strength

2009-11-23T04:33:00.000+02:00

I have loved you with all the force I was capable of. And now I know that I can love. That I have it in me to love someone. Pure, deep love.

Fear...

2009-11-20T01:43:00.000+02:00

I don't want to sleep... If I do...it will be minus one day... I want to stay awake as much as possible... And for Sunday morning to never come... the black Sunday... once it was cricket, now it is farewell...
I drank to get drunk... after such a long time, I wanted to anihilate my senses... not to care, not to love, just for a tiny second... But sometimes the feelings are just stronger than the alcohol...

Asato ma sadgamaya mantra, Brhadaranyaka Upanishad — I.iii.28

2009-11-18T04:14:00.004+02:00

Asato ma sadgamaya

Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya

Mrtyorma amrtat gamaya
Aum Shanti! Shanti! Shanti!

Lead me from the asat to the sat*
Lead me from darkness to light**
Lead me from death to immortality.***
Aum Peace! Peace! Peace!

* Asat and it's opposite, sat, are dififcult to be translated. Sat contains the meaning of Truth, Real - but ultimate Truth and ultimate Reality, the truth that is true independent from time (true in the past, true in the present and true in the future). The True Self is free from dependence, because dependence in the asat ends in pain always. The True Self is Sat. The consciess of the True Self is beyond time, beyond change. Sat is in reality a true part of all asat objects.
** To be understood as ignorance and knowledge - one obscures true knowledge, which can be obtain through spiritual enlightment.
*** To be understood not as eternal life, like in the case of Christianity, but as "I was never born, nor I cannot die, because I am not the body, the mind and the intellect, but the eternal, blissful consciousness that serves as the substratum for creation."

The human goal is Self-Realization, to merge into the supreme reality.

How to create an enemy - Sam Keen, "Faces of the enemy"

2009-11-10T02:48:00.002+02:00

Start with an empty canvas
Sketch in broad outline the forms of
men, women, and children.

Dip into the unconsciousness well of your own
disowned darkness
with a wide brush and
strain the strangers with the sinister hue
of the shadow.

Trace onto the face of the enemy the greed,
hatred, carelessness you dare not claim as
your own.

Obscure the sweet individuality of each face.

Erase all hints of the myriad loves, hopes,
fears that play through the kaleidoscope of
every infinite heart.

Twist the smile until it forms the downward
arc of cruelty.

Strip flesh from bone until only the
abstract skeleton of death remains.

Exaggerate each feature until man is
metamorphasized into beast, vermin, insect.

Fill in the background with malignant
figures from ancient nightmares – devils,
demons, myrmidons of evil.

When your icon of the enemy is complete
you will be able to kill without guilt,
slaughter without shame.

The thing you destroy will have become
merely an enemy of God, an impediment
to the sacred dialectic of history.

Sam Keen, "Faces of the Enemy. Reflections of the Hostile Imagination", Harper San Francisco, 1991

Yesterday's sadness

2009-11-10T02:46:00.002+02:00

Yesterday I was this sad:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4R4PVEwX5U

Sorry, the video was embedded by request

Enmity destroys freedom

2009-11-09T23:16:00.000+02:00

Enmity destroys freedom. Only lovers are free to come and go. Enemies dare not let each other out of sight. In the eabsence of being we cling to having; the vacuum of love is filled by hate.

Sam Keen, "Faces of the Enemy", Harper San Francisco, 1991, page 106

We have time, by Octavian Paler

2009-10-31T21:39:00.000+02:00

We have time for everything.
To sleep, to run here and there
To regret our mistakes and to be wrong again,
To judge others and excuse ourselves,
We have time to read and write,
To correct what we have written, and to regret what we have written,
We have time to make plans and not stick to them
We have time for illusions and then to go through their ashes later on,
We have time time for ambitions and diseases,
To blame destiny and details,
We have time to look at the clowds, the commercials or a simple accident,
We have time to dismiss our questions,
To postpone the answers,
We have time to break a dream and then reinvent it,
We have time to make friends, to loose them,
We have time for lessons which we then forget,
We have time to receive gifts that we don't understand.
We have time for everything.

There is no time for just a small amount of tenderness.
When we want that also, we die

A Confession! by Amit Srivastava

2009-10-16T12:01:00.000+03:00

I knew Amit's poetry, he showed it before... but never have I asked him if I can put it here before today... it seemed simple in the beginning, but after reading and reading, after paying the right attention to the way he chose the words... I was even more impressed than before... He's a researcher, academician, activits, and casual writer. He's the most dedicated, deep and complex person I had the chance to meet.

A Confession!

I never did what I wanted to do,
Hardly have I cared to live the expectations through
Time kept changing its dimensions, I guess.
Although I was all about thoughtfulness
for weak, for poor and for helpless
I reached them, though my resources did not allow
I forgot the personal things and
manners of private affairs,
Ignored the hardship of problems of life,
to meet my consciousness, to feed my vendetta!
Here I am with only one life,
and a peak of it, I realized -
I cannotdo much... neither can my innocent efforts
things will be the same in this world,
the inertia will be greater, gravitiy will be souring.
The gaps, the odds have been here...
Might will be always right!
Humanity shall still fight!
And I have just one life,
Let it live for a while -
No regrets - no complaints - just day and nights!

The old lady

2009-10-07T04:30:00.000+03:00

Every evening when I come back from work (the hour varies, from 9 PM to 11 PM) I walk by an old lady. She is homeless. She sits on the ground, with an icon and she is always reading a religious book. It drives me crazy to see her every day like that.

She is about my height, is dressed for the cold weather outside (even -15 degrees this winter). I don't know where she spends her days, because she arrives there at approximately 5 PM and I honestly don't know if she sleeps on the streets or not. Two months ago, her clothes were looking better. Last week her clothes (same clothes) seemed used. What is odd is that she does not smell bad (our homeless people smell horrible). She does not beg. She just stays there and reads from that religious book. I used to give her money. Every evening. I still give her money, from time to time. But now I don't know why, I feel ashamed. I never listened to her saying thank you to me for giving her money. I couldn't stand that. My heart breaks into small pieces everytime I see her.

She is another victim of our communist regime and of our wonderful transition towards capitalism. There are so many like her out there. And I don't understand. If i search on Google for NGOs that deal with poverty, I find many. But what do these NGOs really do? Why aren't they helping old people?

My dream is to have money one day, much money and build a shelter for old people who end up in the streets (their children kick them out, they are tricked by others into giving them their homes or simply lived in a house given by the state before 1989 and now find themselves being thrown out in the streets because they can't buy that house - a three-room apartment here costs (or costed before the crisis) over 100.000 euros). The average salary in Romania is 400-500 euros. And the old people receive pensions from the state (we have a public pensions' system, and the private pensions market is new here). Some 20% of the old people receive state pensions lower than 100 euros (some less than 50 euros).

Theoretically, because we are a EU member state, we can access structural funds. But the corruption rate here is sooo high that you must have connections to be able to access one of these funds.Why the hell isn't my government accessing funds for these people? Why aren't the NGOs accessing funds for these people? Moreover, because we are now part of the EU, organizations like the UN invest less in Romania.

I never deared to talk to this woman. I don't even know exactly how she looks like, how her face looks like. I always wanted to take a picture of her, but I just pass by every day with the camera in my bag...And I never get enough courage to do it. What is she? A piece in an exposition?

2009-10-06T22:10:00.012+03:00

I like his commitment, his deepness, his metaphysical sadness, his constant search, his constant improvement. Never giving up.

Song Of the Mystic - Beauty, by David

2009-10-06T01:50:00.001+03:00

Contemporary spiritual poets:

And the child spoke unto the Mystic:

"Master speak to me of Beauty, for I have
yet to see the face of Her sacred soul."

And the Mystic answered, saying:

You are wrong my child; many were the
days when She smiled upon you, and you knew
it not.
Many were the nights when She whispered
the song of Life unto your ear, but always were
you asleep.
Be there something of more innocence than
the gentle cooing of a newborn babe?
Be there something of more purity than the
shadow of a woman's alluring smile?
Be there something of more tenderness
than the endearing look held in the eyes of a mother?
And is not the sum of such innocence, purity
and tenderness the essence of all Beauty?
Open the eyes of your soul, and Beauty shall
reveal Herself unto you.
Listen with the ears of your heart, and She
will sing Her silent melody.
And if you see Beauty where all others see
naught but ugliness, then truly do you look through
the loving eyes of God.

Kabir

2009-10-06T00:40:00.001+03:00

In this case, words are futile

Moartea căprioarei, de Nicolae Labiş (The death of the deer)

2009-07-31T17:42:00.005+03:00

Poezia ce mi-a marcat existenţa / The poem that left a powerful impression on my thoughts

Moartea cărprioarei

Seceta a ucis orice boare de vânt.
Soarele s-a topit şi a curs pe pământ.
A rămas cerul fierbinte şi gol.
Ciuturile scot din fântână nămol.
Peste păduri tot mai des focuri, focuri,
Dansează sălbatice, satanice jocuri.

Mă iau dupa tata la deal printre târsuri,
Şi brazii mă zgârie, răi şi uscaţi.
Pornim amândoi vânătoarea de capre,
Vânătoarea foametei în munţii Carpaţi.
Setea mă năruie. Fierbe pe piatra
Firul de apa prelins din cişmea.
Tâmpla apasă pe umăr. Păşesc ca pe-o altă
Planetă, imensă si grea.

Aşteptăm într-un loc unde încă mai sună,
Din strunele undelor line, izvoarele.
Când va scăpăta soarele, când va licări luna,
Aici vor veni să s-adape
Una câte una caprioarele.

Spun tatii că mi-i sete şi-mi face semn să tac.
Ameţitoare apă, ce limpede te clatini!
Mă simt legat prin sete de vietatea care va muri
La ceas oprit de lege si de datini.

Cu foşnet veştejit răsuflă valea.
Ce-ngrozitoare înserare pluteşte-n univers!
Pe zare curge sânge şi pieptul mi-i roşu, de parcă
Mâinile pline de sânge pe piept mi le-am şters.

Ca pe-un altar ard ferigi cu flăcari vineţii,
Şi stelele uimite clipiră printre ele.
Vai, cum aş vrea să nu mai vii, să nu mai vii,
Frumoasă jertfă a pădurii mele!

Ea s-arătă săltând şi se opri
Privind în jur c-un fel de teamă,
Şi nările-i subţiri înfiorară apa
Cu cercuri lunecoase de aramă.

Sticlea în ochii-i umezi ceva nelămurit,
Ştiam că va muri si c-o s-o doară.
Mi se părea că retraiesc un mit
Cu fata prefăcută-n căprioară.
De sus, lumina palidă, lunară,
Cernea pe blana-i caldă flori calde de cireş.
Vai cum doream ca pentru-întâia oară
Bătaia puştii tatii sã dea greş!

Dar văile vuiră. Căzută în genunchi,
Ea ridicase capul, îl clătina spre stele,
Îl prăvăli apoi, stârnind pe apă
Fugare roiuri negre de mărgele.
O pasare albastră zvâcnise dintre ramuri,
Şi viaţa căprioarei spre zările târzii
Zburase lin, cu ţipăt, ca păsările toamna
Când lasă cuiburi sure şi pustii.

Împleticit m-am dus şi i-am închis
Ochii umbroşi, trist străjuiţi de coarne,
Şi-am tresărit tăcut şi alb când tata
Mi-a şuierat cu bucurie: - Avem carne!

Spun tatii că mi-i sete şi-mi face semn să beau.
Ameţitoare apă, ce-ntunecat te clatini!
Mă simt legat prin sete de vietatea care a murit
La ceas oprit de lege şi de datini...
Dar legea ni-i deşartă şi străină
Când viaţa-n noi cu greu se mai anină,
Iar datina şi mila sunt deşarte,
Când soru-mea-i flămândă, bolnavă şi pe moarte.

Pe-o nara puşca tatii scoate fum.
Vai, fără vânt aleargă frunzarele duium!
Înalţă tata foc înfricoşat.
Vai, cât de mult pădurea s-a schimbat!
Din ierburi prind în mâini fără să ştiu
Un clopoţel cu clinchet argintiu...
De pe frigare tata scoate-n unghii
Inima căprioarei si rărunchii.

Ce-i inima? Mi-i foame! Vreau să trăiesc şi-aş vrea ....
Tu, iartă-mă, fecioară - tu, căprioara mea!
Mi-i somn. Ce nalt îi focul! Şi codrul, ce adânc!
Plâng. Ce gândeşte tata? Mănânc şi plâng. Mănânc!

The Death of the Deer

The drought has stifled every feather of wind,

The sun melted down on the earth, left behind

An empty, exhausted, blistering sky,

The buckets come up from the fountains all dry.

More and more over woods fires, fires,

Dance above savage, demoniac pyres.

I follow my father through the bushes uphill,

The fir-trees scrape me, withered up and evil,

Together, we start the deer hunting quest,

The hunting of hunger in the Carpathian forest.

Thirst ruins me. The thin string of water

Drip, drop, from the spout is sizzling on stone.

My temple is throbbing. I walk on another

Enormous and heavy, strange planet alone.

We wait in a place where, from strings of calm waves,

The streams still resound.

When the sun will be set, when the moon will rise, round,

One by one, in a line, up here,

they will come to drink, the deer.

I say “Father, I`m thirsty!” he hushes me at once,

Bemusing water, how clearly you glow!

I`m tied by thirst to the soul meant to die

At an hour forbidden by custom and by law.

The valley rustles with a withered hiss,

Crosswise the sky, a dire twilight lit

the clouds, and far, above the cliff,

blood drips. My chest is red, as if

I wiped my hands of blood on it.

With bluish flames through ferns, as in a dream,

Astounded stars begin to gleam

Sacrifice of my woods, oh, beautiful prey,

How I wish you did not come, how I pray!

She bounces lightly then she stops

And looks with caution through the grass

Her slender nostrils stirred the water

In circles shimmering like brass.

A hazy fear glared deep inside her eyes

I knew that she would suffer;

I knew that she would die,

As she stood there, still, she was the sheer

Myth of the maid embodied in a deer.

White cherry flowers, high above her

The moon was sifting on her fur.

Oh, how I wish, oh, how I pray,

My father`s gun to miss its prey!

The valleys roared. Knelt, in the stream,

She raised her head, as in a dream

She watched the sky, the moon, the stars

Then fell and water gleamed with scars.

A blue bird rushed, in a tree, unknown

The deer`s life has softly flown,

Crying like birds when they depart

And their fall migrations start.

I went to close her eyes, below

So sadly laid her antlers shadow

I startled livid when, suddenly, offbeat,

My father screeched with joy: “Meat, we have meat!

I say “Father, I`m thirsty!” he nods that I may drink.

Bemusing water, how sullenly you glow!

I feel tied by thirst to the soul that died

At an hour forbidden by custom and by law…

But our laws are useless and dead

When our life hangs up on a thread

And custom, law and pity are quickly gone

When sis` is sick and hungry at home.

The smokes comes out of my father`s gun

The leafage in flocks starts to run!

My father kindles a terrible fire

The wood seems now darker and higher!

I pick up from the grass, as in a dream,

A tiny bell with silver gleam,

My father, from the spit rends with his nails

The deer`s heart and her entrails.

You, heart? I`m hungry! I want to live, I wish, although…

Forgive me deer, forgive me virgin-doe!

I`m tired. How tall is now the fire! The woods, how deep!

I cry. What does my father think? I eat and cry. I eat!

My Younger Self and My Older Self, by Sri Chinmoy

2009-07-27T11:09:00.002+03:00

My younger self, ego,
Tells me that I can be happy
By being separated from the oneness-soul.
My larger self, oneness universal
Tells me that there is no such thing
As ego-separativity.
It is all oneness-song,
Oneness-perfection,
Oneness-reality.
I and my older self together shall stay,
Together shall sing,
Together shall dance.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou

2009-07-25T15:19:00.001+03:00

The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law, by Adrienne Rich

2009-07-25T15:10:00.003+03:00

                1
            
You, once a belle in Shreveport,
with henna-colored hair, skin like a peachbud,
still have your dresses copied from that time,
and play a Chopin prelude
called by Cortot: "Delicious recollections
float like perfume through the memory."

Your mind now, moldering like wedding-cake,
heavy with useless experience, rich
with suspicion, rumor, fantasy,
crumbling to pieces under the knife-edge
of mere fact.  In the prime of your life.

Nervy, glowering, your daughter
wipes the teaspoons, grows another way.

              2
            
Banging the coffee-pot into the sink
she hears the angels chiding, and looks out
past the raked gardens to the sloppy sky.
Only a week since They said: Have no patience.

The next time it was: Be insatiable.
Then: Save yourself; others you cannot save.
Sometimes she's let the tapstream scald her arm,
a match burn to her thumbnail,

or held her hand above the kettle's snout
right inthe woolly steam.  They are probably angels,
since nothing hurts her anymore, except
each morning's grit blowing into her eyes.

              3
            
A thinking woman sleeps with monsters.
The beak that grips her, she becomes.  And Nature,
that sprung-lidded, still commodious
steamer-trunk of tempora and mores
gets stuffed with it all:    the mildewed orange-flowers,
the female pills, the terrible breasts
of Boadicea beneath flat foxes' heads and orchids.
Two handsome women, gripped in argument,
each proud, acute, subtle, I hear scream
across the cut glass and majolica
like Furies cornered from their prey:
The argument ad feminam, all the old knives
that have rusted in my back, I drive in yours,
ma semblable, ma soeur!

              4
            
Knowing themselves too well in one another:
their gifts no pure fruition, but a thorn,
the prick filed sharp against a hint of scorn...
Reading while waiting
for the iron to heat,
writing, My Life had stood--a Loaded Gun--
in that Amherst pantry while the jellies boil and scum,
or, more often,
iron-eyed and beaked and purposed as a bird,
dusting everything on the whatnot every day of life.

              5
            
Dulce ridens, dulce loquens,
she shaves her legs until they gleam
like petrified mammoth-tusk.

              6
            
When to her lute Corinna sings
neither words nor music are her own;
only the long hair dipping
over her cheek, only the song
of silk against her knees
and these
adjusted in reflections of an eye.

Poised, trembling and unsatisfied, before
an unlocked door, that cage of cages,
tell us, you bird, you tragical machine--
is this fertillisante douleur? Pinned down
by love, for you the only natural action,
are you edged more keen
to prise the secrets of the vault? has Nature shown
her household books to you, daughter-in-law,
that her sons never saw?

              7
            
"To have in this uncertain world some stay
which cannot be undermined, is
of the utmost consequence."
Thus wrote
a woman, partly brave and partly good,
who fought with what she partly understood.
Few men about her would or could do more,
hence she was labeled harpy, shrew and whore.

              8
            
"You all die at fifteen," said Diderot,
and turn part legend, part convention.
Still, eyes inaccurately dream
behind closed windows blankening with steam.
Deliciously, all that we might have been,
all that we were--fire, tears,
wit, taste, martyred ambition--
stirs like the memory of refused adultery
the drained and flagging bosom of our middle years.

              9
            
Not that it is done well, but
that it is done at all? Yes, think
of the odds! or shrug them off forever.
This luxury of the precocious child,
Time's precious chronic invalid,--
would we, darlings, resign it if we could?
Our blight has been our sinecure:
mere talent was enough for us--
glitter in fragments and rough drafts.

Sigh no more, ladies.
Time is male
and in his cups drinks to the fair.
Bemused by gallantry, we hear
our mediocrities over-praised,
indolence read as abnegation,
slattern thought styled intuition,
every lapse forgiven, our crime
only to cast too bold a shadow
or smash the mold straight off.
For that, solitary confinement,
tear gas, attrition shelling.
Few applicants for that honor.

              10
            
Well,
she's long about her coming, who must be
more merciless to herself than history.
Her mind full to the wind, I see her plunge
breasted and glancing through the currents,
taking the light upon her
at least as beautiful as any boy
or helicopter,
poised, still coming,
her fine blades making the air wince

but her cargo
no promise then:
delivered
palpable
ours.

Peace, by Swami Vivekananda

2009-07-20T11:19:00.000+03:00

Behold, it comes in might,
The power that is not power,
The light that is in darkness,
The shade in dazzling light.

It is joy that never spoke,
And grief unfelt, profound,
Immortal life unlived,
Eternal death unmourned.

It is not joy nor sorrow,
But that which is between,
It is not noght nor morrow,
But that which joins them in.

It is sweet rest in music;
And pause in sacred art;
The silence between speaking;
Between two fits of passion --
It is the calm of heart.

It is beauty never seen,
And love that stands alone,
It is song that lives un-sung,
And knowledge never known.

It is death between two lives,
And lull between two storms,
The void whence rose creation,
And that where it returns.

To it the tear-drop goes,
To spread the smiling form
It is the Goal of Life,
And Peace -- its only home!

From a letter to Miss MacLeod, 26th December 1900
Composed at Ridgely Manor, New York, 1899.

Poetry of Vivekananda, by Swami Vivekananda

2009-07-20T11:16:00.001+03:00

All love is expansion, all selfishness is contraction.
Love is therefore the only law of life.
He who loves lives, he who is selfish is dying.
Therefore love for love's sake,
because it is law of life, just as you breathe to live

2009-07-20T01:53:00.000+03:00

Aici ajunsese acest unic insingurat, si el unul printre altii atat de numerosi din orasul acesta de insingurati.[...] Se poate intampla insa ca la prima vedere sa nu-i observi, si asta, fie datorita faptului ca macar o buna parte din ei la prime vedere nu par ca sunt, fie ca, in multe cazuri, nu vor sa para. Sau altfel, datorita faptului ca o multime de oameni care pretind ca sunt, sporesc si mai mult confuzia in aceasta problema, facandu-ne sa credem ca in cele din urma nu exista insingurati adevarati. Fiindca, evident ca daca un om nu are picioare sau nu are ambele maini, stim cu totii, sau credem ca stim, ca omul acesta este neputincios. Si in aceeasi clipa acest om incepe sa fie mai putin neputincios, deoarece l-am observat si suferim pentru el, ii cumparam pieptanase inutile si fotografii in culori de Carlitos Gardel. Iar atunci, acest mutilat care nu are picioare sau mainile amandoua inceteaza de a mai fi partial sau total categoria de insingurat total la care ne gandim, asa incat ajungem sa ne incerce numaidecat un nelamurit sentiment de ciuda, poate din pricina nenumaratilor absolut insingurati care, tot in aceeasi clipa (neavand indrazneala sau siguranta si nici spiritul de agresiune al celor adevarati, cu pieptanase si portrete in culori) isi indura tacuti si cu demintate suprema soarta de autentici nenorociti." (Ernesto Sabato)

Nedreptate, de Nichita Stanescu

2009-07-20T01:52:00.001+03:00

De ce sa auzim si de ce sa avem urechi pentru auz ?
Atat de pacatosi sa fim noi incit sa fim nevoiti
sa avem
sperante, pentru frumusete
si pentru duiosie, ochi
si pentru alergare, picioare ?
Atat de nefericiti sa fim noi
incit sa trebuiasca sa ne iubim.
Atat de nestabili sa fim noi
incit sa trebuiasca sa ne prelungim
prin nastere
tristetea noastra urita
si dragostea noastra infrigurata ?

No Coward Soul is Mine, by Emily Bronte

2009-07-20T01:37:00.004+03:00

I cannot say that this is my favorite poem, but then again, this is my tribute to Emily Bronte, for "Wuthering Hights" is my favorite novel.

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heavens glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

O God within my breast.
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life -- that in me has rest,
As I -- Undying Life -- have power in Thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move mens hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast Rock of immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou -- Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

A Women Well Set Free, by Sumanagalamata

2009-07-20T00:47:00.003+03:00

A woman well set free! How free I am,
How wonderfully free, from kitchen drudgery.
Free from the harsh grip of hunger,
And from empty cooking pots,
Free too of that unscrupulous man,
The weaver of sunshades.
Calm now, and serene I am,
All lust and hatred purged.
To the shade of the spreading trees I go
And contemplate my happiness.

Some midnight thoughts

2009-07-12T23:43:00.002+03:00

Since I have discovered not who i am, but who I want to be, I have done nothing but break the rules. The social rules, I mean.

I have never felt that I am truly part of this world. I was living my life through other peoples' lives. And not even other people, but potential "me-s"... Miruna if... That was me... So at one moment I sat and I centralized all these "Miruna ifs" into one single "Miruna if", a potential Miruna if you want. And now I'm heading towards her, towards Me. Some parts of the new me are completed...some others are not up to me 100%. But still I'm doing something for myself.

I like to see how others perceive me. In my last field trip I was fortunate enough to live with a girl who liked to analyze people and she was open enough to discuss her observations. I've learned many things about myself because of her, but I've also got a quick look on how others see me. Actually, my best luck with her is that she isn't polite. Don't get me wrong, she's not impolite. Just that she usually speaks whatever is on her mind (or at least this is the impression she leaves to most people).

Phenomenal Woman, by Maya Angelou

2009-07-10T18:34:00.001+03:00

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Desire (Do you Love me?)

2009-06-23T08:15:00.006+03:00

Do you love me?

Love Poems of Rumi, edited by Deepak Chopra

Desire (The Lover's Passion) - Deepak Chopra feat. Demi Moore

A lover knows only humility, he has no choice.
He steals into your alley at night, he has no choice.
He longs to kiss every lock of your hair, don't fret,
he has no choice.
In his frenzied love for you, he longs to break the chains of his imprisonment,
he has no choice.

A lover asked his beloved:
- Do you love yourself more than you love me?
Beloved replied: I have died to myself and I live for you.
I've disappeared from myself and my attributes,
I am present only for you.
I've forgotten all my learnings,
but from knowing you I've become a scholar.
I've lost all my strength, but from your power I am able.

I love myself...I love you.
I love you...I love myself.

I am your lover, come to my side,
I will open the gate to your love.
Come settle with me, let us be neighbours to the stars.
You have been hiding so long, endlessly drifting in the sea of my love.
Even so, you have always been connected to me.
Concealed, revealed, in the unknown, in the un-manifest.
I am life itself.

You have been a prisoner of a little pond,
I am the ocean and its turbulent flood.
Come merge with me,
leave this world of ignorance.
Be with me, I will open the gate to your love.

I desire you more than food or drink
My body my senses my mind hunger for your taste
I can sense your presence in my heart
although you belong to all the world
I wait with silent passïon for one gesture one glance
from you.

Are you looking for me? by Kabir

2009-06-17T23:54:00.003+03:00

Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat.

My shoulder is against yours.

you will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrine

rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:

not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding

around your own neck, nor in eating nothing but

vegetables.

When you really look for me, you will see me

instantly --

you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?

He is the breath inside the breath.

Memories of my future soul

Cake or Death?

Longing

Today on Love - Tatar Love Song, from Oi Va Voi

Today on Love - 100 Love Sonnets, Pablo Neruda

Fortunate poor people II

Fortunate poor people

For you...

This one goes out to the one I love

A tale of two...

Today on Peace - Deep Peace, by Donovan

Today on Peace - St. Francis of Assisi

Imagine a world... (Tasavor Kon, by Sivash Ghomayshi)

Tasavor kon age hata tasavor kardanesh sakhte

Imagine, even if it is hard to imaginejahani ke har ensani tu un khoshbakhte khoshbakhte

A world in which everyone is blessed with prosperity.

jahani ke tu un pul o nejad o ghodrat arzesh nist

Imagine a world in which money, race and power are meaningless. javabe ham sedaii ha police zede shooresh nist

The answer to agreements is not the headbanging of riot police na bombe hasteii dare na bomb afkan na khompare

There is no longer war, there are no more bombs, dige hich bacheii pasho roye min ja nemizare

No child would leave their feet on a mine hame azade azdan hame bi darde bi dardan

Everyone is free, everybody is healthy and wealthy. tu roozname nemikhooni nahanga khodkoshi kardan

jahani ro tasavor kon bedoone nefrat o gharoot

Imagine a world without hate bedoon zolme khodkame bedoone vahshat o taghoot

without cruelty, without fright jahani ro tasavor kon por az labkhand o azadi

Imagine a world full of laughter, full of freedom labalab az gol o boose por az tekrar e abadi

Full of flowers, full of kisses in continious flourish

Tasavor kon age hata tasavor kardanesh jorme

Imagine it even if it is illegal to Imagine age ba bordane esmesh galoo por mishe az sorme

Even just by speaking it your mouth becomes dusty tasavor kon jahani ro ke toosh zendan ye afsan ast

Imagine a world in which prison is a myth tamame jangaye donya shodan mashmoole atash bas Every war in the world is sentenced to stop. kasi aghaye alam nist barabar ba haman mardom

Every war in the world is sentenced to stop.

Everyone has a fair share, even of wheat