On occasions, when I wake up, I feel that anything that looms into the day would be better than the present reality, even if I am thinking about a fatal car accident or a heart attack. Of course, with presumption, it stays this way, fatal. From my past experiences I know, I hit the bottom of the abyss, I was descending for a while.
There is no uniqueness to my experiences; it is familiar to every person. Although, every one of us has an individual twist to it. For it is a known fact, our brains are like fingerprints, no two alike!
My twist is in the clear understanding of the reality of the bottom and the importance of immediate action to initiate the ascend.
All our feelings in the purest form are just energy, light and subjective; it travels in a wave, and behaves like a wave with different amplitudes and frequencies. And only at the peaks the energy transforms into particles, heavy and objective; it brakes and reverses direction of the flow.
Naturally, any time we end up in those objective points we have a tendency to make the same mistake over and over again; we try to prolong the phase because it is more familiar and tangible. When we reach the heights of happiness we grab on to everything and anything to stay there. When we hit the bottom of our low, we try to take a rest after all the negativity (human interpretation) of descend. We fight, we protest despite the knowledge of past experiences.
The purpose and point of my thought is, never linger on those peaks, let it go at moment you recognize it. At least I do it all the time and it makes me be where I am and what I am. And I can live with it comfortably!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
letters (Blond led by a Blond!)
Blond led by a blond.
I am in a horrible mood this morning without any reason…
About two weeks ago my daughter told me that she read a study which indicates that drinking two glasses of red wine is good for your heart and your liver. I asked her “What about tree glasses?” She said “I don’t know.” Everyone remember it used to be one glass of wine, now two. I thought more about the future… And when one talks about a glass or two of a good Cabernet, I am a guinea pig. We both started last Saturday from “Andiamo” with a super good bottle of wine. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday… I am in the experiment with 2 + glasses of wine.
My liver is silent so far. And my head was screaming with a hangover. I guess I was so excited about the experiment that it took me a few days to hear it. I do not plan to quit this experiment… perhaps just cut a little on the substance. Results will be posted.
I am in a horrible mood this morning without any reason…
About two weeks ago my daughter told me that she read a study which indicates that drinking two glasses of red wine is good for your heart and your liver. I asked her “What about tree glasses?” She said “I don’t know.” Everyone remember it used to be one glass of wine, now two. I thought more about the future… And when one talks about a glass or two of a good Cabernet, I am a guinea pig. We both started last Saturday from “Andiamo” with a super good bottle of wine. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday… I am in the experiment with 2 + glasses of wine.
My liver is silent so far. And my head was screaming with a hangover. I guess I was so excited about the experiment that it took me a few days to hear it. I do not plan to quit this experiment… perhaps just cut a little on the substance. Results will be posted.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
letters (my friend)
MY FRIEND
I was not there, when you needed to be rescued.
your face grotesque, shredded by ugly scars,
signs of wounds, healed without the surgical touch.
absorbed violence restructured it
in the mask of frozen pain,
broken bones erased traces of familiarity.
a wave of fear and repulsion stroke my mind
when my eyes touched your face….
your voice reached my ears,
changed slightly by years of drinking,
frequent bronchitis and heavy smoking.
I recognized your voice, my friend from the past,
my kind, my caring Angel, you saved me ones
you never asked for anything in return,
walked quietly away when the storm had passed
and I was safe….
I was not there, when you needed to be rescued.
your face grotesque, shredded by ugly scars,
signs of wounds, healed without the surgical touch.
absorbed violence restructured it
in the mask of frozen pain,
broken bones erased traces of familiarity.
a wave of fear and repulsion stroke my mind
when my eyes touched your face….
your voice reached my ears,
changed slightly by years of drinking,
frequent bronchitis and heavy smoking.
I recognized your voice, my friend from the past,
my kind, my caring Angel, you saved me ones
you never asked for anything in return,
walked quietly away when the storm had passed
and I was safe….
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Hamtramck stories(letters)
Mid January, 1989. The airplane was landing in the heart of the whiteout. It was a late evening flight from New York to Detroit, final port of my destination.
My life at that time was unfolding by the moments. My past was shedding off of me like an old snake’s skin. The future was unknown, unattached and unrelated to anything in the past; it was looming into and through my life with the swiftness of an avalanche. And I was a thin membrane of permanency that sliced and refracted those two forces…
About an hour later, after landing, I am HOME… Hamtramck, Michigan, my home for the next three years of my life. Hamtramck… the heaven/hell and the “capital” of a new, mostly Polish, emigration in Michigan.
Not all of us, who arrived in this state, went through Hamtramck, and those who did not, missed an important stage of psychological cognitive development (refer to Piaget). On the other hand, many are trapped there for the rest of their lives. Some of us had a chance to discover the power of resiliency and others… well…
That first winter we were so hopelessly lost and broken financially, mentally, spiritually… We were supporting each other mostly with worthless advises trying to find an exit from the room we were trapped in. The room without doors or windows filled and painted with white background and static noise.
AZ came up with the first useful suggestion; we need to obtain driver licenses. In the reality of Detroit it is an absolute necessity. One of the secretary of state offers the writing test in Ukrainian. Brainstorming the issue we came up with the “perfect” plan. Three of us go together AZ (driver from Russia); Val (will translate Ukrainian to Russian to AZ and pass me the correct answers from AZ). My role was to memorize all the questions and answers to pass along.
As one may guess we were spotted after the third question. Val and AZ were kicked out. I had to make a decision to follow them or pretend to finish my test. To follow them, I would admit that I was cheating too. And I was too embarrassed to do it. Regarding the test, I have never drove a car nor ever know any driving rules. I knew the language of the test, so I started to read it and mark my answers with my best intuitive guesses.
The person by the counter gave me a piece of paper in return, when I had submitted my test. I nodded silently, politely and cluelessly while she tried to explain something.
As it had happened it was a driving permit. I had passed the test. But the story is not about that. The story is not about the fact that I had recreated the test with all the questions and answers and all my friends got driving permits.
The story is, as follows. Four years later all the emigrants from Poland, Russia and Ukraine start to fail the written test. Someone complained in my presence that it was noted in the office of secretary of state that all the participants make the same two mistakes over and over again. So, the test was changed… In an instant my mind recreated the small unkempt piece of paper with uneven edges and bad handwriting but perfect order of Cs, As, Ds and Bs.
My life at that time was unfolding by the moments. My past was shedding off of me like an old snake’s skin. The future was unknown, unattached and unrelated to anything in the past; it was looming into and through my life with the swiftness of an avalanche. And I was a thin membrane of permanency that sliced and refracted those two forces…
About an hour later, after landing, I am HOME… Hamtramck, Michigan, my home for the next three years of my life. Hamtramck… the heaven/hell and the “capital” of a new, mostly Polish, emigration in Michigan.
Not all of us, who arrived in this state, went through Hamtramck, and those who did not, missed an important stage of psychological cognitive development (refer to Piaget). On the other hand, many are trapped there for the rest of their lives. Some of us had a chance to discover the power of resiliency and others… well…
That first winter we were so hopelessly lost and broken financially, mentally, spiritually… We were supporting each other mostly with worthless advises trying to find an exit from the room we were trapped in. The room without doors or windows filled and painted with white background and static noise.
AZ came up with the first useful suggestion; we need to obtain driver licenses. In the reality of Detroit it is an absolute necessity. One of the secretary of state offers the writing test in Ukrainian. Brainstorming the issue we came up with the “perfect” plan. Three of us go together AZ (driver from Russia); Val (will translate Ukrainian to Russian to AZ and pass me the correct answers from AZ). My role was to memorize all the questions and answers to pass along.
As one may guess we were spotted after the third question. Val and AZ were kicked out. I had to make a decision to follow them or pretend to finish my test. To follow them, I would admit that I was cheating too. And I was too embarrassed to do it. Regarding the test, I have never drove a car nor ever know any driving rules. I knew the language of the test, so I started to read it and mark my answers with my best intuitive guesses.
The person by the counter gave me a piece of paper in return, when I had submitted my test. I nodded silently, politely and cluelessly while she tried to explain something.
As it had happened it was a driving permit. I had passed the test. But the story is not about that. The story is not about the fact that I had recreated the test with all the questions and answers and all my friends got driving permits.
The story is, as follows. Four years later all the emigrants from Poland, Russia and Ukraine start to fail the written test. Someone complained in my presence that it was noted in the office of secretary of state that all the participants make the same two mistakes over and over again. So, the test was changed… In an instant my mind recreated the small unkempt piece of paper with uneven edges and bad handwriting but perfect order of Cs, As, Ds and Bs.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
.... If one is to to examine human life as we know it, it is a river of tears and pain which never dries. To say that life is a tragedy would not be correct. Any time any one of us needs to find a peaceful or restful moment, we go and find it in the life of nature. And as one can see, Life without awareness is pure indiscriminant beauty, simple and exclusive. Only awareness brings pain and suffering. Increase of awareness increases the inclusiveness and level of pain. Whether we are destined to be broken by the heaviness of it or transcend it into something yet unknown is uclear at this stage of human evolution.
There are examples of great Avatars among us. And we believe that they are examples and path to our salvation, although the level of the River Of Pain has never dropped. If anything, it only raises.
And one time concrete belief that the Earth is flat, as many others, is proven to be wrong.
There are examples of great Avatars among us. And we believe that they are examples and path to our salvation, although the level of the River Of Pain has never dropped. If anything, it only raises.
And one time concrete belief that the Earth is flat, as many others, is proven to be wrong.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
letters (one breath to share)
ONE BREATH TO SHARE
I kiss your face and dry your tears
that appears in the corners of your eyes.
two irregular shiny pearls
heavily gravitated down.
I collect them on my lips
and save their salty existence
on the canvas of my memory.
I kiss your face with a gentle brush
my cheek over yours,
blending the warmth of our bodies.
the little sparkles in your eyes
lights up and shimmer
like stars from the depth
of your soul.
I kiss your face.
we don’t say a word
there is nothing to say,
we have no past,
we have no future.
….only one breath to share.
I kiss your face and dry your tears
that appears in the corners of your eyes.
two irregular shiny pearls
heavily gravitated down.
I collect them on my lips
and save their salty existence
on the canvas of my memory.
I kiss your face with a gentle brush
my cheek over yours,
blending the warmth of our bodies.
the little sparkles in your eyes
lights up and shimmer
like stars from the depth
of your soul.
I kiss your face.
we don’t say a word
there is nothing to say,
we have no past,
we have no future.
….only one breath to share.
Friday, March 4, 2011
letters (comfort)
COMFORT
I close my eyes and dive
into the river of night,
into eternal darkness
of ever expanding emptiness.
no fear, no expectation,
no hope and no desire
disturb my melting being,
that disappears so lightly
in everlasting comfort
of the unconscious mind.
I close my eyes and dive
into the river of night,
into eternal darkness
of ever expanding emptiness.
no fear, no expectation,
no hope and no desire
disturb my melting being,
that disappears so lightly
in everlasting comfort
of the unconscious mind.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
letters (magician/маг)
MAGICIAN
night. the darkness, he needed it to hide his sins.
perhaps embarrassment, he hasn’t quite succeeded.
he won’t admit it and he would take his stand,
at sunrise, as many before him, with a strong belief
that he failed only for a lack of time.
and he is as guilty as they claim…more…
they judge him from the limits of the world
which boundaries he crosses a long time ago.
he was looking on the sky, that was running away,
as spinning galaxies, dragging them apart
into the open mouth of emptiness, that was dark,
or white, gray, colorful, colorless? better yet, nameless.
he would have traded his life
a thousand times for that name.
soon, at sunrise, a shiny-gray blade of a guillotine,
colored by his blood, would demonstrate its perfect condition
and readiness for action. scarlet splashes
would be quickly absorbed by the sand,
conforming to the reality of the moment.
the crowd, hundred heavy eyes, silently focused on the spot,
would experience relief and taste of iron on their tongues.
presence of death, the true magician of all times, can’t go unnoticed.
the night gradually was fading away; the darkness didn’t move,
it stayed in the cell. death comfortably leaned on the wall
(no rush. familiar posture, familiar place).
she listened to the sound of metal being sharpened.
it was no mystery to her; it was her job and she’s successful.
she had sympathy for the magician, for his readiness to meet her.
eventually all will, not many would be ready.
МАГ
ніч. темрява, вона потрібна, щоб приховати його гріхи.
можливо збентежившись, він не досяг успіху
та не зізнаєеься у тому. Він понесе свій гріх
на сході сонця, як багато хто до нього, з сильною вірою
що успіху він не досях за браком часу.
та він у цьому винний... а звинувачений... понад тим
вони його судили у рамках свого світу
ці межі він втратив вже давно.
дивлячись в небо, яке втікало
розкручуючи галактики, розтятуючи їх у сторони
кидаючи їх у темний відчинений вирій порожнечі
білої, сірої, барвистої,чи безбарвної? А можливо- безіменної.
він би віддав своє життя
тисячу разів за це імя.
незабаром на сході сонця, блискуче сіре лезо гільйотини,
продемонструє свій ідеальний стан та готовність до дії
коли розбризкає яскраво-червоні краплі навкруги
які швидко поглине пісок,
рідтведжуючи реальність даної хвилини.
натовп, сто важких очей, мовчки зосереджених на місці,
холодний подих сірої мли і залізний присмак в роті.
смерть, правдивий маг усіх часів, не може залишитись непоміченими.
ніч поступово розвіювалась а темрява не рухалась,
залишена забута у кімнаті. смерть комфортно вперлась до стіни
(нема куди спішати. знайома поза, знайоме місце).
вона прислуховувалась до звуку металу, який гострився.
це не було її загадкою ; це її робота, і вона є успішною.
вона співчувала Магові, поважала його готовність до зустрічі.
врешті-решт всі зустрінуться з нею, не багато хто буде готовий
night. the darkness, he needed it to hide his sins.
perhaps embarrassment, he hasn’t quite succeeded.
he won’t admit it and he would take his stand,
at sunrise, as many before him, with a strong belief
that he failed only for a lack of time.
and he is as guilty as they claim…more…
they judge him from the limits of the world
which boundaries he crosses a long time ago.
he was looking on the sky, that was running away,
as spinning galaxies, dragging them apart
into the open mouth of emptiness, that was dark,
or white, gray, colorful, colorless? better yet, nameless.
he would have traded his life
a thousand times for that name.
soon, at sunrise, a shiny-gray blade of a guillotine,
colored by his blood, would demonstrate its perfect condition
and readiness for action. scarlet splashes
would be quickly absorbed by the sand,
conforming to the reality of the moment.
the crowd, hundred heavy eyes, silently focused on the spot,
would experience relief and taste of iron on their tongues.
presence of death, the true magician of all times, can’t go unnoticed.
the night gradually was fading away; the darkness didn’t move,
it stayed in the cell. death comfortably leaned on the wall
(no rush. familiar posture, familiar place).
she listened to the sound of metal being sharpened.
it was no mystery to her; it was her job and she’s successful.
she had sympathy for the magician, for his readiness to meet her.
eventually all will, not many would be ready.
МАГ
ніч. темрява, вона потрібна, щоб приховати його гріхи.
можливо збентежившись, він не досяг успіху
та не зізнаєеься у тому. Він понесе свій гріх
на сході сонця, як багато хто до нього, з сильною вірою
що успіху він не досях за браком часу.
та він у цьому винний... а звинувачений... понад тим
вони його судили у рамках свого світу
ці межі він втратив вже давно.
дивлячись в небо, яке втікало
розкручуючи галактики, розтятуючи їх у сторони
кидаючи їх у темний відчинений вирій порожнечі
білої, сірої, барвистої,чи безбарвної? А можливо- безіменної.
він би віддав своє життя
тисячу разів за це імя.
незабаром на сході сонця, блискуче сіре лезо гільйотини,
продемонструє свій ідеальний стан та готовність до дії
коли розбризкає яскраво-червоні краплі навкруги
які швидко поглине пісок,
рідтведжуючи реальність даної хвилини.
натовп, сто важких очей, мовчки зосереджених на місці,
холодний подих сірої мли і залізний присмак в роті.
смерть, правдивий маг усіх часів, не може залишитись непоміченими.
ніч поступово розвіювалась а темрява не рухалась,
залишена забута у кімнаті. смерть комфортно вперлась до стіни
(нема куди спішати. знайома поза, знайоме місце).
вона прислуховувалась до звуку металу, який гострився.
це не було її загадкою ; це її робота, і вона є успішною.
вона співчувала Магові, поважала його готовність до зустрічі.
врешті-решт всі зустрінуться з нею, не багато хто буде готовий
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
fragments (sometimes)
sometimes the slow things
are just too fast to grasp.
sometimes the light so brilliant bright
that blinds the sight into the darkness.
reality sometimes is frozen into fixed dreams.
and vibrant dreams sometimes released into the life.
I know sometimes.
sometimes I don’t…
I have no fear! I can embrace the darkness.
the deeper darkness, than closer the sunrise.
are just too fast to grasp.
sometimes the light so brilliant bright
that blinds the sight into the darkness.
reality sometimes is frozen into fixed dreams.
and vibrant dreams sometimes released into the life.
I know sometimes.
sometimes I don’t…
I have no fear! I can embrace the darkness.
the deeper darkness, than closer the sunrise.
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