"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

Song

ROMANIA ROCKS!!! ROMANIA E MINUNATA !!!

Today is the 1st of December, National Day of Romania. / Azi e 1 Decembrie, Ziua Nationala a Romaniei.

I may be far away with my body but today, as I go to work, I will show a whole world my passion. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve today, I wear it in the open fully exposed! 😀 / Poate ca sunt departe cu trupul dar astazi, cand merg la servici, voi arata unei lumi intregi pasiunea mea. Nu imi deschid inima azi, ci o port la vedere complet expusa! 😀

Happy Birthday Romanians!!!  / La Multi Ani Romani!!!
I Love You Romania!!! You Simply Rock!!!  / Te iubesc Romania!!! Esti pur si simplu minunata!!!

Romania rocks

Photo: memyselfandela December 2013


Night

self portrait seeking selfI have lost my way often lingering on cursed unknown streets
Hoping to find the invisible path that leads to you.

I am grateful for the gift of being alive
For the roses I bewilderingly find blooming under your blue sky.

When night comes, when my eyes cannot close
They can sometimes seize the star that lights up your dreams.

As it twinkles high above you, almost fading,
The distance to you means nothing anymore.

One day when my soul will look for a place to hide and to rest
It will find the shadow concealed between your loving arms.

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100 words, memyselfandela, November 2013


Corner of the Loner (29.11.13)

alone,black,and,white,favorites,birds,bw,ideas-c34af6ac788b215a4ee4802f9d6dd4af_h

Don’t be scared of life, of the cold anonymous world.
Cut the wires that feed your fears.

Live today as if it would be the last day left on the face of Earth
Even if everything may crumble around you.

Don’t listen to your clutched fists
Don’t hear the bad words flying around you.

Don’t hide from your dark side.
You have yourself and your gentle thought rising above your eyebrows.

Join your heart for a ride deep inside yourself,
Turn your arms towards who you really are and embrace your soul.

When you will be your own friend
You will never feel empty again in your silent corner of the loner.

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111 words, Memyselfandela, November 2013

More on : Corner of the Loner


Walking In The Air

Come dance on countless whispers, in the pure atmosphere
High above, beyond all worries.
The same lonesome trumpet illuminates my night
Come float with me beyond all words.

I won’t forget you, weary soul
In this dimension where we found each other.
If I would turn the distance in a golden thread
It would lead me far away to the moon.

Our clay existence, the cage of our bodies are nothing
In this realm where our deepest thoughts ignite.
Sleepless nights sublimated in the dark shadow under your loving eyes
Will never ever keep you from floating in the air.
1 flight 2 flighht 3 flight 4 flight 5 flight 6 flight 7 flight 8 flight 9 flight 10 flight 11 flight 12 flight

100 words, memyselfandela, November 2013

Photos: memyselfandela, November 2013


The Simple Things

He was sitting on by the water in Mexico when it hit him how much he hated himself. Which kind of sucked. Because he should have been happy. He should have been ecstatic. After years of struggle and poverty and horrible physical pain (getting almost killed by a semi truck sucks too…) he finally had it. He finally had everything he ever thought he wanted. He was 30 years old, in good shape, good friends, professional success, fun toys, plenty of free time . . . Even better he was one of only three guys on a yoga retreat and was spending his days stretching and snorkeling and chugging margaritas with a bevy of beautiful, intelligent, passionate (and flexible) women.

yoga 2

He should have been happy. He should have been doing a victory lap around the mess that was his twenties and screaming to the moon about how he finally made it past childhood trauma and adulthood disappointment to become a “success.”

But he just couldn’t do it.

Nope. Instead of being happy, he was damn miserable. Angry. Emotionally nauseous and, worse yet, viciously angry at himself for not waking up to how good he had it.

One night he found himself sitting on the shore alone watching the waves come in. Everyone else had gone on to a bar to order large amounts of drinks in broken Spanish, but the bile in his throat and the voice in the back of his head wanted him to be alone. Alone and vulnerable.

yoga man

It was pitch black but for the shine of the moon off the water and all he could feel was the pathetic bottle in his hand, the drink in his gut and the tension in his jaw threatening to break his teeth.

He wasn’t man enough to admit it, but he had tears in his eyes.

“Why?” he thought to himself in a silent whisper. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just enjoy this?”

It was a rhetorical question, so he was pretty shocked when he got an answer. It came in a voice as dark as tar and as toxic as venom.

“Because you don’t deserve it,” the voice in the back of his head grumbled. “Because you’re evil and dangerous and anyone foolish enough to love you deserves to be harmed.”

He closed his eyes and could finally see it: what he really thought of himself. Not a man or even a boy, but a creature with claws and teeth and a cruel, cruel grin. A creature who’s only glee came from clawing at his heart and pulling him down and reminding him to never, ever feel even one moment of happiness.

He flew home a few days later feeling like he’d gotten into a duel with Godzilla and damn it, bloody Godzilla won. The entire time on the plane home his brain stormed and he counted down the hours until he could go see his therapist.

“How are you?,” she asked as he walked in, her eyes half squinting as she searched his face.

For an hour he let the words flow out like a dying breathe, rambling at Speedy-Gonzalez-pace, desperate to get every hatred and criticism and imagined crime out of his heart and into the world. Finally, after minutes that felt like days he looked his therapist in the eyes and said:

“I’m so sick and tired of hating myself , beating myself up , punishing everyone around me … I’m wondering what would happen if I just decided to stop and actually LIKE myself for a little while instead.”

The therapist looked at him with kind eyes and a half smile and said “Well, that would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

And so he did.

Right then and there he decided to try liking himself – maybe even loving himself – for a while.

And at first the creature in his head and his heart raged like a angry lion and dragged its claws against the inside of his skull.

But instead of arguing he did something kind of weird.

He pointed and laughed. He dressed it up in silly shoes and ugly makeup and mocked it .  And suddenly a weird thing happened: he felt this glowing freedom rising in his chest and this crazy, irrational smile pulling hard at the corners of his mouth.

Suddenly he felt . . . happy. Ecstatic.

For the next two weeks he walked around on a love-high. His friends asked him what the heck had happened. His enemies got confused when he was actually nice to them. And that beast in the back of his brain shrunk and shriveled and cried.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly as easy as that, for every time he would fail or feel ashamed about something or feel like some woman was getting close he would feel that creature rise up. He would feel that bile on his tongue.

But now . . . years later . . . here he is with nothing to hide.

A string of broken relationships turned into one amazing love with the girl of his dreams. Bruce Kramer

And years and years of anger and pain turned into . . . something simpler. Nicer. More wonderful. He’s not into the “woo woo” stuff a lot of his friends are, but he is into this one simple fact:

“Happiness is a choice. Liking yourself / loving yourself is something YOU choose to do, no one can make you miserable or happy but YOU.”

900 words, memyselfandela, November 2013


Simply Rock

“Oh please let it rain today.
This city is so filthy, like my mind in ways.
Oh, there was a time, like a clean, new taste…
Smiling eyes before me, inches from my face.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.

Sin to sell, buying just a need.
Just who planted all the devils seeds?
And what the truth, the truth that lies at home…
It’s on the inside, and I can’t get it off.

Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.

What’s clean is pure, but hey,
I’m white on the outside, though I stray…
What she don’t know today might kill us both tomorrow.
Bring it back someway…bring it back, bring it back…
Back to the clean form, to the pure form.

Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.
Wash my love.”


In Bloom

When are you coming,
You weary soul and hungry breath?
I hide your beautiful memory framed
Sleeping deep in the fire of my heart.

My breath rests easy on your chest
As the night blooming in your loving eyes
Comes out of depths of your soul
That you have even forgotten.

What does your heart hide for me,
You dawn ethereal love?
No more tears, no cage of stone
To hide my crumbling being.

The delicate touch of your smile
As you kiss my moonlight shining lips
Awaits for the sun to melt us
In a passionate bud eager to explode.

lumenPrint_therose

100 words, memyselfandela, October 2013