HF - Our return to where we come from. Some knows the way, some are in the dark, others kept searching for it. For those who knows will always keep reminding oneself. It what keeps one sanity whilst on this life's journey. the poet who searched has found the door..
Those are tears of joy of euphoria of understanding of sympathy..
The words of the poet were meant to heal..
So is your presence..here and wherever you go
Thank you.
When time and space are mere ideas, would you believe that you are there on that field of grasshoppers with the others euphoric in innocence awash in that sea of exuberance..?
' The spirit of a warrior is not geared to indulging and complaining, nor is it geared to winning or losing. The spirit of the warrior is geared only to struggle and every struggle is a warrior's last battle on earth. Thus the outcome matters very little to the warrior. In the warrior's last battle on earth a warrior lets his spirit flow free and clear. And as he wages his battle, knowing that his will is impeccable, a warrior laughs and laughs.'
Carlos Castaneda
' A Separate Reality'
Monday, December 15, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Like The Owl pining for it's Love; The Moon- Part 2
R-That faraway look..that photo of yours, you're not exactly looking into the camera but through it. I've seen that look before. Those eyes are searching wanting to read the energy of what lies ahead. Special people do this. Like a balm they are to the others. They may not realise this but they can heal others merely by their presence. People are attracted to them like bees to honey. They find it difficult to let others down even willing to walk through the fire if they are asked to. And I know you're one of them.
A gypsy is a state of being. I don't know why I'm stating this for you. You want to drift along this path perhaps sleeping under the stars like a gypsy does. And in communion with nature. But your mind is restraining you with all the trivialities. I can't speak for you but you're a recipient of the myth. And you need the space for you and for you only.
Do not go to the
garden of flowers
O friend! go not
there
In your body is the
garden
of flowers
Take your seat on
the thousand
petals and there
gaze on the
infinite beauty
C-So many things to be said. And because of your last mail I have to talk about myself first. But there are so many things to be said too. And I will come back to them next time.
Oh, you are so surprisingly right, in so many ways. Maybe because you are such a good reader, or I am so easy to read or both. I don't like to talk about me, and most of the times i avoid even thinking about myself, but now i must think and talk, you challenged me.
The fact is that I let people "read" me if they want.
I walk around with an open heart and mind. I used to think that this is the way that I am, and that I can't help it, but it is also a choice I made. and I don't mind the consequences. It's the way I find balance. And it enriches my life and my soul. And maybe one day I will find a meaning of all this, and the meaning of my life. I wish to believe that there is a meaning.
I am not sure of the healing part.
It's true that I have put too often others first, and that I find it very difficult to say no, that I care, that I am friendly and kind and understanding and that I look for the sparkle of light in the people around me, that I am very empathetic and that sometimes I sensed that I can have a positive calming impact, but I don't think it is more than that. Maybe we all could be like this if we would want or try, or think more about it. Maybe I am special only because I seem to be different when compared with other people. But maybe I am not even different. I don't know.
The gipsy interpretation surprised me also. and now I am smiling because I remember that at my first carnival at kindergarden I was dressed as a gipsy. I was the smallest child, had no idea of what a carnival was or a gipsy and why they gave me the first prize for.
You made me think about this gipsy state of mind and state of being.
Oh yes it would be great to sleep under the stars. Oh yes it would be great to not care about rules and be completely free. and in communion with nature. And listening to the universe. And deciphering the signs.
And yes I need a space for me and me only. Space to breathe and feel, an be, only be. Not for dreaming away. And I know how to find my space without disturbing others, still being present. that's why I walk with my heart and my mind open. I don't mind being foolish.
But sometimes as a romanian poet said " I was tired and suffered. I think I suffered from too much soul".
Too much talking writing about myself.
I like to read people too. and read between the lines.
Wishing you all the best,
Corina
A gypsy is a state of being. I don't know why I'm stating this for you. You want to drift along this path perhaps sleeping under the stars like a gypsy does. And in communion with nature. But your mind is restraining you with all the trivialities. I can't speak for you but you're a recipient of the myth. And you need the space for you and for you only.
Do not go to the
garden of flowers
O friend! go not
there
In your body is the
garden
of flowers
Take your seat on
the thousand
petals and there
gaze on the
infinite beauty
C-So many things to be said. And because of your last mail I have to talk about myself first. But there are so many things to be said too. And I will come back to them next time.
Oh, you are so surprisingly right, in so many ways. Maybe because you are such a good reader, or I am so easy to read or both. I don't like to talk about me, and most of the times i avoid even thinking about myself, but now i must think and talk, you challenged me.
The fact is that I let people "read" me if they want.
I walk around with an open heart and mind. I used to think that this is the way that I am, and that I can't help it, but it is also a choice I made. and I don't mind the consequences. It's the way I find balance. And it enriches my life and my soul. And maybe one day I will find a meaning of all this, and the meaning of my life. I wish to believe that there is a meaning.
I am not sure of the healing part.
It's true that I have put too often others first, and that I find it very difficult to say no, that I care, that I am friendly and kind and understanding and that I look for the sparkle of light in the people around me, that I am very empathetic and that sometimes I sensed that I can have a positive calming impact, but I don't think it is more than that. Maybe we all could be like this if we would want or try, or think more about it. Maybe I am special only because I seem to be different when compared with other people. But maybe I am not even different. I don't know.
The gipsy interpretation surprised me also. and now I am smiling because I remember that at my first carnival at kindergarden I was dressed as a gipsy. I was the smallest child, had no idea of what a carnival was or a gipsy and why they gave me the first prize for.
You made me think about this gipsy state of mind and state of being.
Oh yes it would be great to sleep under the stars. Oh yes it would be great to not care about rules and be completely free. and in communion with nature. And listening to the universe. And deciphering the signs.
And yes I need a space for me and me only. Space to breathe and feel, an be, only be. Not for dreaming away. And I know how to find my space without disturbing others, still being present. that's why I walk with my heart and my mind open. I don't mind being foolish.
But sometimes as a romanian poet said " I was tired and suffered. I think I suffered from too much soul".
Too much talking writing about myself.
I like to read people too. and read between the lines.
Wishing you all the best,
Corina
I applaud you..
There's a story told about an elderly lady in Arkansas, US. The state voted to increase welfare payments to indigents. Hoping for a tear-jerker story, a television interviewer went into the back hills where many welfare recipients lived.
The old woman he chose to interview lived in a one-room shack: draughty in winter; stifling in summer. Her bed was a few rough planks nailed together, with a pine needle mattress. A couple of thin blankets, and a fireplace, did little to protect her from the cold.
Her furniture, a table and two chairs, were fashioned from the same rough wood as her bed. Some shelves held a few cans from the general store, a 3-mile walk down the road. Several jars of preserves and a few squash completed her larder.
She had no refrigerator or freezer. The fireplace provided heat for cooking. With no phone or television, her only connection with the outside world was an old radio that pulled in two or three local stations on a good day.
The old woman had one convenience: running water. A crystal clear stream gurgled a short distance behind her home.
A small garden near her back door provided fresh vegetables during the summer, and some squash and turnips for the winter. A tidy flower garden brightened the front of her house.
The television crew arrived and set up their big expensive cameras. Their mobile station broadcast pictures of the woman and the place she called home.
Eventually, the interviewer asked the old woman, "If the government gave you $200 more each month, what would you do with it?"
Without hesitation, The woman replied, "I'd give it to the poor."
The old woman he chose to interview lived in a one-room shack: draughty in winter; stifling in summer. Her bed was a few rough planks nailed together, with a pine needle mattress. A couple of thin blankets, and a fireplace, did little to protect her from the cold.
Her furniture, a table and two chairs, were fashioned from the same rough wood as her bed. Some shelves held a few cans from the general store, a 3-mile walk down the road. Several jars of preserves and a few squash completed her larder.
She had no refrigerator or freezer. The fireplace provided heat for cooking. With no phone or television, her only connection with the outside world was an old radio that pulled in two or three local stations on a good day.
The old woman had one convenience: running water. A crystal clear stream gurgled a short distance behind her home.
A small garden near her back door provided fresh vegetables during the summer, and some squash and turnips for the winter. A tidy flower garden brightened the front of her house.
The television crew arrived and set up their big expensive cameras. Their mobile station broadcast pictures of the woman and the place she called home.
Eventually, the interviewer asked the old woman, "If the government gave you $200 more each month, what would you do with it?"
Without hesitation, The woman replied, "I'd give it to the poor."
I became an intellectual delinquent
Somebody not just anybody told this story:
When I was seven, I lived in Whitstable in Kent, England, and attended a boy's school. My only interest then was nature study. I loved animals and nature and so did my best friend Barry. We would wait for school to finish so that we could be with nature and animals. We used to keep rabbits, cats, dogs, fish, spiders and butterflies. Our houses were like little zoos.
Barry was very extraordinary. He could identify birds by their flight pattern. He is now a conservationist and drives a lorry.
In school, Barry and I were put into different streams; he was in 1D and I was in 1A. We were told that it made no difference which class we were in, as it was determined in random.
But it did not take us long to figure out that 1A was for bright boys and 1D stood for the so-called "dull" ones. Yet, at the age, you do not particularly think about it.
In class, the teacher made us sit according to our placing in class. So the top student would sit at the first table on the right and everyone else snaked all the way to the front.
My classmates, Mummery and Epps, were always in seat one or two. I never sat there until I received a perfect score for a test on nature.
Fot that exam, our teacher had asked us, among other questions, to name two types of fish in the English stream and the difference between a butterfly and a moth.
I did not think it was a "real" test because it was easy for me. I could have given the teacher 60 types of fish and 15 differences between a butterfly and a moth if he had asked.
Two weeks later, my teacher came back with the results and announced that I did better than thr rest. So, for the first time, Iwas looking at the right profiles of Mummery and Epps in class.
I soon understood that they did well in geographyor English because they liked those subjects as I did nature. That, for a while made me proud to be No.1.
But after that, I had the realisation that changed my life. I felt embarassed for thinking that I was No.1 when sitting 140 seats down from me in the front row of 1D was my best friend Barry.
I knew that Barry knew more about nature than me and he was suppoedly the dumbest of the dumb.
I realised that the education system was not measuring our intelligence or teaching us how to learn.
Thereafter, I became an intellectual delinquent. I began asking questions like "who says one is smart?" and "what does smart mean?' and "why?"
My interest in intelligence flowered from that event.
When I was seven, I lived in Whitstable in Kent, England, and attended a boy's school. My only interest then was nature study. I loved animals and nature and so did my best friend Barry. We would wait for school to finish so that we could be with nature and animals. We used to keep rabbits, cats, dogs, fish, spiders and butterflies. Our houses were like little zoos.
Barry was very extraordinary. He could identify birds by their flight pattern. He is now a conservationist and drives a lorry.
In school, Barry and I were put into different streams; he was in 1D and I was in 1A. We were told that it made no difference which class we were in, as it was determined in random.
But it did not take us long to figure out that 1A was for bright boys and 1D stood for the so-called "dull" ones. Yet, at the age, you do not particularly think about it.
In class, the teacher made us sit according to our placing in class. So the top student would sit at the first table on the right and everyone else snaked all the way to the front.
My classmates, Mummery and Epps, were always in seat one or two. I never sat there until I received a perfect score for a test on nature.
Fot that exam, our teacher had asked us, among other questions, to name two types of fish in the English stream and the difference between a butterfly and a moth.
I did not think it was a "real" test because it was easy for me. I could have given the teacher 60 types of fish and 15 differences between a butterfly and a moth if he had asked.
Two weeks later, my teacher came back with the results and announced that I did better than thr rest. So, for the first time, Iwas looking at the right profiles of Mummery and Epps in class.
I soon understood that they did well in geographyor English because they liked those subjects as I did nature. That, for a while made me proud to be No.1.
But after that, I had the realisation that changed my life. I felt embarassed for thinking that I was No.1 when sitting 140 seats down from me in the front row of 1D was my best friend Barry.
I knew that Barry knew more about nature than me and he was suppoedly the dumbest of the dumb.
I realised that the education system was not measuring our intelligence or teaching us how to learn.
Thereafter, I became an intellectual delinquent. I began asking questions like "who says one is smart?" and "what does smart mean?' and "why?"
My interest in intelligence flowered from that event.
Like The Owl pining for it's Love; The Moon- Part 1
R- Nice photographs..your table. .wonder what kind of work you do?
C- I am glad you like my photographs. As you can see I like taking pictures. I like to observe, and not just look but see, make little discoveries. And I love the light and the colors.
I am at work. I work in a clothing factory. Production planner. Preparing the paperwork for the production, planning, doing translations, correspondence, import & export papers and many other things. It is keeping me busy and very busy, so that I probably work too much and too long.
R- Can you tell if you are seeing them with your third eye?
Quite a situation you've got there.
Do Romanians speak and write in very fluent English?
C-I know only about my two eyes and my pair of glasses. I am shortsighted.
English is taught in schools here, and even in kindergarden. The younger generations are more interested in learning it. Many people understand and speak it, but can't say it very fluent or accurate. English is the trend now. As it was French in the last century.
In my region many know also German. Because of the significant German population that lived here and the German traditions and influences they left behind. I went to a German school. But when we started to learn English at school German became less interesting. English has not so many rules and is more musical. So I love to speak it and sing it and think it whenever I get the chance. But I must admit that thoughts are sometimes not so easy to express in a English. Probably because my mind still speaks Romanian and gets sometimes confused with all these languages. Hm, I wonder what language my soul speaks.
R-Some defined the third eye as the heart. To see with the heart. And there's nothing academic about it. Cannot be proven by Science. Can't be shown how. A wiseman likened the heart as the mirror; to enable to see one'e reflection, the mirror needs to be cleaned of the dirt and dust..
Thanks for the explanation. Special people the Romanians.. multilingual exposure to different cultures at the same time being deep-rooted to it's own. Cannot say the same about the people where I come from.
The soul speaks no language. The understanding is silence. There's a gypsy blood running in those veins of yours. Tell me if it's so.
'..When the soul lies in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas languages even the phrase You and I doesn't make any sense.'
C-I like to read your mails. Because there is always something there that leaves me on thoughts. And I like to give my mind something else to think about than the common things that come across my way on an ordinary day. But as I am at work, I always have to return quickly to my job, so that I don't have the time and the silence to answer. I promise to answer as soon as possible. I want to answer.
I wonder why you mentioned the gypsy blood.
C- I am glad you like my photographs. As you can see I like taking pictures. I like to observe, and not just look but see, make little discoveries. And I love the light and the colors.
I am at work. I work in a clothing factory. Production planner. Preparing the paperwork for the production, planning, doing translations, correspondence, import & export papers and many other things. It is keeping me busy and very busy, so that I probably work too much and too long.
R- Can you tell if you are seeing them with your third eye?
Quite a situation you've got there.
Do Romanians speak and write in very fluent English?
C-I know only about my two eyes and my pair of glasses. I am shortsighted.
English is taught in schools here, and even in kindergarden. The younger generations are more interested in learning it. Many people understand and speak it, but can't say it very fluent or accurate. English is the trend now. As it was French in the last century.
In my region many know also German. Because of the significant German population that lived here and the German traditions and influences they left behind. I went to a German school. But when we started to learn English at school German became less interesting. English has not so many rules and is more musical. So I love to speak it and sing it and think it whenever I get the chance. But I must admit that thoughts are sometimes not so easy to express in a English. Probably because my mind still speaks Romanian and gets sometimes confused with all these languages. Hm, I wonder what language my soul speaks.
R-Some defined the third eye as the heart. To see with the heart. And there's nothing academic about it. Cannot be proven by Science. Can't be shown how. A wiseman likened the heart as the mirror; to enable to see one'e reflection, the mirror needs to be cleaned of the dirt and dust..
Thanks for the explanation. Special people the Romanians.. multilingual exposure to different cultures at the same time being deep-rooted to it's own. Cannot say the same about the people where I come from.
The soul speaks no language. The understanding is silence. There's a gypsy blood running in those veins of yours. Tell me if it's so.
'..When the soul lies in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas languages even the phrase You and I doesn't make any sense.'
C-I like to read your mails. Because there is always something there that leaves me on thoughts. And I like to give my mind something else to think about than the common things that come across my way on an ordinary day. But as I am at work, I always have to return quickly to my job, so that I don't have the time and the silence to answer. I promise to answer as soon as possible. I want to answer.
I wonder why you mentioned the gypsy blood.
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