Always
There are signs of life from the other side of the rainbow – your soul shining across to me.
I’m no longer sad for your departure, I have learned you have never left.
You bloom in every rose, you smile in every sunshine, we breathe the same air.
I celebrate your life and love as I celebrate all others and the entire eternity.
Always.
63 words, poem and photos/ and roses grown by -Adela Galasiu / memyselfandela June 2018
Dedicated to my father Ioan, for his birthday, 24.06.1949. Happy birthday dad, the roses bloom for you!
Life and Death
Death and life are a circle
None starts, none ends
They just continue one another.
Hope raises from pain
Growing out of darkness
Like a flower blooming.
Nobody and nothing gets lost
We are all One. We grow, we transform,
All breathing atoms of the same universe.
My hand holding yours
Through relative time and space:
Once I loved you, I’ll love you forever.
63 words, Me, Myself and Ela- Adela Galasiu, 22nd of December 2020, photo Adela Galasiu
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Dedicated to my father, Ioan, who went to God 31 years ago, and to all the people I love, have loved and I’ll ever love. We are all One.
Notre Dame de Paris
If you visit Paris, one of the most impressive attractions you could see is the famous Cathedral Notre-Dame de Paris, which is not only a religious destination but also a place of great art and unequaled history.
Notre-Dame de Paris (French for “Our Lady of Paris”), also known as Notre-Dame Cathedral or simply Notre-Dame, is a historic Catholic cathedral located on the eastern half of the Île de la Cité in Paris, France. Being considered to be one of the finest examples of French Gothic architecture, the Cathedral is among the largest and most well-known church buildings in the world. The beauty of its sculptures and quality of its stained glass are in contrast with earlier Romanesque architecture.
The cathedral’s treasury is well known for its reliquary which houses some of Catholicism’s most important relics including the purported Crown of Thorns, a fragment of the True Cross, and one of the Holy Nails.
The Notre-Dame de Paris was among the first buildings in the world to use the flying buttress (arched exterior supports). The building was not originally designed to include the flying buttresses around the choir and nave but after the construction started to show signs of stress fractures as the walls pushed outward, the cathedral’s architects built supports around the outside walls, and later further additions.
A multitude of individually crafted statues was placed around the outside to serve as column supports and water spouts. Among these are the famous gargoyles, designed for water run-off, and chimeras, statues that were originally colored as was most of the exterior.
The cathedral was essentially complete by 1345. The cathedral has a narrow climb of 387 steps at the top of several spiral staircases; along the climb it is possible to view its most famous bell and its gargoyles in close quarters, as well as having a spectacular view across Paris when reaching the top.
In 1160, because the church in Paris had become an attraction for the kings of Europe, Bishop Maurice de Sully decided that the previous Paris cathedral, Saint-Étienne, which had been founded in the 4th century, was unworthy of its role. To begin the construction of the new Cathedral, the bishop had several houses demolished and had a new road built in order to transport materials for the rest of the cathedral. Construction began in 1163 during the reign of Louis VII. The construction of the choir took from 1163 until around 1177 and the new High Altar was consecrated in 1182 (it was normal practice for the eastern end of a new church to be completed first, so that a temporary wall could be erected at the west of the choir, allowing the chapter to use it without interruption while the rest of the building slowly took shape). Between 1210 and 1220, the fourth architect oversaw the construction of the level with the rose window and the great halls beneath the towers.
The Cathedral has been damaged many times: in 1548 by rioting Huguenots, in 1793 during the French Revolution and the worst during the Second World War. Several of the stained glass windows on the lower tier were hit by stray bullets. These were replaced after the war with new modern geometrical pattern stained glass, not the old scenes of the Bible.The cathedral has been even used at some point as a warehouse for food storage.
In 1991, a major program of maintenance and restoration was initiated, which has included the cleaning and restoration of old sculptures. The lighting was upgraded to LED lighting.
Though several organs were installed in the cathedral over time, the earliest ones were inadequate for the building. The organ used now has 7,374 pipes, with ca 900 classified as historical. It has 110 real stops, five 56-key manuals, and a 32-key pedal board. The position of titular organist (“head” or “chief” organist) at Notre-Dame is considered one of the most prestigious organist posts in France. It was reminiscent of the 18th-century practice of the cathedral having four titular organists, each one playing for three months of the year.
The cathedral has 10 bells. The largest, Emmanuel, original to 1681, is located in the south tower and weighs just over 13 tons and is tolled to mark the hours of the day and for various occasions and services. In early 2012, the four old bells in the north tower were deemed unsatisfactory and removed. A set of 8 new bells was cast by the same foundry in Normandy that had cast the four in 1856. At the same time, a much larger bell called Marie was cast in the Netherlands—it now hangs with Emmanuel in the south tower. The 9 new bells, which were delivered to the cathedral at the same time (31 January 2013), are designed to replicate the quality and tone of the cathedral’s original bells.
Significant events:
1185: Heraclius of Caesarea calls for the Third Crusade from the still-incomplete cathedral.
1239: The Crown of Thorns is placed in the cathedral by St. Louis during the construction of the Sainte-Chapelle.
1302: Philip the Fair opens the first States-General.
16 December 1431: Henry VI of England is crowned King of France.
1450: Wolves of Paris are trapped and killed on the parvis of the cathedral.
7 November 1455: Isabelle Romée, the mother of Joan of Arc, petitions a papal delegation to overturn her daughter’s conviction for heresy.
1 January 1537: James V of Scotland is married to Madeleine of France
24 April 1558: Mary, Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin Francis (later Francis II of France), son of Henry II of France.
18 August 1572: Henry of Navarre (later Henry IV of France) marries Margaret of Valois. The marriage takes place not in the cathedral but on the parvis of the cathedral, as Henry IV is Protestant.
10 September 1573: The Cathedral was the site of a vow made by Henry of Valois following the interregnum of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth that he would both respect traditional liberties and the recently passed religious freedom law.
10 November 1793: the Festival of Reason.
2 December 1804: the coronation ceremony of Napoleon I and his wife Joséphine, with Pope Pius VII officiating.
1831: The novel The Hunchback of Notre-Dame was published by French author Victor Hugo.
18 April 1909: Joan of Arc is beatified.
16 May 1920: Joan of Arc is canonized.
1900: Louis Vierne is appointed organist of Notre-Dame de Paris after a heavy competition (with judges including Charles-Marie Widor) against the 500 most talented organ players of the era. On the 2nd of June 1937 Louis Vierne dies at the cathedral organ (as was his lifelong wish) near the end of his 1750th concert.
26 August 1944: The Te Deum Mass takes place in the cathedral to celebrate the liberation of Paris. (According to some accounts the Mass was interrupted by sniper fire from both the internal and external galleries.)
12 November 1970: The Requiem Mass of General Charles de Gaulle is held.
6 June 1971: Philippe Petit surreptitiously strings a wire between the two towers of Notre-Dame and tight-rope walks across it. Petit later performed a similar act between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center.
31 May 1980: After the Magnificat of this day, Pope John Paul II celebrates Mass on the parvis of the cathedral.
January 1996: The Requiem Mass of François Mitterrand is held.
12 December 2012: The Notre-Dame Cathedral begins a year-long celebration of the 850th anniversary of the laying of the first building block for the cathedral.
The Cathedral is open every day of the year: Monday to Friday from 8:00 am to 6:45 pm and Saturdays and Sundays from 8 am to 7:15 pm. The access to the cathedral is open and free.
The cathedral reception is open: Monday to Friday from 9:30 am to 6:00 pm and Saturdays and Sundays from 9:00 am to 6:00 pm.
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Adela Galasiu, 2015
Source: Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Paris, Wikipedia, google.
Photos: Adela Galasiu, 2015
Waves
as I leave my marks
on the sand grinded by invisible teeth
I am followed submissively
by the force lying there underneath
do you know what amazing stories
the sea has told me last night?
of sea horses and drifting wood
and of death holding me tight
dancing madly in a waltz
of rippled lace, dragged back and forth
it gently caresses my ankles
slapping me suddenly from south and from north
roaring like an angry monster
that wants to engulf the whole modern time
embracing my being
in a moment where it belongs to nobody, but is all mine.
100 Words, Memyselfandela/Adela Galasiu 2015
Photos, Adela Galasiu, Isle of Wight, UK
Moment
Motto: “If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start…
It’s the only good fight there is.” Charles Bukowski
Today is a gift. I am grateful to be here, feeling alive. I breathe in. I listen to a ring-dove singing in the tree next to me. I take in the air, the light, the smell of yesterday’s rain. Bumblebees come out sleepy trying to make up for the food they could not collect yesterday, hovering over lavender bushes and peppermint flowers that wave gently in the breeze. God smiles over us. The sun shines through the branches of the chestnut tree, my flowers bloom in the garden, their colours vibrating live a song in my eyes. Maybe they are, just like me, a part of God’s dream. Or maybe they are just a form of different frequency than the one of my soul. Maybe they are just strings that God plays with , like one plays a harp. It all makes sense, even though often my mind cannot even grasp the beauty of it all.
I drink a glass of water and contemplate life, like I do every once in a while, like we probably all do. Some people think that knowing that time is precious can make you lead a better life. What would I tell you if this would be my last day?
I’d say I’ve lost many things in this life, and sometimes it has felt like I’ve lost it all. Friends, time, love, children, relatives, sometimes even my mind. I’ve eaten too much or nothing for days. I’ve eaten my own bitterness and I drank the poison of my own ink-black thoughts. I’ve been freezing in train stations and on park benches thinking of why certain things happened in my life, feeling sorry for myself. I thought I was sometimes carrying too much luggage, but I think that was more the burden of my own life. Yet I have found out later that many of those things I’ve never really had, that they were never meant for me.
I have seen derision. And it was not the one coming from strangers that has hurt the most, but the one seen in the eyes of people I have helped out of their own ditch and considered friends. They say in my language that “the ones you don’t let die, will not let you live”. It was painful to find out what character some people really had. it has been gutting at times. Now it does not hurt any more, I have come to terms with all my experience. I have become older and hopefully wiser. I have learned not to regret things and I am mostly good at it, even though I can still catch myself doing it sometimes. I’ve often done my best and I know now that what people give is certainly what people will receive later in life.
Isolation? It is not a monkey thing. It feels sweet. It is not for everybody, I know it can be torture for others. But solitude is my gift. After all the pain induced by many things coming from the outside, my isolation meant discovering myself and finding peace, listening to my own soul tuning in with the one of the universe. And that is bliss.
Rejection? Yes, I felt plenty of that. I was one of those people that can feel like outsiders. Until I realised that I would have never belonged in certain circles of people or in the toxic environment that comes with them. So actually this was not a rejection, it was a discovery. It took me years to see that God had better plans for me , that He was opening me the right doors while I was trying like a stubborn child to open the wrong ones, again and again.
This is my path and you all have your own. Life is a journey. Some people learn from it, others get to the end of it not understanding anything, feeling bitter and angry. It may not be easy to walk on your own path, but it’s your quest. It all depends on how much you want it. And if you want it truly it will be better than anything you have ever imagined. It will equal conquering all your fears, it will mean finding your true self and facing God at the same time. Your days may be hard, but your heart will flame with the fire of all the passion you have in you. It will not be life that breaks you, but it will be you riding your own life.
I am only a tiny soul in an immense ocean of souls. All different, yet all the same. When I think of this I imagine a sky full of stars. The universe is immense, but we all have our own space, our own inner light and our own trajectory. I am trying to grasp what this life experience is all about, maybe just like you all. I’ve seen a lot and I still know almost nothing. But one of the few things I know now is that we should not be afraid, we should not let worry dry out our soul. Life is joy and we should experience the joy of being alive, the experience of our soul having a material body and interacting with others.
There’s no path, make your own. Be bold, be strong, be yourself. Try it, go all the way, it’s the best thing of all.
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900 words, memyselandela, August 2015
Photo: Lavender, Adela Galasiu, August 2015
Thought of the Day
Your life is not an accident. It is the reflection of what YOU think.
You have more power than you imagine. Do the right thing, decide to be YOURSELF.
If you want to change your life, change the way you THINK, and your reality will change accordingly.
Thoughts: Adela Galasiu
Image: Mandala, Adela Galasiu, memyselfandela, 2015
Definition of Bad Luck
“There are paths looking for us for a long time
That are reaching us when we’re away
Looking for them on other paths.”
by Octavian Paler, Romanian Writer and Journalist
Translation: Adela Galasiu – memyselfandela, August 2015
Image; Photobucket
Water lily / Nufar
The beauty in God’s dream
slowly blooms, petal by petal,
watched quietly by the whole being
in a breath of silent bliss.
![IMG_2110[1]](https://memyselfandela.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/img_21101.jpg)
Frumusetea din visul lui Dumnezeu
Infloreste incet, petala cu petala,
privita tacut de o intreaga faptura
intr-o rasuflare de beatitudine fara zgomot.
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22 words / 22 de cuvinte , Memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August 2015
Photo: Memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August 2015
Soul / Suflet
The soul levitates above the ground
longing dreamy to
move its roots into heaven.
The matter’s consistency
stridently burdens the light
reflected by the heart.
Some say we cannot stop the moment
yet I still believe that we can
trap it within the soul’s walls.
Sufletul leviteaza deasupra pamantului
tanjind visator sa
isi mute radacinile in cer.
Consistenta materiei
ingreuneaza in mod strident lumina
reflectata de inima.
Unii spun ca nu avem posibilitatea sa oprim clipa
si totusi eu inca mai cred ca o putem
tine prinsa intre peretii sufletului.
45 words / 45 de cuvinte, memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August, 2015
Photos: Adela Galasiu, Wild Strawberries/ Fragi
Did you smile today? :)
Photos: Photobucket
4 Silences
Source: Endo, twitter
Dinu Lipatti – Sonata for the good man / Sonata pentru omul bun
A tribute to Dinu Lipatti, “Greatest pianist after Frédéric Chopin”( as Yehudi Menuhin said).
Tribut lui Dinu Lipatti, “cel mai mare pianist după Frédéric Chopin” (dupa cum a spus Yehudi Menuhin).
“Lipatti- Sonata for the good man” is a sensible portrait of the composer, pianist and teacher Dinu Constantin Lipatti. The documentary brings to light , from the still rich TVR(Romanian Television) Archive, anthological interviews with Florica Musicescu, Nadia Boulanger, the two biographers of Lipatti, Grigore Bărgăuanu and Dragoş Tănăsescu, and Menuhin.
You are watching a documentary signed by Ruxandra Ţuchel.
„Lipatti- Sonată pentru omul bun” creionează un portret emoţionat al celui care a fost compozitorul pianistul şi pedagogul Dinu Constantin Lipatti. Documentarul aduce la lumină, din Arhiva încă bogată a TVR, interviuri antologice cu Florica Musicescu, cu Nadia Boulanger, cu cei doi biografi ai lui Lipatti, Grigore Bărgăuanu şi Dragoş Tănăsescu, cu Menuhin. Urmăriţi un documentar semnat Ruxandra Ţuchel
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memyselfandela, © Adela Galasiu, 2015
Video source: Youtube.
Paris
romantic and bohemian
like a poem
mine and nobodies
of sad heart and wondering thought
brilliant and wrapped in gold cover
like the smile of a lover
city of tear and reverie
beautiful Paris
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romantic si boem
ca un poem
al meu si al nimanui
de inima trista si gand haihui
stralucitor si poleit
ca zambetul unui iubit
oras de lacrima si vis
frumos Paris
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romantique et boheme
comme un poeme
a moi et a toute personne
de coeur triste et pensee qui etonne
brilliant et toute dore
comme la sourire d’un bien aime
ville de larme et reverie
toute belle Paris
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Poem in Romanian, English, French , memyselfandela / Adela Galasiu, July 2015
Photos: imagessource
Paris
“Je marche dans tes rues / I walk on your streets / Merg pe strazile tale
Qui me marchent sur les pieds / Which in turn step on my feet / Care imi merg pe talpi
Je bois dans tes cafés / I drink in your cafes / Beau in cafenelele tale
Je traîne dans tes métros / I hang around in your metros / Imi pierd vremea in metrourile tale
Tes trottoirs m’aiment un peu trop / Your sidewalks love me a bit too much / Trotuarele tale ma iubesc un pic prea mult
Je rêve dans tes bistrots / I dream in your bistros / Visez in bistrourile tale
Je m’assoie sur tes bancs / I sit down on your benches / Ma asez pe bancile tale
Je regarde tes monuments / I look at your monuments / Iti privesc monumentele
Je trinque à la santé de tes amants / I raise a toast to the health of your lovers / Toastez pentru sanatatea amantilor tai
Je laisse couler ta Seine / I let your Seine flow / Las Senna sa curga
Sous tes ponts, ta rengaine / Under your bridges, your tune / Sub podurile tale, melodia ta
Toujours après la peine / Always after the sorrows / Totdeauna dupa necazuri
Je pleure dans tes taxis / I cry in your taxis / Plang in taxiurile tale
Quand tu brilles sous la pluie / When you shine under the rain / Cand tu stralucesti sub ploaie
Ce que t’es belle en pleine nuit / How beautiful you are, in the middle of the night / Cat de frumos esti in plina noapte
Je pisse dans tes caniveaux / I take a piss in your gutters / Urinez in rigolele tale
C’est de la faute a Hugo / It’s all (Victor) Hugo’s fault / E vina lui (Victor) Hugo
Et je picolle en argot / And I get drunk in jargon / Si ma imbat in jargon
Je dors dans tes hôtels / I sleep in your hotels / Dorm in hotelurile tale
J’adore ta tour Eiffel / I adore your Eiffel Tower / Iti ador turnul Eiffel
Au moins elle, elle est fidèle / It, at least, is faithful / Cel putin el e credincios
Quand je te quitte un peu loin / When I leave you a little later / Cand te parasesc un pic departe
Tu ressembles au chagrin / You look just like sadness / Pari a fi doar tristete
Ça me fait un mal de chien / It hurts me so freaking much / Sufar ca un caine
Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much? / Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux / Paris, whatever you want / Paris, paris, orice vrei
Boulevard des bouleverses / Boulevard of distress / Bulevard al suferintei
Paris tu m’as renversé / Paris, you knocked me off my feet / Paris, m-ai daramat
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much?/ Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux/ Paris, whatever you want / Paris, orice vrei
Paris, Paris, tenu / Paris, Paris , once had / Paris, Paris, avut
Paris, Paris, perdu / Paris, Paris, lost / Paris , Paris, pierdut
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Sur ton pavé / On your pavement/ Pe pavajul tau
Je me réveille dans tes bras / I wake up in your arms / Ma trezesc in bratele tale
Sur tes quais y’a de la joie / On your docks, there is joy / Pe docurile tale e bucurie
Et des loups dans tes bois / And in your woods, there are wolves / Si in padurile tale lupi
Je me glisse dans tes cinés / I slip into your cinemas / Ma strecor in cinematografele tale
Je me perds dans ton quartier / I get lost in your neighbourhood / Ma pierd in cartierul tau
Je m’y retrouverai jamais / I will never manage to find my way there / Nu-mi voi gasi calea niciodata acolo
Je nage au fil de tes gares / I swim in the course of your train stations / Inot pe cursul statiilor tale de tren
Et mon regarde s’égare / And my gaze wanders / Si privirea mea rataceste
Je vois passer des cafards sur tes bars / I see cockroaches moving about on your bars / Vad trecand gandaci pe barurile tale
Je m’accroche aux réverbères / I hang on to the lampposts / Ma agat de felinare
Tes pigeons manquent pas d’air / Your pigeons have some nerve / Porumbeii tai au tupeu
Et moi de quoi j’ai l’air? / And me, what do I look like? / Si eu, eu cum arat?
Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much? / Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux / Paris, whatever you want / Paris, paris, orice vrei
Boulevard des bouleverses / Boulevard of distress / Bulevard al suferintei
Paris tu m’as renversé / Paris, you knocked me off my feet / Paris, m-ai daramat
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much?/ Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux/ Paris, whatever you want / Paris, orice vrei
Paris, Paris, tenu / Paris, Paris , once had / Paris, Paris, avut
Paris, Paris, perdu / Paris, Paris, lost / Paris , Paris, pierdut
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Sur ton pavé / On your pavement/ Pe pavajul tau
Je marche dans tes rues / I walk on your streets / Merg pe strazile tale
Qui me marchent sur les pieds / Which in turn step on my feet / Care imi merg pe talpi
Je bois dans tes cafés / I drink in your cafes / Beau in cafenelele tale
Je traîne dans tes métros / I hang around in your metros / Imi pierd vremea in metrourile tale
Tes trottoirs m’aiment un peu trop / Your sidewalks love me a bit too much / Trotuarele tale ma iubesc un pic prea mult
Je rêve dans tes bistrots / I dream in your bistros / Visez in bistrourile tale ”
Souad Massi & Marc Lavoine – Paris
Lyrics Translation : French- English – Romanian – Adela Galasiu July 2015
Barefoot Soul / Suflet Descult
My barefoot soul walks on your old stone paved streets
Resting quiet in front of Holy Wisdom…
Wanders like a sleepwalker among lemon trees and lavender
Smiling at the olives and grapes that will become your oil and wine…
My liquid soul melts in the hot air
And becomes the good wind that spins all your windmills…
My fragile sunburnt soul
Throws itself into the sea with the crying seagulls
And gets born again from the foam and the ashes of all dormant volcanos…
My silent soul laughs at the sight of your eyes, you must be sure of that…
And when it gets tired it returns like a child
To sleep, wrapped and clean, inside the most hidden drawer
Waiting for you to open it again.
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Sufletul meu descult paseste pe vechile tale strazi pietruite
Odihnindu-se tacut in fata Sfintei Intelepciuni…
Rataceste ca un somnambul printre lamai si lavanda
Zambind maslinelor si strugurilor ce vor deveni uleiul si vinul tau…
Sufletul meu lichid se topeste in aerul fierbinte
Si devine vantul bun care invarte toate morile tale de vant…
Sufletul meu fragil parjolit de soare
Se arunca in mare cu pescarusii tipand
Si se naste din nou din spuma si cenusa tuturor vulcanilor adormiti…
Sufletul meu mut rade la vederea ochilor tai, fii sigur de asta
Si cand oboseste se intoarce ca un copil
Sa doarma , impaturit si curat, in cel mai ascuns sertar
Asteptand ca tu sa il deschizi din nou.
Memyselfandela, 2010
Photo: photobucket
Luna Amara / Bitter Moon
This is a simple story that happened in the moonlight. A story streaming from my own life. A story about a small moment that will remain for life in my memory.
Maybe many of you have a favourite band. And I bet many of you have hoped or dreamed To get the unique moment to meet the vocalist they like so much , or shake hands with the guitarist they consider to be the best in the world- maybe it is not so for others, but it is so for them.
My very favourite Romanian rock band is Luna Amara, a Romanian alternative rock/grunge band. The name means “Bitter Moon” in Romanian, and has been borrowed from the Roman Polanski movie of the same name, inspired by Pascal Bruckner’s novel with the same name.The band was formed by Nick Făgădar (vocals, guitar) and Gheorghe Farcaş (bass guitar) in Cluj-Napoca, Transylvania, in September 1999, in Romania. I had the chance to listen to them first time live in Sibiu, and I have discovered them much more after I left Romania in 2011.
Luna Amara has played on stage over 200 times in the past years, throughout Romania. As a live act, this Romanian five-piece outfit has a style that combines heavy metal with alternative rock. Luna Amara is also the first Romanian band to introduce the trumpet sound into an Alternative Rock style, a struck of genius in my humble opinion.
All the artists in the band try to dedicate their lives to promote and support a modern European society in Romania. Beyond the poetry in the love songs , their lyrics have often a political message, Luna Amară being also involved in ecological projects such as “Save Vama Veche” (protecting the endangered seahorses), “Save Roşia Montană” (protecting the wildlife and natural surroundings of a mountain area from cyanide poisoning caused by companies that extract gold) and other social awareness projects.
“Luna Amară” is one of Romania’s most successful rock bands and was the top selling artist in a national chain of music stores (Hollywood Music & Film) from July until September 2004. Their songs “Folclor” (“Folklore”), “Gri Dorian” (“Dorian Grey”), “Roşu aprins” (“Scarlet”) and “Ego nr. 4” reached number one in airplay charts at local radio stations around the country.
Throughout the years they have released several albums: “Asfalt” (Asphalt), “Loc lipsă” (Missing Place), “Don’t Let Your Dreams Fall Asleep”(where mainly the acoustic side of the band is underlined), “Pietre in Alb” (Stones in White), “Live la Conti” (Live at Conti). The band performed tours all over Romania in clubs and open air locations as well as shows in the Netherlands, Germany, Bulgaria, Turkey and played live at the Sziget Festival in Budapest.
They may be neither angels, nor heroes, but they are some extremely talented people. It is more than their personal love and feelings decanted in their music, it is also their passion and talent for music. I used to detach myself from stress listening to Deftones, Metallica and Incubus, but they are nowhere near Luna Amara. At least to me, because I am Romanian and Bitter Moon sing the longing and the pain in my native language. But it is not only this. I have discovered such beautiful blue sad profound lyrics attached to their music. They contribute with amazing poetry, not only with extremely versatile sound. Their songs are colourful, they bleed and ache, they are just beautifully alive.
Two years ago when I was back in Romania for few days I have tried desperately to buy their “Stones in White” album, yet no music shop or online store had it available, it was sold out. After a long online research I managed to find a link and I was promised to get the album the next night, when I was going back to Cluj in the evening for my next morning flight back to the UK.
The evening came, I took a taxi and we drove in the evening to the address where the recording studio was. It was a very simple encounter, but it has struck me very profoundly: Nick Fagadar, the founder of Luna Amara, met me almost in the middle of the night because he cared that somebody really wanted to have their album. He handed it to me with a kind smile , he shook my hand like a friend , with no pretentious gestures, and wished me to enjoy the music. I have been truly honoured not only to get the long desired album, but mostly by getting to meet in person the legend behind it.
There was something beautiful that I cannot describe radiating through him as we left him behind. I could not help but smile. The moon was shining, yet this time not bitter, but full of hope and mysterious meanings.
800 words, Memyselfandela , 2015
Photos: Google
Video: Youtube
The Return to Innocence
Memory. One of the strongest muscles in our being. It can contract and ruin your life crushing you underneath or it can gently lift your soul in the light, no matter what life throws at you.
When I was a child my grandmother used to have in a corner of her garden a columbine that used to grow again and again every year. I remember how fascinated I used to be as a little girl by the filigree shape and the delicate yet robust structure of this flower. I could study it day after day when it bloomed or when it’s petals were falling. I used to be very caring with the flowers. And when I say flowers, I mean beings, living creatures that I respected deep in my child’s heart. It never ceased to amaze me and make me happy whenever I saw it, because only there, in that corner of the garden, hidden in shadow under a lilac tree one could have found my columbine. There were no others, it was unique and the neighbours had none. It’s incredible how simple things that adults don’t even notice can be such an awesome thing for a child.
Many years I grew up with the beautiful columbines, studying them as they opened their purple-blue flowers. Columbines meant holiday, freedom and childhood. Not in so many words, but with a warm cosy feeling deep within. Words meant nothing then, only the heart was full of feelings and of a light that an adult is losing somewhere on the way.
This year I was contemplating my bare garden, frozen and with no trace of life. Then suddenly an incredible invisible force, a singular touch of grace has awaken the life in the sleeping buds and wrinkled flowers that rose their heads and stretched their beings in the warm sunshine. Then mesmerised I have discovered hundreds of columbines.
Is it God’s message that life is beautiful and full of diversity on a multitude of layers at the same time? Or is it just a cosmic coincidence? No matter what it is, it has brought back to me that warm cosy feeling in the midst of a busy life full of stress. The morning when I saw the columbines bloom I felt how one must feel when they win the lottery. To others this means nothing. To me it means the return to innocence.
400 words, memyselfandela, June 1st 2015
Photo: Adela Galasiu, May 2015
Dvorak – Rusalka – Song to the Moon
Czech Lyrics
Mesiku na nebi hlubokem
Svetlo tve daleko vidi,
Po svete bloudis sirokem,
Divas se v pribytky lidi.
Mesicku, postuj chvili
reckni mi, kde je muj mily
Rekni mu, stribmy mesicku,
me ze jej objima rame,
aby si alespon chvilicku
vzpomenul ve sneni na mne.
Zasvet mu do daleka,
rekni mu, rekni m kdo tu nan ceka!
O mneli duse lidska sni,
at’se tou vzpominkou vzbudi!
Mesicku, nezhasni, nezhasni!
English Translation
Moon, high and deep in the sky
Your light sees far,
You travel around the wide world,
and see into people’s homes.
Moon, stand still a while
and tell me where is my dear.
Tell him, silvery moon,
that I am embracing him.
For at least momentarily
let him recall of dreaming of me.
Illuminate him far away,
and tell him, tell him who is waiting for him!
If his human soul is in fact dreaming of me,
may the memory awaken him!
Moonlight, don’t disappear, disappear!
Lake District
I took a walk in the land of still waters and running springs
Where clouds embrace hills and peace touches all creature.
Pungent colours, earthly and alive
Separate the core of the earth from the cross of the sky.
Raws of walls separate raw beauty.
Sheep and red squirrels live happily ever after
With Beatrix Potter in the shiny heart of the Lakes.
63 words, memyselfandela, January 2015
Photos: Adela Galasiu
Tea
She had not written for many days, weeks, months, it felt rather like eons. Struck by a fierce silence, she didn’t find the words any more. Painful silence, coming from deeper than the words can say. From deep within where thoughts do not have time or do not dare to descend in normal days that gallop worst than wild horses. Life seems to have stopped and unfolded in front of her eyes with a sort of cruelty that she did not know how to swallow. Cruelty or acute sarcasm. As if life itself would have smiled at her with half a face and smashed her badly with a slap coming from the opposite side.
Yes, life is sarcastic and unfair. Who told you that there are happy ending stories? There may be many fairy tales, but not many real happy endings. She did her best to make things happen but at some point she understood that she has no power over life itself, that life is a far bigger force than she can even understand with her mind and that all she can do is to accept with humiliation that in some ways she has lost the battles long before they have even begun.
Shredded often between her beautiful imagination and the cruel reality, she had learned that the most powerful thing one can do in this life is to survive. And the most crazy to dream. She has never dared to lay on paper all her thoughts, out of fear that if she would have done so, maybe the whole reality would have cracked over her. Yet in moments when nobody noticed her, she has dared to close her eyes and without a word to imagine a parallel world where everything was different than in this one.
There was in the end no lesson she could have cascaded on others. No great wisdom and no big prise. She had only learned that she knew nothing and as such, she stopped talking about life. She stopped complaining and equally she stopped rejoicing. She had reached a state of acceptance that was similar to the shell of a tortoise, trying to keep the very core of her far away, deeply hidden from any pain.
In an untold resilience her spirit has lost many other souls, even the ones she has loved the most. Their voice has faded just as sudden as it has made itself heard. Their presence has stopped shining a warmth of goodness and joy in her existence. Yet she was adamant she did not lose them completely and she will once again have the blessing of meeting them all. In her fantasy at least.
On the corner of a little table hidden in a tea room where nobody stopped today because of the horrible weather, she broke her silence, but allowed the secrets to remain in the deep hidden corners of her soul, brewing there, unknown to others, yet ready to emerge one day, truly full of magic.
500 words, memyselfandela, November 2014
memyselfandela 
