At one point in my life there was this elsewhere that started sounding so promising. Elsewhere was a place where I could find my dream. It was the place where I could do whatever needed to be done to fulfill my dream. Elsewhere was a place where I would feel useful. Or a place where I could start over, a place where no one knows me giving me the chance to be who I really am. Or the place I could go to just be someone else. Elsewhere was always this magical place that is not here where I felt stuck. Here where I felt like I was hitting a wall no matter where I turned, here where there was nothing new to do, no one new to meet.
I tried running to this elsewhere. Whether it was a different town or a whole different country. It was all good because of the novelty of the place, but it kept me hooked on the outside, so what I needed to find about myself, or become, or change within me, I could not do it. I felt just as stuck. Maybe even more. The walls transformed into language barrier, culture barrier, not knowing the place, not knowing where to start anything that I would have wanted to do. It was all very beautiful, exciting and very alien.
But there was something else that all these “eslewheres” gave me. I didn’t find myself, I din’t find my dream and did not suddenly transform into a whole new person. But instead I learned Continue reading “The magical place of Elsewhere”
I cannot help but wonder what could make the fabric of life come undone. What would it take for us to see beyond the veil of what we think is reality? Permanent connection to ourselves? Permanent connection to the unconscious? Permanent connection to the knowledge that transgresses clear cut fields? Or maybe a tragedy? Getting extremely sick and fighting the illness? Psychedelic drugs? What is it that would make us see clearly that the life we live is an illusion. Our wants and needs are an illusion. They are not even ours to begin with. They were put in us by someone else. All the commercials telling you what you need in order to be happy. A bigger house. A bigger TV set. A new phone or some other gadget. More internet. The clothes or the makeup or something that some star is wearing or using. Even our opinions are not our own. Alongside with the commercials at the radio in our car or at the bigger TV set in front of which we crash after 10 hours of work, there are shows that tell you what other people think, what you should think, what you should look like, who you should be. And you listen, because Continue reading “Repet after me: I am free”
We shield ourselves with knowledge. Information is power as we all know. And we all want power, we all want to feel strong, untouchable. But when we get there we realize it is a lonely place. A place where there is no connection, except to wi-fi, to acquire more information so that we feel powerful again, this time in hopes that the others might feel attracted to us so powerful that we are. And they are, as they have always been attracted to gods. But gods are dangerous, so people do not get to close and they do not trust gods. There is no connection there either. Not to others, not to oneself.
Fortunately there will always be one that will fall for this power that we hold and handle like a mighty sword. And that one will Continue reading “(Dis)Connect”
A plecat de acolo cu mintea aiurea si sufletul gol. Nu putea sa priveasca in urma pentru ca toata povestea inca nu se transformase in trecut. Urma sa mai treaca o vreme pana sa poata trece in siguranta confortabila, dulce-amaruie a trecutului. Deocamdata toate cuvintele ei, lacrimile, formau un timp care va ramane o prelungire a prezentului, pana cand ranile se vor vindeca.
Oameni infofoliti se grabeau, frumosi, copacii de pe marginea drumului refuzau cu incapatanare sa cedeze vantului cele cateva frunze care se zbateau disperate, cerul era gri, greu, iar el nu-si gasea cheia de la masina. O uitase la ea, impreuna cu telefonul si Continue reading “Libertate”
I’m in need of words. In a world of clear cut definitions, I am looking at letters put together and they are not enough to make sense. I’m looking at the page filled with those signs and they could just as well be flowers in a field, different, beautiful, carriers of meaning that people give to them. But different to each and every one. The message is not the same though the flower, the page, is the same.
Right now, the only thing that ever made sense to me, the greatest love of my life, the WORD is but a piece of wet clay in someone else’s hands. Out of my reach, out of my control. As if that first moment in Creation
Continue reading “A word of one’s own”
Pe un camp cu flori, in mijlocul verii, o tanara fata se plimba impreuna cu mama ei. Din cand in cand, fata se apleca si culegea cate o floare pentru a-i numara petalele si, daca aveau numar par, o mirosea si si-o prindea in coada impletita. Dar daca numarul de petale era impar, fata incepea jocul, intotdeauna cu “Ma iubeste”. Orice altceva era de neconceput si de nesuportat pentru sufletul ei fraged. Mama, contemplandu-si fiica cu flori in par si sperante in suflet, isi amintea de propria ei tinerete cand era indragostita de tatal fetei si urma sa se marite cu el. Era si ea la fel de emotionata. Si isi amintea cum, intr-o zi ca aceasta, in timp ce culegea flori pentru coronite si canta un cantec vechi din mosi stramosi, care stia ca ii va fi cantat si ei la nunta, a vazut o batrana cu o caprita apropiindu-se de ea. Isi amintea si acum povestea pe care batrana aceea i-o spusese si se hotari ca deseara, cand mireasa si fetele din sat vor impleti impreuna coronite, cantand, pentru nunta de a doua zi, sa le spuna si lor acea poveste.
– Dragele mele, am sa va spun povestea pe care mi-a spus-o o batrana cu o zi inaintea nuntii mele.
Fetele se agitara incantate, gata sa asculte.
– Erau o data intr-un tinut de munte cinci surori pe care viata, cu toate provocarile ei, le-a indepartat una de cealalta. Patru dintre ele au parasit casa parinteasca, una cate una, maritandu-se cu barbatii de care erau indragostite. Au lasat in urma rasetele copilariei, cantecele pe care le cantasera impreuna si micile certuri dintre ele, care le umbreau cateodata zilele. Cea mai mica a ramas sa isi ajute parintii si sa aiba grija de casa pe care, mai tarziu, a mostenit-o. Ani de zile au stat departe una de alta, pana intr-o zi, cand, impovarate de vina, si-au trimis vorba pentru a se reintalni cu toatele in casa copilariei lor. Aveau secrete sa-si marturiseasca. Continue reading “Povestea intregului”