In a far away land there is a city with hundreds of wise houses. Each house has a roof, a soul and an attic with two windows. Eyes scrutinize the birds that get back to their nests late at night, the grannies that bake homemade bread, the blatant children playing outside, the flowers raising their heads in the sun, the cats that purr in hidden corners, the dogs hiding their precious bones, the women that dream of the return of their husbands and the husbands dreaming of other women.
Every day opens a new color, a new hope, ends a life and begins others. Every evening sends to sleep all the rippled memories of the day, all the children and cats and birds and wives and husbands. Some of the grannies will sleep longer, other babies will get born out of the dreams of past nights. Some of the flowers will grow seeds, others will bloom, the stars will seem to rotate on the sky awaiting the rays of the same sun that has opened the eyes of all the children and women and cats and husbands and grannies and birds.
When morning comes the smell of coffee invades the streets. It fills up the sky and the staircases of all houses. As eyes open life vibrates, noises clash in the air, birds sing again, cats lick meticulously their paws and wash their furs with slow movements on the edge of wide open windows, dogs inspect every corner of their territory, children moan instead of waking up, wives pack lunch for their husbands, husbands go to work hoping that the day will be better that the other days. And even though life seems the same, it is always different.
In the city where houses have eyes life can still flow in unexpected patterns. Houses have eyes in Sibiu, Romania.
Intr-o tara indepartata exista un oras cu sute de case intelepte. Fiecare casa are un acoperis, un suflet si un pod cu doua ferestre. Ochi privesc cu mare atentie pasarile care se intorc la cuiburile lor noaptea, bunicile care coc paine de casa, copiii galagiosi care se joaca pe afara, florile care isi ridica frumosul cap in soare, pisicile care torc in colturi ascunse, cainii care isi ascund mult iubitele oase, femeile care viseaza cu ochii deschisi la intoarcerea barbatilor lor si barbatii care viseaza la cu totul alte femei.
Fiecare zi deschide o noua culoare, o noua speranta, sfarseste o noua viata si incepe altele. Fiecare seara trimite la culcare toate amintirile ondulate ale zilei, toti copiii si toate pisicile si toate pasarile si toate nevestele si toti barbatii. Unele bunici vor dormi mai mult, alti copii se vor naste din visele noptilor care au trecut. Unele flori vor face seminte, altele vor inflori, stelele vor parea ca se rotesc pe cer asteptand razele aceluiasi soare care a deschis ochii tuturor copiiilor si femeilor si pisicilor si barbatilor si bunicilor si pasarilor.
Cand vine dimineata aroma de cafea napadeste toate strazile. Umple cerul si casele scarilor. In timp ce ochii se deschid, viata vibreaza, zgomote se ciocnesc in aer, pasari canta din nou, pisici isi ling meticulos labele si isi spala blana cu miscari foarte tacticoase pe marginea ferestrelor larg deschise, caini inspecteaza fiecare colt al teritoriului lor, copii gem in loc sa se trezeasca, neveste impacheteaza pranzul pentru barbatii lor, barbati merg la lucru sperand ca ziua va fi mai buna decat alte zile. Si desi viata pare la fel, este mai totdeauna diferita.
In orasul in care casele au ochi viata poate inca sa se scurga in tipare cu totul neasteptate.
Casele au ochi in Sibiu, Romania.
300 words / 300 de cuvinte,
Story and Translation / Poveste si Traducere : memyselfandela / Adela Galasiu October 2013 / July 2015
Isle of Wight, UK, March 2015
Photos: Adela Galasiu, June 2014
Everything consists of
mostly empty space
filling the gaps between
The singing bird,
the traveling train,
the darkness around,
your inquisitive eye
all are mostly not here.
Could we exist
without the invisible
particle of life
all the difference?
God’s breath of life
radiates inside us
creating the moments
that touch our hearts,
giving them substance.
In a life that could close
like a dark eyelid
we defy all logic
and will always remain
81 words, memyselfandela/Adela Galasiu, June 2014
Anger? Hate? What would be the perfect word to carve into my arm? What do I allocate this tender, fleshy space between my elbow and my wrist to? Ah, no, don’t tell me. I should tattoo that I have been looking for you a lifetime and that I will never give up on the hope to finally find you. I have looked for you a lifetime? No, this is no place for lamentations… Love? Peace and Light? No, I should tattoo that I love you, that I love your feet and your heart. Your big feet. And that I live for those moments when all I want to hear is my little breath next to the amazing sound of your thumping heartbeat.
Memories of a madman float in the void space around, yet the heart knows no fear. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is now. I am tired to wait for an indefinite time when maybe something will happen. No, I feel and I love and I care and I suffer and I breathe and I hope and I dream. I can touch tomorrow with the tips of my fingers and embrace it as it comes, in the making. I am no longer waiting for a life, here I am, I AM the LIFE!
I had to sigh a million times till I could finally start to breathe… Breathe with my heart and soul, with my being, not only with my feeble lungs… LIVE , not only biologically pathetically exist… Embrace my fiery real feelings, not only humbly get crushed underneath their intensity… And what I found out in the end is that in a lifetime we may break and fall a million times,again and again, but baby, one day, after all this crush and falling, we can finally rise and fly.
I watched you sleep
Like only one that passionately loves you ever could.
I was there awake watching over you
When nobody was around
And no sounds were disturbing your deep sleep.
I was there when you opened your smiling eyes
And when hungry pigeons came to feed at your feet.
Sibiu. My city. My stone. My root. My love.
Te-am privit dormind
Cum doar cineva care te iubeste cu pasiune o poate face.
Am fost acolo vegiind asupra ta
Cand nu era nimeni in preajma
Si sunete nu deranjau somnul tau adanc.
Am fost acolo cand ti-ai deschis ochii zambitori
Si cand porumbei infometati au venit sa manance la picioarele tale.
Sibiu. Orasul meu. Piatra mea. Radacina mea. Dragostea mea.
Photos: memyselfandela, November 2013
what weighs the most
in the gravity of feelings:
to love or to be loved?
missing one or another
feels just as painful as
a bird trying to fly with only one wing.
ce cântărește cel mai mult
în gravitatia sentimentelor:
a iubi sau a fi iubit?
lipsa uneia sau alteia
se simte la fel de dureros ca și
o pasăre ce încearcă să zboare doar cu o aripă.
33 words, memyselfandela/ Adela Galasiu, September 2013
Anger? Hate? What would be the perfect word to carve into my arm? What do I allocate this tender, fleshy space between my elbow and my wrist to? No, this is no place for lamentations… Love? Peace and Light? No, I should tattoo that I love you, that I love your feet and your heart. Your big feet. And that I live for those moments when all I want to hear is my little breath next to the amazing sound of your thumping heartbeat.
I had to sigh a million times till I could finally start to breathe… Breathe with my heart and soul , not only with my lungs… LIVE , not only biologically exist… Embrace my intense feelings, not only feel and get crushed underneath them… And what I found out is that in a lifetime we break and fall a million times, but baby, sometimes after we fall, we can finally fly…
memyselfandela, July 2013
I love birds. These days I was watching a couple of birds that have the nest near by. Everything in their life is so simple and true. Every minute he or she fly over to their babies and bring them food and take out the dirt. No questions about life, no fears, nothing but love and devotion and a complete surrender to what God created them to be.
I wish people were like these small creatures. TRUE. HONEST. LOVING. REAL. Capable to take full responsibility for the connections they make. Capable to mean what they are saying. Available really for the real life not lost in illusions.
I loved everything about you. For many reasons and just because. To me you are a miracle from God, I fell in love with the beauty of you. I loved the way you said my name. I loved the way you wanted to tell me things. I loved your smile. I loved how you translated for me. I loved your eyes. I loved your laughter, it was so very beautiful. I loved your body and the look in your eyes in the middle of the night. I loved that we were so very connected. I loved laughing with you, breathing with you, being with you, asking you questions. I loved our conversations in the night. I loved that you cared about me. I loved you even when you felt awkward around me. I loved you even when you behaved like a fool. I loved your hugs and how they felt so warm and safe. I loved how you trusted me and how I trusted you. I loved knowing you and you knowing me. Oh how I loved you… And I still love you, and I will always love you, but you shouldn’t know all this.
White Bird, shake your wing over me
Snow on my lashes with white snow flakes, graciously, silently, vapour like
Strew on the top of my head your wisdom.
Once I did not know you, I was living my life without your song
I was speaking so many words and did not understand any …
Now I have embaced you, you are me, I am silent.
Oh how beautiful it snows with oblivion in my eyes…
When you will fly away, I don’t want to be left behind,
Cover me with your wing, Solitude.
Pasăre albă, scutură-ți aripa deasupra mea
Ninge-mi genele cu fulgi albi, grațios, tăcut, vaporos
Presară-mi pe creștet înțelepciunea ta.
Cândva nu te cunoșteam, îmi trăiam viața fără cântecul tău,
Vorbeam atâtea cuvinte și nu înțelegeam nici unul…
Acum te-am îmbrățișat, tu ești eu, eu tac.
Ce frumos ninge cu uitare în ochii mei…
Când vei zbura nu vreau să râmân în urmă,
Acoperă-mi inima cu aripa ta, Singurătate.
neglected quantity of the day
passes off surreal
gliding on time’s breeze
she’ll fly away to a shelter
where wounds can heal
she’ll cover her eyes
with broken wings
knowing that she will fly higher
gliding on time’s breeze
an unheard soul
passes off unseen
to a shelter secluded
where none shall hear
cries of a wounded heart
she’ll cover her eyes
with broken wings
awaiting for the wind
to whisper her
“Beloved, it’s time”
spread her wings
higher and higher
on a plane higher
tap the lone cloud with her feet
bounce in the glory of sunshine
flap her wings
squeak and babble in glee…
that’s the core of a bird’s spirit,
April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month.
There’s a life lesson that has truly amazed me here on WP, it is the story of Benjamin Michael Prewitt, gifted painter and fantastic father and soul who was diagnosed not long ago with Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease, a disease that is not confined to older people and can affect people of any age.
As with many degenerative diseases, the ramifications and extent of the effects of PD are not generally known or understood until they touch our own lives or the lives of those whom we love.
Please take a moment to read Benjamin’s post and see his amazing work. He is an unique soul who turns his sorrow and pain into passion offered to this world. He offers his vision, feelings, paint, music, words, heart and soul so that others understand what Parkinson’s is. I bow in respect for his amazing sacrifice, keep fighting Benjamin!!!
Thank you for reading dear friends.
Much love to you all,
I have made myself
Singing bird to be close to a blind man
To melt his heart and make him see
That he has all the love in this universe.
Nobody will ever know why
All this beauty gets born out of the greatest pain
Why the heart bleeds and smiles at the same time
Or how deep is this love.
One day my flight will break
And my song will fade
And my body will be gone
Yet all that matters is that I sang my heart out for my one and only love.
“I was called Wykeham Thousand Eyes
In the land of shadows
And truly thousand eyes
I bring with me
So don’t you stare at me like that,
you verminous creature,
or you will miserably
lose your eyesight.“
Translation from German : memyselfandela 2013
art by Culpeo Fox
One of these days I remembered wonderful Beatrix with her fantastic books and amazing characters. In our modern world we tend to completely forget the delicacy, tenderness and beauty of nature and small creatures or the innocence of childhood. It takes an incredible talent to create all this beauty , but not only talent. It takes passion to develop such artistic skill. And only a pure heart can love and see these tiny creatures and their beauty and absolutely love them.
Beatrix Potter (28 July 1866 – 22 December 1943) was an English author, illustrator, natural scientist and conservationist best known for her imaginative children’s books featuring animals such as those in The Tale of Peter Rabbit which celebrated the British landscape and country life.
Born into a privileged Unitarian family she grew up with few friends outside her large, extended family. Her parents were artistic, interested in nature and enjoyed the countryside. As children, Beatrix and Bertram had numerous small animals as pets which they observed closely and drew endlessly. Summer holidays were spent in Scotland and in the English Lake District where Beatrix developed a love of the natural world which was the subject of her painting from an early age.
She was educated by private governesses until she was eighteen. Her study of languages, literature, science and history was broad and she was an eager student. Her artistic talents were recognized early. She had private art lessons, and developed her own style, favouring watercolour. Along with her drawings of her animals, real and imagined, she illustrated insects, fossils, archaeological artefacts, and fungi. In the 1890s her mycological illustrations and research on the reproduction of fungi spores generated interest from the scientific establishment. Following some success illustrating cards and booklets, Potter wrote and illustrated The Tale of Peter Rabbit publishing it first privately in 1901, and a year later as a small, three-colour illustrated book with Frederick Warne & Co. She became unofficially engaged to her editor Norman Warne in 1905 despite the disapproval of her parents, but he died suddenly a month later, of leukemia.
Potter bought Hill Top Farm in Near Sawrey, a tiny village in the English Lake District near Ambleside in 1905, then purchased additional farms to preserve the unique hill country landscape. In 1913, at the age of 47, she married William Heelis, a respected local solicitor from Hawkshead. Potter was also a prosperous farmer keenly interested in land preservation. She continued to write, illustrate and design spin-off merchandise based on her children’s books for Warne until the duties of land management and diminishing eyesight made it difficult to continue. Potter published over twenty-three books; the best known are those written between 1902 and 1922. She died on 22 December 1943 at her home in Near Sawrey at age 77, leaving almost all her property to the National Trust after preserving much of the land that now comprises the Lake District National Park.
Potter’s books continue to sell throughout the world, in multiple languages. Her stories have been retold in song, film and animation.
500 words, memyselfandela 2013
I bet you have never imagined that somewhere in a corner of this big big world , on the stem of a rose, a humming bird has created her nest and takes care of her little chicks.
In the day or night the little bird dreams of Paradise, not knowing that she is a a drop of Paradise in our every day hell…
If you follow this link you have a chance to have a look on a live cam at this amazing little creature.
Enjoy this peace… or better said bliss.