No title

I discovered something beautiful.
Impossible for eyes to see,
for the mind to make sense.
Only for hearts to feel.

It makes no distinctions,
draws no hidden lines.
It makes no judgements,
embraces you with open arms.

I thought I had to escape,
see what yet hadnt been seen.
It made my heart melt,
when I found it is here with me.

Not below or above,
even not beside.
Inside the centre of my soul,
an eternal love that is slowly making me whole.

The play

Breathing it in,
then letting it go.
Why control the natural flow?

Watching life,

played out on the stage.
Desperatly grabbing hold,
of every given role.

New places,
becomes familiar.
Familiar faces,
defining who I am.

Being a spectator,
judging what I see.
Is it really me?

Now

Mountains of ice are melting,

running rivers are crystal clear.

Continuous flow,
moving into the Unknown.

No destination,
no need to belong.

Ongoing journey,
I am its home.

Circle

Walking along the same path

Its the same,

but it keeps changing.

Looking behind me,

I see memories fade.

Yet I feel their presence.

Keep them as close as possible,

as I direct my attention ahead.

Gazing into the Unknown,

attempting to see images of my predictions.

Looking through a window of sorrow,

it colours what I see.

Continuously lurking behind the glass,

visible yet inaccessible.

Walking along the same path

Its the same,

but it keeps changing.

The window is slowly breaking,

cracks letting in a different kind of light.

Its the same,

but it feels different.

after

Don´t look back,
there is nothing you can do.
Move on and learn from the
same mistakes you made before.

The seagull

Once I saw a seagull,
with his wings wide he floated above the horizon.
He looked determined,
his persistent howl sounded convincing.

Once I saw a dead seagull,
with wings broken laying flat on the ground.
He looked empty,
his orange beak didnt make a sound.

I once was a girl.
With my arms spread I ran into freedom.
I looked at ease,
my voice was clear and open .

I saw this girl changing.
With her arms crossed, and her head bent down,
she looked anxious.
Her voice was restricted, mostly she kept quiet.

I have floated like the majestetic seagull in the air.
I have been broken like the lifeless bird on the ground.
I have been convincing.
I have been restricted.

I guess its not black and white
I am not the one or the other
I have been both,
still I am.

the road again

regrets
unmet faces
unheard voices
hands not seized
smiles not returned

enough place for that too

when the wanting fades in the being
and everything falls away
you still have
things are
it is

you still have sunrise above Mekong
blazing the watercourse
before it breaks into branches

you still have the breeze
brushing silvery tree-tops
lining the river front

you will still be
in the reach of fire
and the waking voices

Reason

I have learned happy is good
I have learned not to be sad
I´m not happy about that.

I wish I was without doubt
that I knew what I wanted

I wish to go to sleep
right after I turn off the light

But I´m blind
can not find.

Let it

Blinded by you
spelling of truth.
To be correct, just right.
Blinded by the
pure that I'm not.
Throughout this, my light.

Freedom

breathing simply to breathe
going simply to go
being simply to be
without thougths, without plan, without goal

The girl in the bath-tub

Her body is frozen
the water is rising towards her shoulders.

She is screaming inside.
The endless silence is still all that is there.

To her the silence creates an everlasting noise in her head.

The water is rising towards her face.
The explosive panic is starting to settle in her body.

It almost looks like she is getting used to it.

Out of nowhere a dark shadow appears behind her.
He looks strong.

I cant see the fear in her eyes,
but I know she is afraid.

Without much effort he firmly pushes her down.
The water covers her head.

There is nothing I can do,
but to watch her let go.

Flower

The stone.
The stone in the air, which I followed.
Your eye, as blind as the stone.

We were
hands,
we baled the darkness empty, we found
the word that ascended summer:
flower.

Flower - a blind man's word.
Your eye and mine:
they see
to water.

Growth.
Heart wall upon heart wall
adds petals to it.

One more word like this word, and the hammers
will swing over open ground.


Paul Celan

the rays that melt the shell or light on its return journey

chasms these
we no longer
need to plumb
more than a heart
in the sun has set

more than a sun
for hills to recall
when to night
the sea returns
and sleep returns

of us too some dust
on your wings you bear
in your endless flight

you
cruising flame of chaos
conjurer of space

_________________________

written years ago, returning here to echo 'the black hole'

You are me

I offer you,
voice I speak myself,
take me.
Make all things fall,
for you unite all of me.

the black hole

I

black and deep

uncertain and daunting

narrowed and airless

rays of love melt the shell

an irresistible force stills the mind

warmth makes the heart glow

it’s the far-reaching felicity of the self

that is and will always be and shall never fade

not from this world but forever allied forever united

II

a black hole

a black nothingness

it is not

it does not exist

it does not sense

it is unfeeling, in airless space, unseeable ,though in peace

trying to touch it lightly

to embrace it

to stroke it

to sense it

I cannot, it is not,I will not

I will not!

too black?

too empty?

too cold?

too vulnerable?

no tears, to melt the shell

no pain to be felt

no longing to warm it up

nothing

III

sad without knowing why

groundless void

no goal, no way, nothing.

Steps

Trembling,
Balancing on the edge

What happens if I fall?

Constant whisper,
Voices create an ongoing noise in my head

What happens if I don’t listen?

I fell,
the voices stopped calling for a while

When will I hit the ground?

Silence
so comfortable,yet I am so afraid

What if I hear something I haven’t noticed before?

Panic
A desperate need to escape

Who am I running from?

Fruity

The tree is big and rich of fruit

I take one apple down

The color persuades the taste

not yet is it ready to give. 

I pick one apple off the ground 

become the one

I never hoped for, myself.

account

The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.

Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.

Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.

I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.

But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.

The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.


Czeslaw Milosz

healing dimensions

Un-named

Might life be fuller, better, even great, if I looked different

Like a bruised fruit only part of me is good to eat

Spoiled parts of me to be transformed

Into sweet jams with which to fill summer fair pies

Compost from which I can grow whole again

I can’t tattoo myself whole

I can’t work myself whole

I can’t smoke myself whole

There is a hole in my wholeness

If I embrace it, love it, dance with it

The nebulas of uncertainty and self-disdain can rest easy

I fill the hole instead of sitting in its safe container

Of perfect floral air

a moss cushion my bed

Pop culture distractions fence me from my essence.

Will I ever embrace my imperfections

or forever a rotten plum

Insurmountable

Its grey

The color of my skin has changed
My body feels old
I am moving slowly
Yet vibrating restlessness is moving inside


Its grey
A shadow covers what I see
You look different too
I need to look away,
yet desperate to grab hold of your heart


Its grey
Imagining the future
Helplessness makes me heavy
This body is not my own
A stranger has settled down,
and I am about to drown


Its turning black
I judge before I feel
My face is frozen
The stranger has won,
control is gone


Its black
an overwhelming disgust
the darkest hate
to disappear is all I want to do
I guess the stranger becomes a friend,
and I am wearing the mask of a victim again

Unknown path

Desperatly attempting to mold
close the doors and keep my path narrow

Staring at the ground
afraid to raise my head
Repeating the possible outcomes I have been fed

What if all of a sudden you look different?
What if the feeling of you would change?

Do I look different from where I have arrived?
For sure its not my common space
I wonder, have you also found your place?

Desperatly attempting to mold

the attempt is starting to fail

Mountains of ice are melting
the running rivers are crystal clear

yet I wonder, will I run past,
or find you somewhere?

It's time

It’s time! It’s time she hollered with almost 100% conviction.

It has become a race

Searching for her love offering

She tires and she cries

Her belly swells with unexpressed creativity

Anxious, tight chest

She is trapped in someone else’s paradigms

Outdated contexts are not useful to her

Others don’t always know what is best

Capricious fancy makes her appear weak

But she is a dreamer

and there is so much possibility

Putting it our there is purely part of the manifestation process

A new flower is budding

From the golden chrysalis she emerges

Sweet and innocent

Pure and curious

Possessed by divine potential

It is time to come into her own.

dialogues

dialogues are beautiful
a dialogue means
there is a you there is a me
a thou and an i
in a dialogue i does not come before
you after
we appear together
in a seamless presence
that contains and transcends us

dialogues give me the reassurance
that it is all right for me to be here
in this forsaken universe
because you too are here
it somehow makes it feel safe
your presence makes it homely
adds some light to the dark
without taking the dark away

why would we want to be rid of the dark anyway?
why not take them together, see them together?
are they separate?
can’t we see that by refusing the dark that is within
we are adding to the world’s opacity?

there is this big brown butterfly in the house
it has gorgeous orange strips at the inner lining of its wings
it has chosen to rest on my table
where it is slowly dying
gently yielding to stillness

August 26, 2011

Siem Reap

the breeze

among a thing or two
I could listen to birds chirping in the trees
to chants drumming from the temple loudspeakers
to the neighbor’s laughter from the house next door
to the endless barking of dogs in the street
or could sense the breeze blowing through the window grills
illuming the body before the heat starts to smolder
I could also request renewal
but am not sure now how to request
what there is to renew

as long as I can trust the breeze
trust the birds
trust the loudspeakers
the laughter the neighbors
the life that’s in the barking of the dogs
yes simply as long as

as long as you can trust
there is openness to the day