"Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.."- Antoine de Saint Exupéry

Latest

The deepest silence / Cea mai adanca tacere

When you don’t condemn, criticize, nor judge, when you grow in more awareness of your thoughts, an intense watching of your inner world of thinking, you gradually find the thoughts will gradually lose its randomness. You will be able to see your thoughts. You will be able to see them separately appearing on your mental screen. You will be able to find the gap between two thoughts. As you are able to find the gap between two thoughts, that gap is the silence. That Silence that is there between two thoughts is the deepest Silence of this whole Universe.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————

Cand nici nu condamni, nici nu critici sau judeci, cand cresti intr-o mai puternica recunoastere a gandurilor tale cu o intensa observatie a lumii reflectiei tale interioare, descoperi treptat ca gandurile isi pierd spiritul aleator. Vei putea sa iti vizualizezi gandurile. Le vei putea vedea separat aparand pe ecranul tau mental. Vei reusi sa gasesti spatiul liber dintre doua ganduri. Pe masura ce recunosti spatiul dintre ganduri, acel spatiu e liniste. Acea Liniste care se afla intre ganduri e cea mai adanca Tacere din intreg universul.

100 words, memyselfandela, 2012

Tranquility / Liniste

Sliding from the dragonfly wings

to the back of the fish

in the flesh of the shell

the pearl of light

becomes tranquillity.

—————————–

Alunecand de pe aripile libelulei

pe spinarea pestelui

in carnea scoicii

perla de lumina

devine liniste.

Memyselfandela, 2011

Marooned / Naufragiat

Motto: “We are cut, we are fallen.
We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps
when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.” /

” Suntem secerati, suntem cazuti. Am devenit parte a
acelui univers lipsit de simturi care doarme cand suntem cel mai activi
si mocneste ca jarul cand ne intindem in somn.”

Virginia Woolf, The Waves/ Virginia Woolf, Valurile

IMG_6066

I am lost like a stone
Submerged in the depths
Of this endless reality
In which our thoughts sometimes touch.

They come and go
Sometimes tormented like an agony
Sometimes calm like a madman
Marooned on an island of thousand silences.

Don’t keep me in your pocket forever,
Throw me far away,
Just enjoy the moment of
My passing ripples through your existence.

——————————————–

Sunt pierdut ca o piatra
Scufundata in adancurile
Acestei realitati fara sfarsit
In care gandurile noastre uneori se ating.

Ele vin si pleaca
Uneori chinuite ca o agonie
Alteori calme precum un nebun
Naufragiat pe o insula a miilor de taceri.

Nu ma tine in buzunarul tau pentru totdeauna
Arunca-ma in departare,
Bucura-te doar de momentul
Trecatoarelor mele unde prin existenta ta.

memyselfandela/ Adela Galasiu, 63 words, 2014

Photo: Photobucket.

Video

Luna Amara – Rosu Aprins / The Bitter Moon – Burning Red

“N-ai cum sa lasi cum sa uiti / You can’t leave, you can’t forget
Totul in noapte / Everything in the night
Oricat ti-ar parea de usor / No matter how easy it may seem
Stinge o stea – si ramai pe sub pleoape / Burn out a star – and remain under the eyelids
Stinge si luna amara cu un nor / Also burn out the bitter moon with a cloud

Rosu aprins – coloreaza-mi tacerea / Bright red – colour my silence
Rosu aprins – pe un suras ce s-a stins / Burning red – on a smile that has died
Rosu aprins – sa-mi ascunda durerea / Burning red – to cover my pain
In noapte ma pierd – cu noaptea te iert / in the night I lose myself – with the night I forgive you

Te ascund intre coaste ce dor / I hide you between hurting ribs
Cu luna amara / With the bitter moon
Cand tot ce-mi doresc e rosu aprins / When everything I long for is burning red
Nu vreau sa te pierd in lumea de-afara / I don’t want to lose you in the outside world
Ramai neschimbata – rosu nestins! / Remain unchanged – unextinguished red!”

———————————————————————————————-
Luna Amara, Romanian Rock Band

Translation: memyselfandela, 2012

the mess

can’t live like this
yet we insanely do it
we hate each other
though completely in love
cannot connect but
we are one

lose me in the morning
I’ll win you in the evening
oh what an incongruence
such a fight
what a fine mess

Memyselfandela, 2012

remains of the day

days have passed with a crazy velocity… most of the friends that she managed to make in the year have left. she finally unpacked her suitcases, cleaned the whole apartment, disappointed that all changes so quickly… fortunately she was not left completely alone. there still was someone for the next three weeks, someone to drink coffee with and a companion for concerts….


… concerts.. yes, all those concerts… yesterday glass and smith. there was strike again, she had to walk again, she walked the distance between four subway stations in the heat of the ending day, suffocating heat, thinking to take a taxi to return after the concert because the area was creepy… she arrived two hours too early, there were only ten peaple ahead of her(including a sixty years old lady with short hair , blue and white strands and the biggest tattoos that she has ever seen… on the right leg a huge violet grape, on the right foot the tattoo was so abstract that it seemed impossible to realize what it was meant to represent…)

this time the concert was at odeon, in the smallest of the two amphitheatres… about 1000 people but clearly the most  various public she had ever seen attending a concert… with curious eyes she explored the faces and dresses and people and made herself an idea about the everything… sitting in the second row, she was very close to the stage, next to two girls that were smiling and talking about their sexy fifty years old literature teacher sitting in the first row…the guy was looking like one of the teachers of philip roth….

and it all begun well and ended wrong… patti smith is the perfect voice for ginsberg’s poems and it would have been just marvellous if she would not have started talking on her own, expressing her own ideas… at the end a big group of vintage enthusiasts run in front of the stage bothering everybody … they have started screaming happily “people have the power” raising their fists and  militating as if right that very moment they were about to start a new revolution….

but of course, this disappointment did not spoil the rest of the concert for her. she adored philip glass from the first moment, thinking that he deserves a title of nobility like “Sir”… she adored him from the moment he said in a very elegant french that he was about to play… by metamorphosis two she was already holding her breath since she could only hear the piano and the crickets….

conclusion: she should better read ginsberg on her own, and she deffinitely must see philip glass one more time, in one of his concerts alone… and if cohen and glass (and ginsberg) all met in the buddhist ideas, there must be a reason. she alone was convinced she is not compatible with that inner peace for which the western people find no words, but she would have loved at least once to try it…

when she returned she found no taxi… among thousands of curses said in her mind in the honour of the greatness of the French nation and her strikes, after ten minutes of fast walking , she noticed with de corner of her eye the pencil tower from part-dieu, exactly in the opposite direction that she was supposed to follow to get back home… she returned , passed again in front of the same arab merchant sleeping on his chair… she and her lovely 70s dress that she wore especially for ginsberg… maybe if she would not have wore this dress it would not have all ended in this hippie apocalypse…

she arrived home cursing the country she declared one of idiots and the idiots that strike all the time and also herself, the greatest idiot, for not being capable, not even at her age, to learn how to ride the bicycle.

memyselfandela, 2012

fragile poems / poeme fragile

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

fragile poems grow

written by old nature’s hand

roses are blooming

——————-

poeme fragile crescand

scrise de vechea mana a naturii

trandafiri inflorind

Memyselfandela, 2012

writing is easy / e usor sa scrii

“Writing is easy. Just put a sheet of paper in the typewriter and start bleeding.”/

“E usor sa scrii. Pune doar o foaie de hartie in masina de scris si incepe sa sangerezi.”
– Thomas Wolfe

letters

you know

many hours you stood

in front of my heart

and you dropped your

shadow over me

my bones are thin since I’ve been waiting

on the gate of the world

watching how others die

of a desease that spreaded

like the famine

now in the middle of the night

when I’m too tired to sleep

I write you

letters.

memyselfandela, 2012

To survive you must be the strongest… / Ca sa supravietuiesti trebuie sa fii cel mai puternic…

….. or the smartest??? /…. sau cel mai inteligent???

Don’t worry baby

Don’t worry baby

All will be fine very soon

You will get better.

Simply red

deep red

from the blood

running through nature’s veins

in blue

losing myself

in blue eyes

which plunge

the very essence of me

to unfathomable depths

of azure

hurled to highest stratosphere

a human rocket

launched by penetrating gaze

of cobalt light sky

surrendering to

blue eyes

where dark lashes dart

flit – soar – dance

as birds above white capped waves                    

on twin sapphire seas

——————————

memyselfandela, 2012

Photo: Photobucket

Bread as you have never seen before

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

View original

Video

white bishop

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

White Bishop – Emeric Imre

“now I am emptier than ever

since I feel more and more rich of you

and the sun and the moon stay on my temples

now I am the worst and the best

and look, there is nobody to help us

the world barely holds her own weight

and in a white wall of mute muses

the black bishops look for a path

and I love you with pitty and horror
all that is yours belongs to me
like a white bishop that captures
the black queen for eternity

I miss you and I look for your face

in every corner of existance

if I take the sand in my han

I feel a ring playing the game of bride and groom

I hear you in battles from time to time

the soldiers of your guards honour you

my beloved with very great problems

with…

View original 31 more words

watch me!

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

View original

the joy

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

hear in both ears
the music of rolling waves
everlasting joy

View original

today…

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

View original

Viens lentement t’asseoir , Emile Verhaeren

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

Viens lentement t’asseoir
Près du parterre dont le soir
Ferme les fleurs de tranquille lumière,
Laisse filtrer la grande nuit en toi:
Nous sommes trop heureux pour que sa mer d’effroi
Trouble notre prière.

Là-haut, le pur cristal des étoiles s’éclaire:
Voici le firmament plus net et translucide
Qu’un étang bleu ou qu’un vitrail d’abside;
Et puis voici le ciel qui regarde à travers.

Les mille voix de l’énorme mystère
Parlent autour de toi,
Les mille lois de la nature entière
Bougent autour de toi,
Les arcs d’argent de l’invisible
Prennent ton âme et sa ferveur pour cible.
Mais tu n’as peur, oh ! simple coeur,
Mais tu n’as peur, puisque ta foi
Est que toute la terre collabore
A cet amour que fit éclore
La vie et son mystère en toi.

Joins donc les mains tranquillement
Et doucement adore ;
Un grand conseil de pureté
Flotte, comme une étrange…

View original 10 more words

Skyline

Originally posted on memyselfandela:

She dreams of your love

Sipping slowly her coffee

You dream of other.

Love goes from a bed

To another not caring

Noone has it all.

In the morning cold

curious eyes remember

the skyline of bliss.

View original

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,800 other followers